He loved it so much that he wanted to read the original Marathi version of the book. Apparently, my father had read the Tamil translation of this book, which used to appear like a series in one of the Tamil magazines that he used to subscribe to. He was waxing poetic about this book and I was naturally curious. I first heard the name of this book some 14 years ago when my father started talking to one of my husband’s uncles about it. Of course, having read the book now when I am older, it is possible that he would have thought that I was too young for it, especially as I was pretty naïve in those days. However, despite him telling me all about these two mythological sagas, I don’t remember the name Yayati. He must have told them to me innumerable times and yet I never got tired of listening to his soft melodic voice reciting it, so much so that even today when I read a tale from either of these two mythological stories, I remember him and miss him a lot. ![]() I still remember going up to my grandfather once he had finished listening to the news at 9 and asking him to continue with these tales. I grew up, like most kids in India, on a steady diet of tales from Ramayana and Mahabharata and their allied tales.
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