Samudra Manthana: Churning the Ocean Within: Remapping the Boundaries ofEducation through the Lens of Indian Knowledge Systems

I have often wondered about the stories we inherit from our past. As a learner and

teacher, I have asked myself: Why do our Purāṇic stories continue to matter today?

How can a story of devas, asuras, mountains, serpents and oceans speak to the

contemporary human being?

One story particularly stayed with me: Samudra Manthana-the churning of the Ocean

of Milk.

I would wonder: How could devas and asuras possibly churn an ocean using a

mountain and a serpent as a rope? And beyond the literal story, what does this have to

do with human life, with my students, or with education?

It was through the lens of Indian Knowledge Systems (IKS) that I began to look at

these questions differently. IKS offers not merely a collection of ancient texts and

traditions, but a way of engaging with knowledge—as something to be experienced,

questioned, reflected upon and lived. Our narratives can therefore become more than

stories from the past; they can become mirrors through which we examine the present.

Here, I take one example from the vast treasury of the Purāṇas that forms part of the

intellectual and cultural heritage of Bhārat.

Samudra Manthana.

And, unexpectedly, I found my answer not by trying to explain how an ocean could

literally be churned with a serpent, but by turning inward to Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtras.

When the Ocean Becomes the Mind

The familiar story tells us that the devas and asuras come together to churn the Ocean

of Milk. Mount Mandara serves as the churning rod and Vāsuki, the serpent, as the

rope, while Viṣṇu supports the process in his Kūrma form.

Yet the churning does not immediately produce nectar. The first great emergence is

Hālāhala the deadly poison.

This detail made the story profoundly relatable.

What if the ocean is the human mind?

Patañjali defines yoga as citta-vṛtti-nirodhaḥ (I.2), the settling of the fluctuations of

the mind. But when we begin to look within, stillness is rarely the first thing we

encounter. We may encounter anger, fear, jealousy, attachment, insecurity or

confusion. But before the nectar, there is poison.

This becomes an important metaphor for learning as well. Genuine inquiry can disrupt

what we think we know. A new idea may challenge an old belief; an unfamiliar

perspective may expose the limitations of our own.

Learning, therefore, is not always comfortable, and perhaps it should not always be.

Then comes Śiva.

When the Hālāhala threatens the entire creation, Śiva contains the poison. He neither

denies it nor allows it to destroy the world.

For me, this image resonates with vairāgya, the yogic principle of dispassion.

Vairāgya is not emotional indifference. It is the ability to encounter thoughts,

emotions and desires without becoming completely governed by them.

This has a powerful implication for education.

A learner will encounter failure, uncertainty, disagreement and frustration. Education

cannot prevent these experiences, but it can help develop the inner resources to

respond to them thoughtfully.

Perhaps education needs to cultivate not only what we know, but also how we hold

what we experience.

The Discipline of Practice

The nectar does not appear instantly. The process demands sustained effort. This

recalls abhyāsa, Patañjali’s principle of persistent practice.

In Yoga Sūtra I.14, Patañjali emphasises that practice becomes firmly established

when pursued over a long period, continuously and with dedication.

This principle feels especially relevant in an age of instant information and rapid

results. We can access an answer within seconds, but that does not mean we have

understood it. Information can be acquired quickly; understanding requires

engagement.

Education must therefore leave room for patience, repetition, reflection and depth.

Learning Across Differences

The devas and asuras present another intriguing dimension. They do not share the

same nature or motivations, yet they participate in a common endeavour.

This offers a compelling metaphor for education today. The questions confronting

humanity, artificial intelligence, sustainability, climate change, ethics and human well-

being cannot be contained within one discipline or one way of knowing.

They call for dialogue among scientists and philosophers, technologists and educators,

artists and researchers, traditional knowledge holders and contemporary thinkers.

Difference, therefore, need not be a barrier to learning. It can become a source of it.

Remapping educational boundaries may mean creating spaces where different

intellectual traditions and perspectives can encounter one another without requiring

them to become identical.

What Are We Seeking?

The story also raises a question that education cannot avoid: What are we seeking

through learning?

The devas and asuras seek amṛta, the nectar of immortality, but their motivations are

not entirely the same. The story therefore reminds us that the pursuit of knowledge is

shaped by the intentions behind it.

Is education primarily a route to marks, degrees, employment, recognition and status?

Or can it also cultivate reflective, ethical and responsible human beings?

The yogic principle of īśvarapraṇidhāna, surrendering one's actions to Īśvara, offers a

different orientation. It invites us to look beyond individual achievement towards a

larger purpose.

Perhaps education should move from asking only: “What can I achieve through what I

know?” to also asking: “What can I contribute through what I know?”

From Ancient Story to Contemporary Insight

I began with a seemingly simple question: How can a story about devas, asuras, a

mountain and a serpent be relevant to contemporary human life?

The Yoga Sūtras offered me a way to see it.

 The ocean can be the mind.

 The churning can be inquiry.

The poison can be the discomfort that accompanies self-examination.

Śiva can represent the capacity to hold difficulty without being overwhelmed

by it.

Abhyāsa can remind us of the discipline required for sustained learning.

Vairāgya can help us develop perspective.

And amṛta can represent the deeper insight that emerges when experience is

transformed through reflection.

Perhaps this is one of the strengths of Indian Knowledge Systems: they allow us to

approach an ancient narrative not merely by asking, “Did this happen?”, but by

asking, “What does this story reveal about human experience?”

That question changes the way we learn.

Remapping the Boundaries

To remap the boundaries of education is not simply to add new technologies, subjects

or pedagogies. It is to reconsider what we recognise as knowledge and how we engage

with it.

It means bringing ancient and contemporary perspectives into dialogue. It means

connecting intellectual inquiry with lived experience. And it means recognising that

education can transform not only what we know, but how we see—the world, others

and ourselves.

The ocean of Samudra Manthana is vast. So is the human mind.

Perhaps the story offers a timeless insight: the nectar is not found by remaining on the

surface. We have to enter the depths, confront what emerges, and continue the work of

understanding.

Maybe that is education at its deepest, a lifelong journey from information, through

experience and reflection, towards wisdom.