The Puranas read like a vast tapestry where myth, legend and cultural memory intertwine, rather than a straightforward chronicle of events. On one hand, they preserve genealogies of kings, descriptions of ancient cities and snippets of social customs—elements that tempt readers to peg them as quasi-historical sources. On the other, tales of gods morphing into boars, cosmic oceans of milk and world-destroying avatars clearly sit in the realm of the mythic.

Scholars generally agree that these texts—penned and compiled between roughly 300 CE and 1000 CE—served multiple purposes. They functioned as encyclopedias of yore, covering everything from temple rituals and tantric practices to temple architecture and local folklore. In an age without Instagram reels or Twitter threads, they were the go-to “content creators,” packaging dharma, cosmology and moral lessons into vivid narratives that stuck in the collective imagination.

Archaeological finds sometimes echo Puranic names—dravidian towns and dynastic lineages pop up in inscriptions—but those parallels are more like tantalizing breadcrumbs than smoking-gun proof. Much like tracing family lore handed down around a holiday table, facts and fables have often been mixed together. Separating the wheat from the chaff can feel like cosmic archaeology in its own right.

These days, the Puranas inspire everything from blockbuster films to wellness influencers dropping Sanskrit shlokas in yoga sessions. Their stories aren’t relics locked away in dusty vaults; they keep evolving, fueling pop culture and spiritual seekers alike. While they shouldn’t be treated as history textbooks, dismissing them as mere fantasy misses how they’ve shaped art, ethics and identity across millennia.

Ultimately, the Puranas thrive in that sweet spot where myth and memory collide—offering timeless narratives rather than precise timestamps.