The Founding.
What was here before, and what begins now.
The first entry in the record of Ṛtavan — written at the beginning, so that there is a beginning to return to.
The first entry in the record of Ṛtavan — written at the beginning, so that there is a beginning to return to.
The five acres that become Ṛtavan did not arrive empty. The coconut palms were here first — two hundred of them, some planted decades ago by whoever tended this land before us. Their fronds move in the late afternoon when the wind comes off the river. In the early morning, before the heat arrives, the sound of them is the first sound of the campus.
The mango trees were here too. And the cashew. A tidal river runs along the eastern boundary, carrying the memory of the ocean it will reach. The soil has been cultivated — by hands we did not know, over seasons we were not present for. We arrived into something already underway. The first responsibility of Ṛtavan is to understand what that means.
We did not create this land. We inherited responsibility for it. That distinction shapes everything we intend to do here.
Dakshinamurti Yoga School did not begin at Ṛtavan. It arrived here — with a teaching history, active students, and a curriculum that had been tested before it found a permanent home on this land. The school was looking for a place it could commit to. This land was looking for a practice it could hold. The alignment was not designed. It was recognised.
The shala was built to be open to the forest on as many sides as possible. Daily practice begins before six. The sound of practice and the sound of the river arrive together in the early morning from opposite directions. Between them, the campus is already quiet in a way that most places never achieve.
The Miyawaki zone is mapped. The species list has been assembled — native to Goa, suited to the existing soil biology, chosen to work with the palms and fruiting trees rather than compete with them. The planting will begin this year. For two years after planting, the zone will require intensive tending. After that, it will be left alone. That is the method. The forest learns to sustain itself, or it does not. We will document what happens either way.
The food forest is already active. The existing mango, cashew, and coconut trees are the foundation. Banana, papaya, jackfruit, moringa, turmeric, and native medicinals are being added within the existing structure. This is not a food forest designed for production — it is designed for permanence, for biodiversity, for the kitchen that Gaonfornia will become.
Institutions have a way of forgetting their beginnings. The language shifts. The original intentions become difficult to recover. What was intended at the founding is gradually replaced by what became convenient or necessary later.
This journal exists to make that drift harder. Every entry is a record of what was actually happening — not what was hoped for, not what was planned, but what was true on this land, at this moment, in this season. Those who come after us — stewards, students, visitors — should be able to read this record and know what Ṛtavan was like at the beginning. They should be able to judge whether it became what it intended.
The forest will outlast everyone who plants it. This journal will outlast everyone who writes it. That is as it should be.