OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# My Dear Pranav/Foreword

Foreword
Many tall women and men have walked this land. My salutations to all of them. One of the tallest was Vinoba Bhave.
Vinobaji literally walked this land. More, he walked his talk - like very few did. What he says therefore carries conviction.
Although his thoughts are available in a number of books, little has been written about him. Dr.L.N.Godbole, a dear friend of our family, has ably filled this void. And in two ways
One is to convey to the young audience the meaning of a spiritual citizen as conveyed by Vinoba Bhave. The other is a glimpse of the great leader himself.
We all concede that spirituality is one of the legs of the three legged stool as represented by our lives. Yet very few understand what it means and implies. One of the highlights of these letters is that this aspect of life is brought out clearly and convincingly.
Dr. Godbole addressed these letters - one a week for 52 weeks - to my son Pranav, a young man of 12. With little anecdotes and stories that lace every letter, he conveys to him and every reader of his age or older, the approaches the pursuit of excellence for a citizen, drawn from the teachings in the Gita, the Upanishads and the Vedas. The subject can normally be heavy for a 12 year old but it has been conveyed with such simplicity that it becomes interesting reading and rereading.
I feel honoured and indebted to Dr. Godbole for having taken time off to give the benefit of his great erudition and scholarship in 52 letters to my Son. I would like to make this rich gift available to thousands of young people like him.
Vinobaji pursued excellence, human excellence. Many ​would like to know how he thought and what he did, so they too may take the journey in that direction and less falteringly. It is in the fitness of things, therefore, that this book is being published by the Indian Centre for Encouraging Excellence.
Usha Chandrasekhar
Bombay April 1994
# My Dear Pranav/Publisher's Acknowledgement

Our grateful thanks to
# Caroling Dusk/Flame-heart

FLAME-HEART
# My Dear Pranav/Preface

Preface
This book is a bunch of 52 letters written by me to Pranav Chandrasekhar, a young man of twelve.
Vinoba Bhave is a name which may not ring a bell in many young minds and especially if they happen to be educated in English medium schools.
Being a student of Vinoba’s writings, I have put in my efforts in presenting his thoughts. These letters, since I wrote to Pranav, have been perused by Shri Daniel Majgaonkar and Br. Prvania Desai, life long associates of Vinoba. They found that these letters could be published for the general public. All opinions are ofcourse my own.
Since it is a bunch of letters, the reader could start at any page and read them in any order. The basic purpose of writing of these letters was that Pranav should read Vinoba’s thoughts, read his books and acquaint himself with Vinoba’s writings. Perhaps a different sequence and order of complexity some reader would prefer. I have not disturbed the sequence of what I wrote in 1990-91.
A person educated in the western tradition must keep in mind that Vinoba is a son of the soil in the sense that all his basic philosophical foundations are typically Indian. As Geoffrey Ostergaard has observed, "further reflection, however, has convinced me that Sarvodaya ideas, including its political ones, can be properly understood only if they are viewed within the framework of Indian religious thought and seen as a reinterpretation of a distinctively Indian conception of the self and the relation of the self to society, nature and the cosmos". My first few letters have this observation as a background.
The letters have been seen by Dr. (Mrs.) Rama Sivaram, Professor Nissim Ezikel, Ms Majori Sykes, Shri S R Mohandas, Shri R V Joshi and several friends. I needed their help primarily ​because English is my second language. Shri N Paranjpe and Shri VG Potdar, my colleagues, have been helping in the typing, retyping and computerizing. I am obliged to all of them.
I have profusely quoted from various books of Vinoba and acknowledged them with gratitude. I have used Vinoba’s thoughts as a property which belongs to all. Sab bhoomi Gopal ki.
Jai Jagat!
L.N.Godbole
Bombay April, 1994
# The House on the Borderland

   From the Manuscript discovered in 1877 by Messrs. Tonnison and Berreggnog in the Ruins that lie to the South of the Village of Kraighten, in the West of Ireland. Set out here, with Notes.
* To My Father
* Author's Introduction To The Manuscript
* Chapter I: The Finding Of The Manuscript
* Chapter II: The Plain Of Silence
* Chapter III: The House In The Arena
* Chapter IV: The Earth
* Chapter V: The Thing In The Pit
* Chapter VI: The Swine-Things
* Chapter VII: The Attack
* Chapter VIII: After The Attack
* Chapter IX: In The Cellars
* Chapter X: The Time Of Waiting
* Chapter XI: The Searching Of The Gardens
* Chapter XII: The Subterranean Pit
* Chapter XIII: The Trap In The Great Cellar
* Chapter XIV: The Sea Of Sleep
* The Fragments
* Chapter XV: The Noise In The Night
* Chapter XVI: The Awakening
* Chapter XVII: The Slowing Rotation
* Chapter XVIII: The Green Star
* Chapter XIX: The End Of The Solar System
* Chapter XX: The Celestial Globes
* Chapter XXI: The Dark Sun
* Chapter XXII: The Dark Nebula
* Chapter XXIII: Pepper
* Chapter XXIV: The Footsteps In The Garden
* Chapter XXV: The Thing From The Arena
* Chapter XXVI: The Luminous Speck
* Chapter XXVII: Conclusion
* Grief
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Flame-Heart

* "Flame-Heart", published in Spring in New Hampshire (1920)
* "Flame-Heart", published in Harlem Shadows (1922)
* "Flame-Heart", published in The Book of American Negro Poetry (1922)
* "Flame-heart", published in Caroling Dusk (1927)
# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Flame-Heart

FLAME-HEART
Layout 2
# Harlem Shadows/Flame-Heart

Layout 2
So much have I forgotten in ten years, So much in ten brief years! I have forgot What time the purple apples come to juice, And what month brings the shy forget-me-not. I have forgot the special, startling season Of the pimento's flowering and fruiting; What time of year the ground doves brown the fields And fill the noonday with their curious fluting. I have forgotten much, but still remember The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
I still recall the honey-fever grass, But cannot recollect the high days when We rooted them out of the ping-wing path To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen. I often try to think in what sweet month The languid painted ladies used to dapple The yellow by-road mazing from the main, Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple. I have forgotten—strange—but quite remember The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December. ​What weeks, what months, what time of the mild year We cheated school to have our fling at tops? What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy Feasting upon blackberries in the copse? Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days, Even the sacred moments when we played, All innocent of passion, uncorrupt, At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade. We were so happy, happy, I remember, Beneath the poinsettia's red in warm December.
# Spring in New Hampshire/Flame-Heart

Flame-Heart
So much have I forgotten in ten years, So much in ten brief years; I have forgot What time the purple apples come to juice And what month brings the shy forget-me-not; Forgotten is the special, startling season Of some beloved tree's flowering and fruiting, What time of year the ground doves brown the fields And fill the noonday with their curious fluting: I have forgotten much, but still remember The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
I still recall the honey-fever grass, But I cannot bring back to mind just when We rooted them out of the ping-wing path To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen. I often try to think in what sweet month The languid painted ladies used to dapple The yellow bye road mazing from the main, Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple: I have forgotten, strange, but quite remember The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
What weeks, what months, what time o' the mild year We cheated school to have our fling at tops? What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy Feasting upon blackberries in the copse? Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days, Even the sacred moments, when we played, All innocent of passion uncorrupt, At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade: We were so happy, happy,—I remember Beneath the poinsettia's red in warm December.
# My Dear Pranav/Letters

Letters (not listed in original)
* Letter 1
* Letter 2
* Letter 3
* Letter 4
* Letter 5
* Letter 6
* Letter 7
* Letter 8
* Letter 9
* Letter 10
* Letter 11
* Letter 12
* Letter 13
* Letter 14
* Letter 15
* Letter 16
* Letter 17
* Letter 18
* Letter 19
* Letter 20
* Letter 21
* Letter 22
* Letter 23
* Letter 24
* Letter 25
* Letter 26
* Letter 27
* Letter 28
* Letter 29
* Letter 30
* Letter 31
* Letter 32
* Letter 33
* Letter 34
* Letter 35
* Letter 36
* Letter 37
* Letter 38
* Letter 39
* Letter 40
* Letter 41
* Letter 42
* Letter 43
* Letter 44
* Letter 45
* Letter 46
* Letter 47
* Letter 48
* Letter 49
* Letter 50
* Letter 51
# Caroling Dusk/The Wild Goat

THE WILD GOAT
# The Wild Goat

* "The Wild Goat", published in Harlem Shadows (1922)
* "The Wild Goat", published in Caroling Dusk (1927)
# Harlem Shadows/The Wild Goat

Layout 2
O you would clothe me in silken frocks And house me from the cold, And bind with bright bands my glossy locks, And buy me chains of gold;
And give me—meekly to do my will— The hapless sons of men:— But the wild goat bounding on the barren hill Droops in the grassy pen.
# Advaiti Management

Preface
Those who don't learn from history are condemned to repeat it, observed a great thinker. One may add, :those who don'tshare possible lessons from their own experiences, tend to do the same.
Few executives, till recently, chose to pen down their experiences, so that others may gain prospectively. Dr.Godbole is one of them.
Even among such writers, Godbole is unique. He is unique because, the hall mark of his writing style is to give an Indian touch and couch Sanskrit terms to make a point.
The book is autobiographical and still not autobiographical.Even the autobiographical part isabout events that are not 'self flattering'. Godbole reflectson the many events in his working life, rather than merely recording them. It is introspective and also prompts the reader to introspect vis a vis their working environment.
Each chapter or adhyay, as Godbole calls it, makes a lasting point.
Professionals willwelcome the pointers for being a thoughtful, reflecting executive, in today's environment.
I heartily commend this book.
N.H.Atthreya
Dedicated to the most influential First teacher I had in the field of people management:
my —Aai, the late Annapurna Narayan Godbolé
Adwaiti Management copyright ©Dr. L. N. Godbolé 2013
I gave you go-ahead but These lines are necessary
Chapters (not listed in original)
* Introduction
* Adhyaya 1
* Adhyaya 2
* Adhyaya 3
* Adhyaya 4
* Adhyaya 5
* Adhyay 6
* Adhyay 7
* Adhyay 8
* Adhyay 9
* Adhyay 10
* Adhyay 11
* Adhyay 12
* Adhyay 13
* Adhyay 14
* Adhyay 15
* Adhyay 16
* Adhyay 17
* Adhyay 18
This work is free and may be used by anyone for any purpose. If you wish to use this content, you do not need to request permission as long as you follow any licensing requirements mentioned on this page.
Wikimedia has received an e-mail confirming that the copyright holder has approved publication under the terms mentioned on this page. This correspondence has been reviewed by an OTRS member and stored in our permission archive. The correspondence is available to trusted volunteers here.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International license, which allows free use, distribution, and creation of derivatives, so long as the license is unchanged and clearly noted, and the original author is attributed—and if you alter, transform, or build upon this work, you may distribute the resulting work only under the same license as this one.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Caroling Dusk/Russian Cathedral

RUSSIAN CATHEDRAL
# My Dear Pranav

MY DEAR PRANAV
An Introduction to the Thoughts of Vinoba
MY DEAR PRANAV
An Introduction to the Thoughts of Vinoba
L.N. GODBOLE
Forword by
USHA CHANDRASEKHAR
The Indian Centre for Encouraging Excellence
​Copyright ©: L.N. Godbole, 1994
Cover design: Manoj Pal
Released on 22 May 1994, the day Pranav was formally inducted to Life Spiritual through the Sacrament of Upanayanam at Sringeri Hills.
Printed in India Published by N.H. Atthreya Hon. Director of Indian Centre for Encouraging Excellence, Court Chambers, III Floor Bombay 400 020 & Printed at St Paul Press Training School Bandra, Bombay 400 050. 1994
Contents
This work is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International license, which allows free use, distribution, and creation of derivatives, so long as the license is unchanged and clearly noted, and the original author is attributed—and if you alter, transform, or build upon this work, you may distribute the resulting work only under the same license as this one.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/Death of the Great Beaver

Layout 2
DEATH OF THE GREAT BEAVER
NORTHEAST of Fort Reliance, at the upper extension of Great Slave Lake, are two mounds known as Beaver's Lodge and Muskrat's Lodge. These, the Indians say, were inhabited ​by huge animals that have no likeness on earth in our time. The beaver, who was as large as an ox, had done such harm among the villages, with occasional help in mischief from his friend the Rat, that the red people swore to endure it no longer; so, giving over all other business, they set off in a resolve to do him to death. He was hiding in his mound when they came upon him, and they sent a volley of arrows through a rift in the rock that pricked him in a hundred places. This frightened him badly. He went down into the river by a hole in the earth that had an opening under its waters. Crossing without coming to the surface, he took refuge in the home of his old partner the Rat, who, seeing his plight, refused the shelter of his lodge, for he was willing to keep out of conflicts with the destructive creatures that occupied the skin houses on the shore. In wrath at this reception the Beaver pulled his recalcitrant friend into the water and belabored him so soundly that the Indians saw the disturbance and hastily rowed to the scene of it. The Beaver dived under their fleet and reached the lake without drawing breath, but his hunters kept sight of him in the clear water, and as he emerged they filled his hide with darts and spears, and a running attack was kept up all the way through the narrows until he was killed. When the Indians returned, the Aheldezza, which had been a gentle stream, had become a fierce torrent, broken by falls and rapids impossible ​to ascend except by portages, and they had no sooner reached the Beaver's house than they were swallowed by a whirlpool. This account is thought by one explorer to figure the history of a great natural convulsion, such as the breaking down of the hill dam that formerly kept Great Slave Lake at a level with Lakes Artillery, Aylmer, and Clinton-Golden.
# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/Why the Mountains Were Made

Layout 2
WHY THE MOUNTAINS WERE MADE
WISUKATCAK, in the Cree myths, is a demi-god, like Old Man of the Blackfeet. He lived on the plains with his father and mother, who often quarrelled, and he had a little brother. In one of the domestic wrangles the father went wild with temper and cut off the mother's head. Filled with apprehension rather than with grief, the murderer said to Wisukatcak, "Take your brother with you, and go away as fast as you can. If your mother's head follows you, keep it off, for it will try to harm you. Here is a flint, here a fire steel, and here an awl. If you see the head, throw first the fint, then the steel, then the awl, and repeat this word," And he revealed to him a magic word of great power.
The children trudged away toward the west. Soon they heard a rustling in the sage, and saw their mother's head rolling swiftly over the ground, and as it came near they could hear it calling to her ​children. The elder boy repeated the magic word and threw the flint behind him. "Let a wall of rock rise up across the earth," he cried. And instantly the earth heaved and vast mountains swelled from the plain to the sky, with the children on the western slope. These were the Rocky Mountains. It was a long time before the head could scale this range, but it did so at last, and went rolling toward the sunset as an antelope would gallop. The boys saw their danger again, and the elder, repeating the magic word, threw the steel behind him, and commanded, "Let a fire rise up and stretch across the earth." And with appalling reports the craters of Shasta, Tacoma, Hood, Baker, and the rest opened along the coast, and shot their ashes and lava to the zenith. This checked the progress of the head for an hour, and it was scorched and blistered, but it kept on presently, through the showers and streams of molten rock, so that it was soon at the heels of the boys again, calling as before. Wisukatcak threw the awl behind him, repeating the magic word, and ordered that a hedge of thorns should spring up to reach across the earth. It did so, and has since spread, so that we have the cactus with us at this day. Even this barrier the head broke through, and went rolling after the children. Arrived now at a large river, probably the Columbia, they saw a pelican in the water, and Wisukatcak hailed him, "Grandfather, take us to the other side, for our mother is chasing us to kill us." The pelican took them ​over. Then came the head, demanding the same service. "I am going after my children," it said. "Carry me over, too, and you shall have me for a wife." The pelican did not exhibit any enthusiasm over this proposition, but after some urging he stooped at the shore and allowed the head to roll upon his shoulders, and, with a caution to it to remain still, he arose, slowly, to a great height. When poised over the middle of the river, where some sharp rocks jutted above the surface, he threw off his burden with a sudden lurch, and the head, falling on the rocks, was smashed into pieces. The brains are the masses of foam that float on the surface of the water in times of freshet.
# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/The Place of Dead Men

Layout 2
THE PLACE OF DEAD MEN
ON a small affluent of the upper Assiniboin is a pleasant plain with an unpleasant memory, the place of the two dead men. Here a quarrel occurred between two brothers that ended in a tragedy, one of them drawing a knife and slaying the other. Fratricide was held in such abhorrence by their tribe that with one accord the spectators fell upon the murderer and killed him, burying him beside his victim. From that time no Indian camped upon the place, for the dead men kept their peppery tempers and would greatly disturb the traveller who stopped near their graves.
The lad John Tanner, who was stolen from his ​home on the Kentucky River in the early part of this century and taken to Canada, adopted the Indian mode of life, took an Indian wife, and became a hunter. While camped near this haunted spot he heard its story, and resolved to show a better courage than the braves, by spending a night there. He pushed his canoe to the shore, ate his supper, and rolled himself in his buffalo-skin to sleep; but soon two dead men walked out of the darkness and squatted by his fire. They spoke no word, they did not move; they looked steadily at him out of their round, fishy eyes until he could endure it no longer and sat up; whereupon the watchers vanished. Presently he fell asleep, and the dead ones returned in his dreams, but now they not only stared, they gibed at him and poked him with sticks. He tried to resist, to rise, to cry out, but in vain. One of them told him after a time that he would see a horse fettered at the top of a low hill that stood near, adding, "There, my brother, is a horse which I give you to ride to-morrow. And as you pass here on your way home you can call and leave the horse and spend another night with us."
The day, which had never before seemed so long in coming, broke at last, and the dead ones were seen no more. Tanner arose as soon as it was light enough to go on, drew his canoe among the bushes, in perfect confidence that the promise was to be kept, ascended the little hill, and found the horse, ​which he mounted and rode to a trading-station not many miles away. But he never could prevail on himself to return to the place of the two dead men, and his people had a worse fear of it than ever.
# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/How the Indians Became Red

Layout 2
HOW THE INDIANS BECAME RED
THE Okanagans—who once figured in an unofficial publication of the O'Kanaghans—believe in Skyappe and Chacha, the good and bad spirits who are constantly moving through the air, watching all men, and they also tell of a heroine, one Scomalt, who was great and strong and ruled the island where the first men lived. This was long, long ago, when the sun was so young that it was only as large as a star, and there was very little earth to live on. This island was far in the east, and was settled by white giants. War arose among them, and the noise and slaughter so exasperated Scomalt, their queen, that she drove the rebels to the end of the island, broke it off, and pushed it out to sea. This fragment, with its inhabitants, now too busy worrying to fight, drifted for many days, and was so swept by storm and so lacking in food that one by one the people died, all but a man and his wife, who deserted the derelict, for it was water-logged and sinking, and paddled day and night in their canoe until they came to America,—then an island fringed with rocks,—and landed on ​what is now the territory of the Okanagans. From them came all the people of the western world. But, alas! they were no longer white. After their days of exposure to the sun they had been burned red from head to foot. Here the descendants of this pair shall dwell until the lakes and ever-flowing rivers deep beneath us shall melt the foundations of the world and it will float away again, that time to ruin.