Ganesha Writes the Mahabharata

Told in English, Telugu.

Long, long ago, high up in the Himalaya mountains, there lived a wise old sage named Vyasa. He had a long white beard, kind eyes, and a heart full of stories.

One story was bigger than all the others. It was the story of two families, the Pandavas and the Kauravas. It had brave princes and clever queens, great battles and true friends, and Lord Krishna himself was in it. This story was called the Mahabharata, and it was so long that no one in the whole world had ever heard a longer one.

Vyasa had the whole story in his mind, every word of it. But he had a problem.

"If I do not write it down," he said to himself, "how will the children of tomorrow ever hear it? And if I try to write it myself, my hand will grow tired, and I will forget the next part while I am busy writing this part."

So Vyasa closed his eyes and prayed. And who do you think came to help him? Lord Brahma, the creator of the world, appeared in front of him, glowing like the morning sun.

"Vyasa," said Brahma gently, "you need a writer who is quick, clever, and never gets tired. Ask Ganesha. There is no one better."

Vyasa's face lit up. Of course! Ganesha, the son of Shiva and Parvati, the remover of all obstacles, the friend of every student!

So Vyasa prayed to Ganesha with all his heart. And soon, with a happy swish of his big ears, Ganesha arrived, sitting on his little mouse.

"Namaskaram, Vyasa garu," said Ganesha with a smile. "I heard you calling. What can I do for you?"

"Lord Ganesha," said Vyasa, folding his hands, "I have a very long story in my heart. Will you write it down for me as I tell it?"

Ganesha rubbed his round tummy and thought for a moment. Then his eyes twinkled.

"I will write your story," he said. "But I have one condition. Once you begin, you must not stop. Not even for a moment. If you stop, I will put down my pen and go home."

Oh my! That was a big promise. Vyasa's story was so long. How could anyone tell it without ever stopping to think?

But Vyasa was clever too. He stroked his beard and smiled.

"I agree, Lord Ganesha," he said. "But I also have one condition. You must not write any line until you truly understand what it means."

Ganesha laughed a big, happy laugh. "Agreed!" he said. He was the god of wisdom, after all. What could he possibly not understand?

So they sat down together in a quiet cave. Ganesha spread out a big pile of palm leaves and picked up his sharp writing stylus. Vyasa took a deep breath, and he began.

The words flowed out of Vyasa like a river. And Ganesha's hand flew across the leaves, faster than the wind. Scratch, scratch, scratch went the stylus. Leaf after leaf filled up with the story of King Shantanu, and wise old Bhishma, and the five Pandava brothers.

Days went by. Then weeks. Vyasa kept speaking, and Ganesha kept writing. He never slowed down, not even once.

But Vyasa began to worry. "Ganesha writes so fast," he thought. "Soon he will catch up with me, and I will need a moment to think of what comes next. If I stop, he will leave!"

So do you know what clever Vyasa did? Every now and then, he spoke a verse that was very, very tricky. A verse full of deep meaning, like a riddle hidden inside a riddle.

When Ganesha heard one of these, his pen stopped in the air.

"Hmm," said Ganesha, tapping his trunk. "What does this mean?" He had promised to understand every line before writing it. So he sat and thought, and thought, and thought.

And while Ganesha was thinking, Vyasa quietly planned the next part of the story. Wasn't that clever? Both of them kept their promises, and the story kept growing.

Then one day, something happened. Ganesha was writing very fast, in the middle of an exciting part, when suddenly, snap! His stylus broke in two!

Oh no! Ganesha looked at the broken pen. Vyasa was still speaking. There was no time to go and find a new one. If Ganesha stopped writing, the story would be left unfinished. And Ganesha did not want to break his promise either.

What would he do? Can you guess?

Ganesha reached up to his face, held one of his tusks, and broke it off. Then, without wasting even a moment, he dipped the sharp end of his tusk in ink and kept on writing.

Vyasa's eyes filled with happy tears. "Lord Ganesha," he said softly, "you gave a piece of yourself so this story could live."

"A good story should be finished," said Ganesha kindly. "And a promise should be kept."

That is why, when you look at a picture of Ganesha, you will see that one of his tusks is short and broken. And sometimes he even holds that little tusk in his hand.

At last, after a very long time, Vyasa spoke the final words of the Mahabharata. Ganesha wrote the last line and put down his tusk. The two friends smiled at each other, tired and happy. The longest story in the world was finally written.

And because of Vyasa's wisdom and Ganesha's patience, we can still hear that story today, all these thousands of years later.

So the next time you sit down to do your homework, and it feels too long, remember Ganesha with his little broken tusk. Keep going, one line at a time. Can you say it with me? One line at a time.

Good night, little one.