Krishna Lifts Govardhana Hill

Told in English, Telugu.

Long, long ago, in a green village called Gokulam, there lived a little boy named Krishna. He had a soft flute, a peacock feather in his hair, and the sweetest smile you ever saw.

Near Gokulam stood a big, kind hill called Govardhana. On the hill grew fresh green grass for the cows. Cool streams ran down its sides. Mango trees and berry bushes grew all over it.

One day, Krishna saw the people of the village busy cooking many sweets. "What are all these sweets for?" he asked his father, Nanda.

"We are making a big offering for Indra, the king of the rain clouds," said Nanda.

Krishna thought for a moment. Then he said, "But Father, it is Govardhana hill that feeds our cows. It gives us water and fruits every single day. Let us thank the hill, and the cows, and the good earth."

The people liked this idea. So they cooked pongal, laddus and bobbatlu, and they carried them to the hill. They sang, they danced, and they said thank you to Govardhana.

But up in the sky, Indra was not happy. "They have forgotten me!" he grumbled. So he called his clouds, and the clouds rolled in, dark and grey.

Pitter patter, pitter patter, came the rain. Then it rained harder, and harder, and harder. The wind blew. The cows said moo, moo, they were cold and wet. The children held their mothers' hands tight.

"Krishna, what shall we do?" everyone cried.

Krishna smiled his calm little smile. "Do not worry," he said. "Govardhana will help us."

He walked up to the big hill. He bent down. And then, with just his little finger, he lifted the whole hill up into the air, as easily as you lift a flower!

The hill became a giant umbrella. Krishna called out happily,

"Come under the hill, come one, come all, Krishna is holding it, it will not fall!"

Can you say it with me? Come under the hill, come one, come all, Krishna is holding it, it will not fall!

In came the cows and the calves. In came the mothers and the fathers. In came Grandma, walking slowly, and the little babies too. Yashoda held Krishna's other hand and smiled with wonder.

Under the hill it was dry and warm. The children played. The calves drank milk. Everyone shared their food.

One day passed, and the rain kept falling. Two days, three days, four days. And every day Krishna sang,

"Come under the hill, come one, come all, Krishna is holding it, it will not fall!"

Five days, six days, seven days. Krishna's little finger never got tired.

Up in the sky, Indra watched and watched. At last he understood. "This child is very special," he said softly. "And he is right. Being thankful for the earth is a good thing." So Indra sent his clouds away.

The rain stopped. The sun came out, warm and golden. A rainbow shone across the sky.

Krishna gently put Govardhana hill back in its place. The cows ran out to eat the fresh green grass. The children splashed in the puddles. And Indra came down and said sorry to Krishna, with folded hands.

That evening, everyone in Gokulam sat together and said thank you, to Krishna, to the kind hill, and to the good earth that gives us so much.

And little Krishna played a happy song on his flute, until all the children of Gokulam fell fast asleep.

Good night, little one.