Our Seva

Every great journey begins somewhere. For TadEkam, it began in Kotturu. When Hon'ble Chief Minister Shri Nara Chandrababu Naidu launched the Smart Village program, Guruji's inner compass pointed towards Kotturu — as it always did — without explanation, without hesitation. Kotturu, a village of 2,000 souls and 510 households in Macherla Mandal, became TadEkam's very first sewa project. The first step on a long, sacred road.

But before schools could be repaired or lights installed, there was a more ancient and desperate need. Water. Kotturu was thirsty — forty borewells had run dry, and the village was slowly being hollowed out by scarcity. TadEkam deepened the old 'Lakshmi Narasimha Swamy Kunta' pond and built recharge pits around it. Then Mahavatar Babaji and our Universe sent rains. Quietly, almost miraculously, forty borewells that had long given up — woke up. A pond was deepened. A village was saved. And TadEkam's journey had truly begun.

In Kotturu, many women had spent their lives waiting — for permission, for opportunity, for someone to simply believe that their hands were capable of more than they had been allowed to do.

TadEkam believed it.

Five sewing machines arrived. Smt. Nagamani came to teach. And twenty women — some hesitant, some quietly desperate, all of them deserving — sat down and began to learn. Stitch by stitch, something shifted. Not just in the fabric under their fingers, but inside themselves.

For the first time, they had something that was entirely their own — a skill, an income, and the quiet, unshakeable dignity that comes from knowing you can provide. Households breathed a little easier. Heads lifted a little higher.

Twenty women. Five machines. And a future that no longer depended on waiting.

In Kotturu, a girl's education often ended quietly — not with a decision, but with a distance.

TadEkam could not accept that.

Twenty-three bicycles were gifted so that no girl would stop coming to school simply because the road was too long. For every girl who crossed Class 8 and dared to keep studying, ₹1,000 was placed in her hands each month — a steady message that her dream was worth protecting. Boys received ₹500 too — because the future belongs to all children equally.

No girl in Kotturu would be married off simply because the road was too long or the money too scarce. Not if TadEkam could help it.

When TadEkam first walked into Kotturu's school, children were sitting on the bare floor. There were no computers. No clean water. No washrooms. Just four walls holding together the frail hope that education, somehow, would still find its way in.

TadEkam simply refused to let that hope die.

Benches and tables arrived, so no child would learn hunched over cold earth. Computers came, opening windows to a world these children had only heard existed. Clean RO water flowed, so thirst would never again be a reason to leave early. Washrooms were built — because dignity is not a luxury, it is the foundation of every child's right to learn. And uniforms were given, so that every child who walked through that gate would feel, perhaps for the first time, that they truly belonged there.

The school did not just get repaired. It got its soul back.

In Kotturu, forty weavers sat in crumbling sheds, their hands still moving, their looms still turning — but the light was poor, the tools worn, and the walls barely standing. They had not given up on their craft. Their craft had simply never been given a fair chance.

Guruji saw that. And quietly, without fanfare, he made it right.

Work-sheds were repaired. Essential equipment arrived. Raw materials that had been out of reach were placed in their hands. And light — proper light — was brought in, so that the work of these weavers could finally be seen for what it truly was: skill, patience, and a living tradition that deserved to survive.

Forty families. One simple act of faith in their dignity. That is the TadEkam way.

Not far from Kotturu, where the waters of Ethipothala fall in a curtain of white mist, Guruji felt something that maps cannot record and words can only gesture toward — the lingering presence of rishis who had sat in deep tapas at this very spot in ages long past.

The earth remembers what history forgets.

And so, on every visit to Kotturu, Guruji would come here and sit in stillness — not as a tourist, not as an observer, but as a sadhak answering an ancient call. In his meditation, centuries collapsed. The rishis of another time and a spiritual guide of this one, breathing the same sacred air, touching the same eternal silence.

Sewa without Sadhana is incomplete. Guruji never forgot that. Even in the midst of building schools and repairing roads, he would return to this waterfall — and remember where all true service begins.