There are minds to whom numbers feel like weight—symbols to be endured and then forgotten. And then there are minds to whom every number carries a quiet radiance. To such a mind, nothing is trivial; even an ordinary number can unfold into wonder.
The Taxi Number 1729
In 1918, when G H Hardy visited the ailing Srinivasa Ramanujan, he mentioned, almost casually, that the taxi he came in bore the number 1729 — a rather dull number. Ramanujan, with instinctive clarity, disagreed. No, it was deeply interesting: the smallest number that can be expressed as the sum of two cubes in two different ways — 1729 = 1³ + 12³ = 9³ + 10³. What seemed dull to one mind revealed symmetry to another. Perhaps that is the nature of numbers; they do not announce their beauty; they wait to be seen.
Myths About Mathematics
And yet, many do not like maths. One popular myth claims that Alfred Nobel excluded mathematics from his prestigious prize list because he did not like it. The story goes further that it was due to his personal dislike for mathematician Magnus Gustav, rumoured to be his lover’s husband. Nobel was never married. However, the myth does not hold; there were other prizes already instituted for mathematics.
Mathematical Structure in Thirukkural
When one dwells on the Thirukkural, a different kind of mathematical beauty begins to emerge — in numbers. One starts to notice the precision, the order and the mathematical temperament in the construction of each couplet.
Conditional Statements in Kural
Most of us, at some point in school, have encountered ‘conditional statements’: (p → q) — if p is true, then q must be true. A simple example: if a number is divisible by 6, then it is divisible by 3. It is a familiar structure, used in proofs, quietly shaping our understanding of logic. That same structure appears, with striking consistency, in many couplets in the Kural. Take Kural 205: Ilanendru Theeyavai Seyyarka; Seyyin Ilanaagum Matrum Peyarthu “Do not do evil deeds because you are poor. If done, it will invite further impoverishment”. The first line sets up the premise (p); the second delivers the consequence (q). It reads almost like a lived theorem: (p → q). Across the text, one encounters many such couplets — each a compact expression of cause and effect, where life itself is arranged with logical clarity.
Sequencing Theory
Beyond individual verses lies another layer of mathematical elegance — what one may call a quiet “sequencing theory.” The chapters unfold not randomly, but with deliberate progression. “Kalvi” (learning) is followed by “Kallaamai” (ignorance), then “Kelvi” (listening), and then “Arivudaimai” (wisdom). It feels like a structured ascent: to learn, to avoid ignorance, to listen, and to arrive at wisdom. The order is not incidental; it is instructive.
Precision in Structure
Not to mention the intact mathematical precision in the structure of the couplets: seven words, ten couplets per chapter, three parts, 133 chapters, 1,330 couplets. It is this terse structure that has ensured that the Thirukkural is one of the rare literary works where people have not ‘inserted’ their own lines of poetry.
Valluvar and Ancient Mathematicians
I have always wondered how several ancient mathematicians were philosophers as well: Pythagoras, Archimedes, Aryabhata and Brahmagupta. Valluvar also gilds this lineage of scholars who interspersed mathematics as a tool for searching the truths of the cosmos. But he went one step ahead. He also wove all of these in the fine labyrinth of poetry. We are truly gifted to read Thirukkural's way of enduring truth: that beneath the seeming randomness of the world lies a pattern — precise, elegant, and purely mathematical.
