Sanatan Archive

Hemchandra Vikramaditya—known widely as Hemu—was a 16th-century warrior-king who briefly ruled Delhi in 1556. He climbed from a modest life as a market vendor to lead armies and confront the Mughal Empire. Many remember him as the last indigenous Hindu ruler to hold Delhi’s throne before Mughal power took firm root. His journey—full of bold decisions, battlefield nerve, and a tragic twist—unfolds like a tense adventure. What follows traces his life step by step, from the first struggles to the moment he faced destiny on the field.

History often remembers kings, generals, and rulers, but the truest heroes are sometimes ordinary people who rose when the nation needed them most. In dusty villages, far away from royal courts and armies, women with no training, no wealth, and no privilege chose to pick up arms for their motherland. Among them was Mahabiri Devi, a young Dalit woman from Mundbhar in Muzaffarnagar, Uttar Pradesh. She was not born to power, but she carried the fire of freedom in her heart. Along with 22 other women of her village, she stood against the British empire. Their story is not written in grand monuments, yet their courage has become immortal in the soil of India.

In the chill valleys of the Himalayas, where oxygen thins and snow never seems to melt, one man dared to imagine a frontier that would expand beyond mountains and borders. That man was General Zorawar Singh Kahluria (1786–1841), a name etched in the history of India as one of the greatest military minds of the 19th century. Born into a Chandel Rajput family in the princely state of Kahlur (present-day Bilaspur, Himachal Pradesh), Zorawar’s journey began far from royalty and privilege. His early life was marked by struggle – “a family feud forced him to flee his village, and he received no formal education.” But fate often smiles upon those with unshakable resolve.

In 1528, India experienced one of the most tragic moments in its spiritual history. After asserting control over North India, Mughal emperor Babur sent his trusted general Mir Baqi to Ayodhya—not to rule, but to destroy. His destination was not a palace, but the Ram Janmabhoomi, the sacred birthplace of Lord Ram, revered by Hindus across the land.

Fatehpur District, April 1858: The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as 52 Indian revolutionaries stood beneath a sprawling tamarind tree along the Mughal Road. Moments later, British colonial officers carried out a brutal mass execution, hanging every one of these freedom fighters from the tree’s sturdy branches.

In the mid-1870s in Pune, and a man with a light complexion and a strong build dashes through the streets. In his 30s, he carries a thali—a metal plate—and a ladle, banging them together to grab attention. As the sound echoes, he shouts to everyone within earshot, "All should come to Shaniwar-wada grounds this evening. Our country must be free. The Englishmen must be driven out. The ways and means of doing it, I shall explain in my speech."

The date was April 13, 1919, a day that marked the Punjabi New Year, known as Baisakhi, a time meant for celebration and joy. Yet, in the city of Amritsar, hundreds of Indians gathered at a place called Jallianwala Bagh—not just to ring in the festivities, but to raise their voices against a harsh new law imposed by the British rulers. This law, called the Rowlatt Act, had stirred anger across the nation, and nowhere was the unrest more palpable than in Punjab.

When Covid-19 crashed into our lives, it left behind a treasure trove of forgotten heroes whose stories could make anyone’s heart skip a beat. Tucked away in the quiet corners of society, these tales of grit and kindness deserve a spotlight. One such story comes straight from Ghazipur, a district in Uttar Pradesh, where an ordinary man transformed into a local legend—the Sanitizer Man.

A legal dispute over the Shahi Jama Masjid and the Harihar Mandir has gained national attention, as a Bench led by Chief Justice Sanjiv Khanna and Justice Sanjay Kumar reviews a petition filed by the Jama Mosque Committee. The petition challenges a civil court’s order that permitted a survey of the mosque to determine whether it was constructed over the remains of a Hindu temple. The issue took a violent turn on November 24, during the survey in Sambhal, leading to the deaths of four individuals and injuries to many others, including police personnel. Given the gravity of these events, a review of the site’s historical background becomes essential.

Once a dazzling star lighting up the fashion runways from Milan to Paris, London to New York, Cameron Alborzian was a name that echoed through the glamorous world of high fashion. Known as one of the most celebrated top models on the planet, he decided one day to step away from the glitz and the flashing cameras. Tired of the fast-paced life of fashion, he set out on a quieter, more meaningful path—one that would lead him to become Yogi Cameron, a man dedicated to wellness and inner peace.