Markandeya

Told in English, Telugu.

Long, long ago, in a quiet forest ashram, there lived a sage named Mrikandu and his wife Marudvati. Their little hut had a clean mud floor, a tulasi plant by the door, and a fire that was lit every morning for prayer. They were kind people. They fed every hungry traveller who came by. But in their hearts there was one sadness. They had no child.

So Mrikandu and Marudvati prayed to Lord Shiva. They prayed through hot summers and through long, rainy nights. They did not give up.

At last, Lord Shiva appeared before them, shining and calm, with the moon resting in his hair. "I am pleased with you," he said. "You shall have a son. But first you must choose. Would you like a son who lives a very long life, but is dull and unkind? Or a son who is wise and good and full of love, but who will live for only sixteen years?"

Think about that for a moment. What a hard choice it was.

Mrikandu looked at Marudvati, and Marudvati looked at Mrikandu. Their eyes filled with tears. Then they said together, softly, "Give us the good son, Swami. Even sixteen years with a loving child is a great blessing."

And so a baby boy was born to them, and they named him Markandeya.

Oh, what a child he was! He laughed easily and learned quickly. By the time he was five, he could chant prayers that grown men struggled to remember. He helped his mother carry water from the stream. He shared his food with the squirrels. When other children in the forest quarrelled, they came to Markandeya, and somehow he always found a way to make them friends again.

But as each year passed, his parents grew a little quieter. Sometimes Markandeya would find his mother sitting alone in the evening, staring at the fire, wiping her eyes with the end of her saree.

When he was fifteen, he finally asked, "Amma, Nanna, why are you so sad? Have I done something wrong?"

His father held his hands and told him the truth. He told him about Lord Shiva's choice, and about the sixteen years.

Markandeya was quiet for a long time. He was only a boy, and of course he felt afraid. Anyone would. But then he looked at his parents' worried faces, and he made a choice of his own.

"Please do not cry," he said gently. "The same Lord who gave me to you is still listening. I will go and pray to him with my whole heart. Whatever happens, I will not be afraid, because I will be holding on to him."

So Markandeya went to a quiet place by the river, where there was a Shiva lingam, and he began to pray. He prayed in the morning. He prayed at night. He sang, he offered flowers, he poured cool river water over the lingam. And slowly, the fear in his heart grew smaller, and the love grew bigger.

Then came the morning of his sixteenth birthday.

The forest went very still. The birds stopped singing. And Yama, the lord who comes at the end of every life, arrived on his great dark buffalo. Yama was not wicked. He was simply doing his duty, as he always had. In his hand he held a long rope with a loop at the end.

"Come, child," Yama said. "Your time has arrived."

Markandeya's heart was pounding. But he did not run. Instead, he wrapped both his arms tightly around the Shiva lingam and kept chanting, "Om Namah Shivaya. Om Namah Shivaya."

Yama threw his noose. But because the boy was holding on so tightly, the loop fell around Markandeya and around the lingam too.

And at that very moment, the lingam blazed with light. Out stepped Lord Shiva himself, his eyes flashing like lightning.

"Stop, Yama!" he said, and his voice was like thunder rolling across the hills. "This child has taken shelter with me. No one who holds on to me with such love will be taken away against my will."

Shiva pushed Yama back, and Yama fell to the ground and bowed his head. He understood at once. The rope slipped away. Yama rose quietly and went back the way he had come.

Then Lord Shiva turned to Markandeya, and his face became soft and kind, like a father's. "My child," he said, "you shall stay sixteen in your heart forever. You will live for ages and ages, and you will never be taken by death."

You can imagine how Mrikandu and Marudvati hugged their son that day! They laughed and cried at the same time, and the whole forest seemed to join in with birdsong.

Now, children, this is not the end of Markandeya's story. Because he became deathless, he lived on and on, through more years than anyone could count. He grew into the wisest sage of all.

One day, while he was praying near the Himalayas, two great sages, Nara and Narayana, came to bless him. "Ask for anything," they said.

Markandeya was curious. He had heard that the whole world is like a dream held in the hands of the Lord. "Please," he said, "show me the Lord's great magic, the power that makes all the worlds appear and disappear."

They smiled and said, "So be it," and went away.

A few days later, as Markandeya sat praying, the sky suddenly turned dark. Winds began to howl. Rain poured down, and the sea rose higher and higher, until it covered the fields, the villages, the forests, even the tallest mountains. Soon there was nothing anywhere but water, stretching on and on in every direction.

Markandeya floated and swam through that endless ocean, all alone, for what felt like ages. He was tired. He was lonely. He did not know where to go.

Then, far away, he saw something strange. In the middle of the water stood a single banyan tree. And on one of its leaves lay a tiny baby, dark and beautiful like a rain cloud. The baby was holding his own toe and putting it in his mouth, as babies do, smiling a peaceful smile, as if there was nothing in the whole world to worry about.

Markandeya swam closer, amazed. Who could this be?

Just then, the baby breathed in. And whoosh! Markandeya was pulled in with the breath, right inside the little one's tummy.

And what do you think he found there? The whole world! He saw the sky and the stars, the sun and the moon, rivers and mountains, cities and villages, people working in fields, cows grazing, children playing. He even saw his own little ashram by the river, exactly as he had left it. Everything was safe inside this tiny child.

Then the baby breathed out, and Markandeya came tumbling back out onto the water. He looked at the child with wonder. He stretched out his arms to hold him close.

But in that instant, the baby, the banyan tree and the great flood all vanished. Markandeya found himself sitting in his own ashram, with his prayer beads in his hand, the morning sun shining as if nothing had happened at all.

Then he understood. That little baby on the leaf was the Lord himself, the same Narayana who would one day come as Krishna. The whole world, with all its storms and all its troubles, rests safely inside him, the way a sleepy child rests in his mother's arms.

Ages and ages later, when the five Pandava brothers were living in the forest, and Krishna had come to visit them, the old sage Markandeya came too. He sat with them under the trees and told them stories of long-ago times, stories he had seen with his own eyes.

So tonight, as you close your eyes, remember Markandeya. He was a boy who was afraid, but who held on to goodness and love even when it was hard. And remember the little baby on the banyan leaf, smiling, holding the whole world safely inside. You are held safely too.

Good night, little one.