BACK again to the banks of the Kaveri to drink forever the gold-dust in the rolling river. Such is the Renaissance cry in the Tamil land. Arid Madras will give place to a garden city on the river bank, where life is simple, scattered and free and men sing like birds on the tree. Dear Mr. N. Panchanatham, will you join us in building a New Temple of Life for the East and the West, in the Golden Isle between the river and the sea? For I know none else who shapes the clay so well and fine. But you hide your virtue within as the cassia does its scent.