'The Moving of Mountains': Story of Agastya’s dream school

Manash Jyoti Saikia

Adhirath Sethi’s The Moving of Mountains is a rare book—one that doesn’t need to shout to be heard. It avoids drama and self-congratulation, choosing instead a soft, deliberate pace to tell the story of the Agastya International Foundation, an education movement rooted in rural India. Like the quiet wind that drifts through its Kuppam campus, the book’s strength lies in its stillness, its ability to evoke, not announce. You don’t open this book expecting a revolution, and that’s precisely its charm. It doesn't sell you a grand vision upfront. Instead, it gently escorts you through the journey of Agastya’s founding—less a manifesto, more a memory. The prose feels like a slow train ride past a rural landscape: trees blurring, children playing, conversations half-heard but deeply felt. Sethi invites readers into the campus—not with statistics or sweeping declarations, but with texture. You see the classrooms, feel the uneven paths, and sense the spirit of the place. There’s a cinematic quality to the descriptions: a bowler mid-action, students beneath tamarind trees, a mural unfolding in motion. The foundation emerges not just as an institution, but as a living, breathing ecosystem. The narrative soon moves from space to people. In stark black pages interspersed through the text, we are introduced to the minds behind the movement. These aren’t lofty heroes but grounded thinkers, full of reflection and uncertainty. Their journey isn’t romanticised. The early days are full of missed chances, skeptical teachers, and uphill battles. A standout line captures this perfectly: “...this allegedly disinterested group turned their own beliefs about what constituted an invigorating classroom session on its head.” At its core, The Moving of Mountains isn’t just about founding a school—it’s about nurturing a mindset. “Agastya’s dream school” becomes more than an idea; it’s a call to rethink how we approach learning, especially in under-resourced communities. The book underscores that building something enduring doesn’t require flamboyant resources but clarity of purpose and quiet persistence. Sethi doesn’t shy away from the difficulties. A forgotten mining town, local opposition, even run-ins with smugglers—all are shared without embellishment. What carries the story forward is a deep belief in possibility. Progress isn’t flashy—it’s built on stubborn hope, thoughtful partnerships, and lessons learned from failure. Memorable quotes rise naturally from the narrative, like: “...the period of constructive laziness became one of the most intellectually fertile periods of my life.” These aren’t slogans—they’re reflections of what it truly takes to build something meaningful. As the book progresses, the scope expands. Connections with institutions like DRDO, IISc, NCBS, HBCSE, and the JN Tata Auditorium reflect the depth of engagement. In chapters like “The Big Bull,” influence is shown not as power for its own sake, but as a tool for public purpose. Yet, for all the institutional weight, what lingers is the humanity. A small group of passionate, untested individuals walked into rural India and built something revolutionary—not through noise, but through conviction. The Moving of Mountains leaves you with a quiet, unsettling question: if this was possible in a forgotten town, what’s stopping more such dreams from taking root?