The Protection of Lord Vishnu: A Tale of Dharma and Faith
—A timeless story of transformation and divine connection—
You won’t find my name in the Puranas, and maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. I was just a simple boy from a small village by the Narmada. My father, a potter, taught me how to shape clay. My mother, a devotee of Lord Vishnu, taught me how to shape silence into prayer.
But back then, I didn’t believe much in anything. Not in stories, and definitely not in gods that appeared in visions.
That changed the night we were attacked.
It was Kartika Purnima, the full moon night of offerings. The sky had never looked clearer. People came from across the nearby regions to offer lamps to the river Goddess. The temple bells rang, chants of Bhakti pierced the air — “Om Namo Narayanaya.”
I remember asking my mother, “Why do we pray to Lord Vishnu tonight?”
She smiled. “Because He protects the world, even when you don’t see Him. His hands are always open.”
Then came the sounds — hooves, screams, steel. A band of mercenaries descended from the northern hills. They wanted tribute: food, gold, bodies. We had none. They stormed homes, torched granaries. I ran, barefoot, heart clawing against my ribs.
I hid under the roots of a fig tree. From there, I watched them drag our priest, old Gauri Das, to the temple steps.
“You say your Vishnu protects?” the leader jeered, striking him down. “Where is He now?”
Gauri Das didn’t answer. He just folded his hands. Eyes toward the murti, the image of Lord Vishnu lying on the serpent Ananta.
Then something strange happened.
One of the mercenaries—armored in black, blade red with ash—collapsed. He screamed, clawing at his eyes, saying they burned with fire. Another followed. Then another. The rest fled. No sword had flashed, no man had attacked them. Only silence. And maybe something else.
We found Gauri Das alive. Barely touched.
That night, the village gathered around the fire. My mother wept. “It was Lord Vishnu,” she said. “You all saw. When dharma is threatened by adharma, He does not remain still.”
I asked her how she was so sure.
She quoted the Upanishad she'd recited to me since I was small: “Vishvam Vishnurvashatkaro”—“The entire universe is Vishnu.” He exists where truth is upheld.
I didn’t sleep that night. Something inside me shifted. The fear in my chest had become tearful awe. I stepped into the temple, the same place I had avoided so many times before. I knelt.
For the first time, not out of fear, but of devotion.
I became a student of the Vedas. Learned that Lord Vishnu manifests across time to protect dharma—the path of righteousness. As Rama, He destroyed Ravana. As Krishna, He guided Arjuna in the Mahabharata when war split the world. Again and again, He returned.
And then I understood why He saved our village.
Not because we were important—but because we still believed.
Years passed. I visited many tirthas, sacred places. I met devotees of Lord Shiva as well, and began to understand the unity—how Lord Vishnu and Lord Shiva are not rivals, but aspects of the same eternal truth. The Goddess too—the Divine Mother—honored by saints and yogis—holds this world in her gentle palms.
Everything began to connect as I walked this spiritual journey. My Bhakti—my love for the Divine—grew not from grand rituals, but quiet surrender.
Now, I am an old man. I shape pots no more.
But I tell stories—to young ones, like I once was.
I tell them of that night. Of the protection we saw. Of how dharma saved us. And how it must be upheld, even when it trembles on a single breath.
I tell them that Lord Vishnu does not appear with thunderclaps every time. Sometimes He is the soft wind that guides you away from danger. Sometimes, the silence between chants.
And sometimes—when your heart is broken with truth and your faith is raw and trembling—He comes in full form.
That’s what I learned.
That day changed me. From a boy who doubted, to a man who’d seen with his own eyes what scripture only hints at.
Dharma is fragile. But with Bhakti, truth, and forgiveness—it survives.
Even when it hides under the roots of a fig tree.
—
Word Count: 598
Keywords Included: Goddess, Spiritual Journey, Bhakti, Devotional Story, Shiva, Puranas
Themes: truth, devotion, forgiveness
Reference: Rooted in teachings of the Upanishads regarding Vishnu’s omnipresence and role in upholding dharma.
The Protection of Lord Vishnu: A Tale of Dharma and Faith
—A timeless story of transformation and divine connection—
You won’t find my name in the Puranas, and maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. I was just a simple boy from a small village by the Narmada. My father, a potter, taught me how to shape clay. My mother, a devotee of Lord Vishnu, taught me how to shape silence into prayer.
But back then, I didn’t believe much in anything. Not in stories, and definitely not in gods that appeared in visions.
That changed the night we were attacked.
It was Kartika Purnima, the full moon night of offerings. The sky had never looked clearer. People came from across the nearby regions to offer lamps to the river Goddess. The temple bells rang, chants of Bhakti pierced the air — “Om Namo Narayanaya.”
I remember asking my mother, “Why do we pray to Lord Vishnu tonight?”
She smiled. “Because He protects the world, even when you don’t see Him. His hands are always open.”
Then came the sounds — hooves, screams, steel. A band of mercenaries descended from the northern hills. They wanted tribute: food, gold, bodies. We had none. They stormed homes, torched granaries. I ran, barefoot, heart clawing against my ribs.
I hid under the roots of a fig tree. From there, I watched them drag our priest, old Gauri Das, to the temple steps.
“You say your Vishnu protects?” the leader jeered, striking him down. “Where is He now?”
Gauri Das didn’t answer. He just folded his hands. Eyes toward the murti, the image of Lord Vishnu lying on the serpent Ananta.
Then something strange happened.
One of the mercenaries—armored in black, blade red with ash—collapsed. He screamed, clawing at his eyes, saying they burned with fire. Another followed. Then another. The rest fled. No sword had flashed, no man had attacked them. Only silence. And maybe something else.
We found Gauri Das alive. Barely touched.
That night, the village gathered around the fire. My mother wept. “It was Lord Vishnu,” she said. “You all saw. When dharma is threatened by adharma, He does not remain still.”
I asked her how she was so sure.
She quoted the Upanishad she'd recited to me since I was small: “Vishvam Vishnurvashatkaro”—“The entire universe is Vishnu.” He exists where truth is upheld.
I didn’t sleep that night. Something inside me shifted. The fear in my chest had become tearful awe. I stepped into the temple, the same place I had avoided so many times before. I knelt.
For the first time, not out of fear, but of devotion.
I became a student of the Vedas. Learned that Lord Vishnu manifests across time to protect dharma—the path of righteousness. As Rama, He destroyed Ravana. As Krishna, He guided Arjuna in the Mahabharata when war split the world. Again and again, He returned.
And then I understood why He saved our village.
Not because we were important—but because we still believed.
Years passed. I visited many tirthas, sacred places. I met devotees of Lord Shiva as well, and began to understand the unity—how Lord Vishnu and Lord Shiva are not rivals, but aspects of the same eternal truth. The Goddess too—the Divine Mother—honored by saints and yogis—holds this world in her gentle palms.
Everything began to connect as I walked this spiritual journey. My Bhakti—my love for the Divine—grew not from grand rituals, but quiet surrender.
Now, I am an old man. I shape pots no more.
But I tell stories—to young ones, like I once was.
I tell them of that night. Of the protection we saw. Of how dharma saved us. And how it must be upheld, even when it trembles on a single breath.
I tell them that Lord Vishnu does not appear with thunderclaps every time. Sometimes He is the soft wind that guides you away from danger. Sometimes, the silence between chants.
And sometimes—when your heart is broken with truth and your faith is raw and trembling—He comes in full form.
That’s what I learned.
That day changed me. From a boy who doubted, to a man who’d seen with his own eyes what scripture only hints at.
Dharma is fragile. But with Bhakti, truth, and forgiveness—it survives.
Even when it hides under the roots of a fig tree.
—
Word Count: 598
Keywords Included: Goddess, Spiritual Journey, Bhakti, Devotional Story, Shiva, Puranas
Themes: truth, devotion, forgiveness
Reference: Rooted in teachings of the Upanishads regarding Vishnu’s omnipresence and role in upholding dharma.
