A little over a thousand years ago, in the bustling marketplace town of Srīmal (today’s Bhinmal in Rajasthan), Nemicandra Sūri wove together the forty-eight fundamental dravyas of Jain metaphysics into a compact manual. Dated to Vikram Samvat 1039 (982 CE), this slim volume—just fifty-eight verses—arrived when northern India was a patchwork of regional kingdoms and trade routes sparkled with merchants from distant lands.

Srīmal, under the sway of the Gurjara-Pratihāra rulers, was a crossroads where ideas and faiths mingled freely. Jain monastics and lay scholars gathered in vibrant curious circles, much like today’s academic conferences in Bangalore or Mumbai, eager to debate soul, substance, and salvation. In that heady cultural ferment, Nemicandra distilled centuries of teachings into a guide both concise and profound—so much so that it’s still chanted in temple courtyards, even as smartphone dings punctuate modern ritual.

This was also the era when the first wood-block prints were appearing in China and the Bhakti tide was gathering strength just to the south. While new devotional songs glorified Shiva or Vishnu, Dravyasamgraha quietly laid down principles that would anchor Jain philosophy through waves of political change—from Sultanate courts to the Mughal zenith and beyond.

Today, as scholars pore over digital manuscripts and seekers stream lectures online, that slim 10th-century text remains a testament to the power of clarity. In less than sixty lines, it offers a roadmap to eternal truths, proving that sometimes, less really is more.