Late Professor Divakaran was a tireless chronicler of Kerala’s mathematical legacy. Handout photo
Europe’s centuries after Rome’s collapse are often described as the “Dark Ages.” Cities shrank, trade slowed, and learning retreated into monasteries. But while the West stumbled, the East shone. Baghdad became a global hub of scholarship, China pioneered printing and paper money, and India’s great universities like Nalanda drew students from across Asia.
Yet, thanks to the West’s political, economic, military, cultural and epistemological hegemony since the colonial era, the non-Western roots of many disciplines remained buried until recently.
Kerala, too, was not a bystander to this Great Eastern efflorescence. From as early as the 8th century, its bustling entrepots linked the spice gardens of the Western Ghats to Baghdad, Cairo and Canton. Arab dhows carried pepper, cardamom and cinnamon westwards, alongside new ideas, texts and faith practices. Kerala’s shores were not just trading posts but gateways of cultural exchange.
These were genuine achievements – documented, tangible, transformative. India gave the world the concept of zero, the decimal system, and breakthroughs in astronomy and medicine. Kerala added its own luminous chapter through the Kerala School of Mathematics between the 14th and 16th centuries, whose mathematicians and astronomers came from villages around the Bharathappuzha, also known as the Nila river.
Ahead of Newton: At its heart was Madhava of Sangamagrama and his successors, who anticipated the principles of modern calculus centuries before Newton and Leibniz. They devised infinite series expansions for trigonometric functions and refined astronomical models. Madhava’s descendants and disciples – Parameshvara, Nilakantha Somayaji and Jyeshtadeva – extended this tradition, producing classics like the Tantrasamgraha and the Yuktibhasa. The latter, penned in Medieval Malayalam, was arguably the world’s first comprehensive treatise on calculus.
Yet how do we honour such a past today? Instead of celebrating this verifiable brilliance, public discourse is too often cluttered with claims that ancient Indians flew aircraft, cloned humans or performed plastic surgery on Ganesha. Such myth-making trivialises the real legacies of Indian science and makes it harder to defend genuine achievements in a world that expects evidence.
The irony is sharp. When the West was fumbling in darkness, Asia – and Kerala at its maritime and intellectual crossroads – wasproducing innovations that changed world civilisation. To honour that, we don’t need fantasy. What India and Kerala truly gave the world – zero, calculus, astronomy, Ayurveda and global trade – are achievements far more luminous than any imagined flying machine.
Real Hero: And there is a homegrown irony as well. Even as we brag jingoistically about false claims, we are either ignorant of our authentic achievements or fail to honour those who preserve them. One such unsung hero was Professor PP Divakaran (1936–2025), who passed away quietly this August, spending his final days alone in a home for the aged near Perumbavoor – largely unnoticed by an era that prefers noise over knowledge. The Thalassery-born physicist had documented Kerala’s brilliant mathematical tradition in his magisterial work Mathematics of India: Concepts, Methods, Connections (1998).
Divakaran, who earned his doctorate in quantum physics from the University of Chicago, devoted much of his later life to reminding us that Kerala has long been a land of mathematics – not just the arithmetic of trade, but the high abstractions that changed how the world thinks.
His career included a long stint at Mumbai’s Tata Institute of Fundamental Research (TIFR). In 2022-23, he received the Kairali Global Lifetime Achievement Award – the only recognition from his home state – instituted by the Kerala government to honour lifelong contributions to research.
Pioneering Work: Divakaran’s interest in the extraordinary legacy of Kerala mathematicians was sparked after a chance meeting in Chennai with the Sanskrit scholar and science historian KV Sarma, who introduced him to Jyeshtadeva’s Yuktibhasa.
Sarma, too, deserves more attention in this context. After graduating in chemistry and physics from Thiruvananthapuram’s University College (then Maharaja’s College of Sciences) in 1940, he completed a master’s in Sanskrit at Kerala University.
In 1944, he began his work with palm-leaf manuscripts at the Oriental Research Institute and Manuscripts Library, where he developed his specialities in manuscriptology and textual criticism. Subsequently, in 1951, Sarma moved to Chennai to work as a research assistant in the Sanskrit department of the University of Madras.
Divakaran argued that Madhava’s village, Sangamagrama, was Kudallur in Palakkad district, contrary to the general assumption that it was near Irinjalakkuda in Thrissur. Madhava was a Tulu Brahmin, and his house – which he referred to as Bakuladhisthitavihara – was the Sanskrit term for Elanjippalli.
Legacy Continues: Kerala has every reason to take pride in this history, but that pride has been sustained by the devoted work of those building a data bank for the future. The surviving manuscripts of the Kerala School, scattered across libraries and institutes in India, need to be preserved, studied and translated. Without such work, they remain fragile relics – inaccessible to most, and vulnerable to decay.
Encouragingly, there are scholars who are not waiting for visionary leadership or institutional grants to carry this work forward. A group of mathematicians, led by SA Sarma, nephew of the late KV Sarma, has been painstakingly tracing Kerala’s mathematical legacy, digging into manuscripts and texts on their own initiative.
Sooraj Nedumudi, who teaches at Srikrishna College, Guruvayur, is one of them. He completed his PhD in the subject in 2009, with a focus on KV Sarma’s contributions.
He says the group has been scouring materials across India, often spending years to produce comprehensive studies. The ancient texts are in old Malayalam, infused with Tamil words, and only a handful of people can translate them into contemporary language.“The work could take a long time, and the research is difficult as it requires deep knowledge of philosophy, mathematics and Sanskrit. So, there is an understandable lack of interest among youngsters in such fundamental research, as most see research merely as a stepping stone to a job,” he says.
Need the Walk: Given this scenario, more resources and support from both government and the private sector are needed to unearth and document the work of Kerala mathematicians from the 12th to the 18th century.
There is a practical urgency too, as Kerala often speaks of wanting a knowledge-based economy, of building leadership in artificial intelligence, clean energy and biotechnology. But such an economy cannot be built on slogans alone. It requires habits of curiosity, patience and rigour.
These habits are cultivated not only in cutting-edge laboratories but also in the slow, careful work of scholarship – the kind Divakaran championed. Researching manuscripts, reconstructing lost methods, debating interpretations – these may seem far removed from today’s tech buzzwords, but they train minds to think deeply and critically. That is exactly the sort of training a knowledge economy depends on.
There is also the question of identity. For too long, India’s contribution to mathematics has been framed as a side note to a Western story. Divakaran’s work challenged this by insisting that what was achieved in Kerala was not derivative but original and world-class.
Seeds of Innovation: For young people growing up today, knowing that their forebears once explored infinity and devised series expansions is not a trivial matter. It builds confidence. It tells them that asking hard questions and daring to solve them is part of their inheritance. That sense of continuity can be as powerful a driver of innovation as infrastructure or capital.
To mould such an environment, the state must take up a well-planned endeavour. Manuscripts should be digitised and made widely available. A digital museum of Kerala mathematics could showcase both the great breakthroughs and the everyday techniques, making them accessible to students and the wider public.
Interdisciplinary teams of mathematicians, historians and linguists should be supported to take this work forward. These are modest investments compared to what is spent on conclaves that trumpet more statistics than concrete achievements – but their impact would be long-lasting.
Kerala’s Treasure: Divakaran’s passing is a reminder that this work cannot be postponed indefinitely. If the manuscripts decay and the traditions fade, we will not just lose pieces of our past – we will erase a chapter of human thought that belongs to Kerala and to the world.
The state now has a choice. It can continue to speak the language of technology while neglecting the scholarship that sustains a true knowledge culture. Or it can take Divakaran’s cue and act with urgency – digitising, preserving and celebrating this heritage before it slips beyond reach.
Kerala once taught the world how to think about infinity. Its future depends on not forgetting that gift, honouring it and daring to build upon it.
[Hari Kumar also contributed to this article.]
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