Circling the World

Let us start with a tale of Ganapati, for all things start with him. And yet all things did not start with him, for he is the child of Shiva and Parvati. And he is, in many aspects, a child.

One day, Shiva and Parvati called Ganapati and his brother Kartikeya to them. Shiva was holding a beautiful big mango, and when both children had gathered he said, "Your mother and I have something for you. Which of you would like the mango?"

Of course, both of them wanted the fruit.

"Well," said Parvati, "Only one of you can have it. We shall have a contest to see who wins the fruit. It shall be given to the first one who goes around the world."

Now Kartikeya's mount is a peacock, and he immediately sat astride it and took off, to fly around the world. But Ganapati's mount is merely a mouse, who could not possibly go as fast as the peacock. So Ganapati sat down and thought about the challenge for a little while, and then he got up and walked around his parents.

"Are you not going to race your brother?" asked Parvati.

"But I just did," Ganapati replied.

Parvati smiled. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.

Ganapati explained, "To me, my mother, my father, you are the whole world."

Now Shiva smiled, and gave Ganapati the fruit. He said, "this mango is a symbol of wisdom gained. It imparts knowledge, but knowledge without wisdom and understanding is like a fruit which is rotten within. As such, it belongs to you, since you have demonstrated the wisdom to see beyond the illusions of the manifest world."

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Behind the Illusion

As a child Lord Krishna was naughty, full of mischief and pranks. Sometimes his mother Yashoda must have despaired of teaching him anything, but she would not have changed him for the world. He was the most adorable child possible. Still, obedient he was not.

Yashoda came into her house one day to see Krishna taking dirt from the ground and eating it. She was appalled, and she cornered him immediately, demanding to know whether he had indeed just eaten dirt.

He looked up at her, his eyes large and innocent. "Would I do such a thing?" he asked.

"Answer the question!" she replied.

"No, mother," he told her, his voice sweetly sincere. "I didn't eat any dirt."

She knew better than to believe him, of course. "Open your mouth," she ordered, "and show me what is in it."

So little Krishna opened his mouth wide, and Yashoda peered into it.

She saw, then, what was truly inside her son. For an instant all veils were swept aside, and, no longer protected by the illusion that keeps from us what we cannot handle, Yashoda saw the Universe in its entirety. She saw the stars, pinpoints in the void. As she saw them she was aware of the vast cold distances between them, and of their mortality, their brief flash of life so much longer than her own. She saw herself, an insignificant speck standing on a tiny planet staring into her son's mouth, and inside his mouth she saw the Universe again, with its stars no less lonely and its distances no smaller. She saw Krishna again in that image, the Universe in him repeating itself into infinity.

And then Krishna gently restored the illusion, because he knew she could not cope with the truth.

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