Poorna- The story of zero by a cipher

Poorna- The story of zero by a cipher

By G. MANJUSAINATH

ॐ पूर्णमदः पूर्णमिदं, पूर्णात पूर्णमुदच्यते.

पूर्णस्य पूर्णमादाय, पूर्णमेवावशिष्यते.

-- इशावास्योपनिषद

Om poornamadah poornamidam

Poornaat poornamudachyate

Poornasya poornamaadaya

Poornamevaavashishyate

-- Ishaavasyopanishad

“That is infinite. This is infinite. What has come out of the infinite is also infinite.
When the infinite is taken out of the infinite, the infinite still remains infinite.”

Other than ghosts and demons if something would scare me during my childhood days it was mathematics. So much aversion I had for this subject that the very mention of it would cause me a kind of nausea but my maths-loving dad was hell-bent to churn a Ramanujan, a CV Raman, an Einstein and finally a James Watt out of his frail little child overnight.

But, as fate had it, the son turned out to be a paper-tiger. Before making my way into the journalism, I had some six years of meandering after my father finally stopped hoping against the hopes and allowed me to go stray just like a bull with trident mark, grabbing green groceries in the market. It was during that course of time when I developed a fascination for astrology and a subsequent realisation that I missed many things by ignoring mathematics. I must confess that I have seen merely a few droplets of the vast oceanic maths. While studying astrology I stumbled upon the above-mentioned verse from Ishavasyopanishad and simply fell for it. I have no hesitation to say that next lines are cipher’s shallow claims of deciphering zero.

To my mind, the first verse from Ishavasyopanishad is revolutionary in a sense that it is responsible for the development of modern mathematics and science. The verse which speaks about the nature of omnipresent God, said to have had inspired the seventh century mathematician, Bhaskaracharya-I, to translate it into mathematics. He devised a new number called Poorna or zero with no face value but great place value to make the mathematical numbers infinite.

Bhaskaracharya chose a circle to denote the nature of God because it is neither a line with a head and tail, nor a triangle with conjunctions of lines. An unending loop, the circle represents the immortal nature of God.

The number zero completely fits in the definition of infinite God as described in the above-mentioned verse. "If you add zero to zero, the result remains zero and if you subtract zero from zero, the result again remains zero." However, zero also signifies ego and desires, which have no value as such except for creating vacuum in life and keeping a person busy to run after something which does not exist! For example, the variety of numbers is only between zero and nine but after nine, ‘one’ comes once again to run behind the vacuum called zero and gets the name Ten to head for infinite.

Did you ever wonder why ten comes after nine and not after five, six, seven or eight? You may find it interesting that the objective behind devising a scientific numerical system was to study astronomy and astrology. In fact, in olden days cosmos and celestial bodies inspired people to calculate their movements and the distance between them in view of the prevalent belief system that these heavenly bodies have a bearing on everything on the earth. It is believed in Astrology and numerology that the nine digits represent the nine planets of astrology namely Sun, Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, Rahu (dragon's head) and Ketu (dragon's tail).

The claim that Bhaskaracharya was born somewhere in the border regions of Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh, seems to have some basis. The local Telugu populace of Andhra Pradesh, particularly in the regions of Andhra, prefer calling zero as 'Poorna' unlike other parts of the country where it is called Shoonya, may be to immortalise the scientific legacy left behind by the great mathematician.

So the next time if somebody muddies a pristine forum in a rabid and archaic manner only to tell you that your top floor has got nothing then stay cool, chant the above Mantra and say: "Nothing is everything, for I know, Shoonya is Poorna'.

Missing a caressing hand

Just two days before Holi my wife forwarded me a greeting message. Though sent as a gesture of goodwill, the SMS reopened my healing wounds and a spontaneous four-line poem flowed instantaneously in reply –

Jisne Bhara Rang Jeevan me,

Raha Nahi jab vahi sang me,

Holi ne kho diye rang sab,

Bemani tyohar lage ab.

(Now that the one who filled colours in our lives is no more, Holi has lost all its colours and festivities have lost their sheen).

I was coming to terms with the departure of my ailing father in August last year when the message pricked my old wounds.

The party was over and a killing gloominess had descended upon me and my family. I wished I could have clinched the sand of time tightly and escaped with my dear ones to a place faraway from the glares of death. I would argue with the unseen why he did not mend his rule at least for once for the sake of his devotees like me, and spared a life from slipping into the jaws of death.

I could clearly realise that the 24 hours forming a day are not relatively the same every time- Happy hours run away so rapidly that even before you could try to take them into your grip, doom pounces upon you to knock you down.

As emotions ran high, memories played before me a bioscopic view of some festive occasions I had spent with my parents, especially with my father. I could reminisce a typical Deepawali night which taught me to enjoy silence and solitude in the middle of noisy crowd and turbulence.

I was about 13-year-old on that Deepawali night when people were out to defeat the new moon night with festoons, chandeliers and dazzling crackers. I too had great plans to celebrate the moment with a moderate stock of crackers but I could not realise that within an hour they would be exhausted. Celebrations were over and a gloomy sadness dawned upon me.

It was at that moment when I heard some Bengali songs being played somewhere quite a distance away. Though I could not hear the lyrics clearly I could make out that it was Rabindra Sangeet sung by Kishore Kumar. Distance hindered the audibility and acoustic too was a problem but the tune was surely soothing in those silent and depressing moments. The effect of the songs was such that I began to sink deep in silence and for the first time I realised the beauty of quietness and solitude in the dark new moon night from the roof of our house in Raipur. Just then someone suddenly held me by my shoulder from behind. Taken aback, I turned quickly only to find my father standing behind me.

“Baba, why are you standing alone at this dark place? Isn’t your Diwali over?” father asked me affectionately. It took little time to overcome the charm of Rabindra Sangeet. After a brief silence I said, “Appa, can you hear the song? It’s Rabindra Sangeet. It’s sweet, isn’t it?” My father too nodded.

The stroll along the memory by-lane showed me the way to solace. Thanks to internet, today I have a prized possession of a good collection of Rabindra Sangeet like, ‘Amaar Raat Pohalo’, ‘Ami Tomaay Jato Suniye chhilem Gaan’, ‘Jadi Taare Naai Cheeni Go She Kee’, ‘Amar Andhoprodeep’, ‘Purano Sei Diner Kotha’, ‘Amar Bela Je Jaaye’ and, not to miss, 'Jadi Tor Daak Sune keu Naa Aashe...’. These songs helped me wipe my tears and silenced my inner turbulence but disappeared is the person who had caressed me affectionately during some opaque and trying moments in my life and instilled a sense of security.