Brave Little Prahlad

Long ago, before Prahlad was born, his mother Kayadhu stayed for a while in the peaceful ashram of the sage Narada.

Every morning, Narada spoke of kindness, of courage, and of Lord Vishnu, whom he lovingly called Hari. Kayadhu sat beside him, one hand resting on her belly, and listened.

"Hari is everywhere," Narada would say. "In the river, in the sky, in every heart. Whoever knows this never needs to be afraid."

The old storytellers say that the baby was listening too.

In time, Prahlad was born, and he grew into a gentle boy who sang Hari's name all day long.

But his father, King Hiranyakashipu, was proud and powerful. He wanted everyone to say that he was the greatest of all.

"Who is the greatest, my son?" he asked one day.

"Hari, Father," said Prahlad simply. "Hari is everywhere. In the flowers, in the stars, and in you too."

The king's face grew dark. "Say that I am the greatest!" he thundered.

Prahlad stayed calm. "I love you, Father," he said. "But I cannot say what is not true."

Again and again, the king tried to frighten him. Each time, Prahlad came to no harm, and his heart stayed steady, like a lamp flame where no wind blows.

At last, the king pointed at a stone pillar. "Is your Hari in this pillar too?"

"Yes, Father. He is everywhere."

With a roar that shook the sky, the pillar split open. Out stepped Narasimha, the Lord as half lion and half man, blazing like a thousand suns. That day, the proud king's rule came to an end.

Even the gods trembled at the lion's roar. No one dared to go near him.

No one except Prahlad.

He walked up quietly, folded his hands and sang a soft song. The fire in Narasimha's eyes grew gentle. He placed his great hand on Prahlad's head, as tenderly as a mother strokes her child's hair.

"Ask me for anything," he said.

"Please forgive my father," said Prahlad. "And may my heart always remember you."

Narasimha smiled. And Prahlad grew up to be a wise and gentle king, with a heart that was never afraid.