Indian Children's Favorite Stories

by Rosemarie Somaiah

  Others say that there was a great storm on this night, with thunder and lightning, as if the world knew that something of great importance was about to happen. It was a strange and magical night, a night when all things were possible.

  At midnight, Devaki’s eighth child, a boy who would be called Krishna, entered the world. When Devaki first laid her eyes on the baby, she knew that this was indeed a special child. Vasudeva knew this too, and realized that they would have to save Krishna somehow. But, how? They were prisoners. Vasudeva tugged desperately at the chains that bound him. How he longed to hold his newborn child in his arms!

  Just then, much to Vasudeva’s surprise, the chains fell off his hands and legs. Trembling, he picked up his child, kissed him and nestled him against his shoulder. Turning, the wondering Vasudeva saw the great doors of his prison open silently and, as he stepped out carefully, he found that all the guards had fallen into a deep sleep. Quickly, Vasudeva slipped through the quiet corridors. The child Krishna seemed to know how dangerous this moment was, for he did not so much as whimper.

  “I shall take him to my friend Nanda, in Gokul,” Vasudeva thought. He hurried to the river, but it was in full spate. The floodwaters thrashed the banks. But as Vasudeva stood at the river’s edge, the waters parted in front of him and a path right through the riverbed led him to the other bank.

  As he neared Nanda’s home in Gokul, Vasudeva heard the cry of another child. He found that Nanda’s wife Yashoda had just given birth to a little girl, who lay beside her sleeping mother.

  Vasudeva, knowing that his was no ordinary baby, and that all these things had happened for a reason, placed Krishna by Yashoda’s side and picked up the little girl. He carried her back to Devaki across the riverbed, past the guards, who still slept and through prison doors that were still open.

  As soon as Vasudeva placed the little girl by Devaki’s side, the prison doors shut, and he found himself in chains once again.

  The cry of the infant woke up the guards. They immediately reported the birth of the child to Kamsa.

  “Spare this child, Kamsa, I beg of you! It is a little girl. What harm can she do to you?” pleaded Vasudeva. Kamsa snatched the infant, but just as he was about to thrash her against a stone she flew out of his grip.

  A great light lit up the room as the baby, floating in the air, assumed the resplendent form of the goddess Shakti, the supreme goddess that gives life to all creation. A voice proclaimed, “Fool, Kamsa! The boy who will kill you still lives. When the time comes, he shall destroy you because of your evil ways. You cannot escape the will of God!” Then, the vision disappeared.

  Kamsa was so terrified that he set Vasudeva and Devaki free. And the boy Krishna was safe … for now.

  No Ordinary Lad

  The evil king Kamsa was greatly upset. He had been told that the boy who would grow up to kill him still lived. But he did not know where the child was.

  He consulted his ministers, who, being asuras, or demons in disguise, advised him to kill all the newborn babies in and around the kingdom. Kamsa called upon Poothana, a horribly big, ugly, evil asura, and asked her to carry out the task.

  Meanwhile, in the village of Gokul, where the baby Krishna now lived, the word had gone around.

  “Nanda and Yashoda have a beautiful baby boy!” “Yes, and he has a lovely name too—Krishna!”

  All the villagers came to visit, and the happy parents distributed sweets and presents to them. Somehow, the birth seemed to bring great joy to the village. People sang and danced to celebrate the happy event.

  But the asura Poothana, disguising herself by taking on the form of a lovely woman, wandered around looking for the baby. When she finally found the house where Nanda and Yashoda rejoiced in their new son, Poothana slipped inside. In a soft, charming voice, she asked for permission to hold the child, as many visitors did.

  Yashoda, surrounded by love and kindness, did not suspect a thing. She left Krishna and Poothana alone for a few minutes. Poothana picked up baby Krishna and put him to her breast, which was full of deadly poison. But the baby Krishna sucked out all the poison without coming to any harm. Not only that, he also sucked all the life right out of the horrible, evil woman!

  When Yashoda came back a few minutes later, she found Krishna gurgling contentedly beside the lifeless Poothana, who had regained her true demon form.

  People wondered at the power of this special baby.

  Soon Kamsa heard of the death of Poothana. But he was not about to give up yet. He sent another asura, Trinavarta who had the power to control storms and whirlwinds, to kill the baby.

  Krishna, the holy child, had a sense of the approaching danger. He sat on his mother’s lap, but Yashoda found him suddenly becoming heavier and heavier. Finally, she could take his weight no longer. “Am I so tired?” she wondered. Gasping with the effort, Yashoda put Krishna down on the ground and went to call for help.

  Trinavarta, who had just arrived, turned into a whirlwind and began to raise a terrible dust storm. Huge swirls of dust and sand rose and filled the air. It got into everyone’s eyes and blocked their noses. They struggled to cover their faces. Such a storm had never been seen before!

  Trinavarta lifted Krishna and began to fly higher and higher in the twisting, whirling sandstorm. But he found it difficult to carry the little boy, who was growing heavier and heavier. Krishna stretched out his chubby hand and clutched the throat of the demon, choking him. The asura fell to the ground like a big stone, crashing down onto a rock—dead.

  The anxious villagers later found Krishna lying beside the lifeless body of the demon.

  Krishna grew up to be an adorable little fellow, with shiny dark skin, chubby cheeks and bright, beautiful eyes. Like any doting mother, Yashoda dressed him carefully and he always wore a beautiful peacock feather in his headdress. His favorite companion was his older brother, Balarama, the seventh son who had been whisked away to Gokul before he had even been born. The two boys were inseparable.

  But, oh, Krishna was naughty! He would play every prank he could, but was so sweet afterwards that he could usually charm his way out of trouble. Still, there was many a time when he tried even the patience of his adoring mother.

  Yashoda and her friends were milkmaids who reared cows. All the milkmaids worked hard every day, churning the extra milk into butter and making ghee.

  Now, Krishna loved milk, curds, butter and ghee, and no matter how much his mother willingly gave him, he was always trying to get a little more.

  Krishna found ways to sneak into his house, after his mother had chased him away from the pot of butter and sent him out to play with Balarama and his other friends. Not only that, he was more than happy to treat everyone else’s home as his own. No matter what anyone tried, they could not hide butter or milk from Krishna. Soon, he was even drinking milk directly from the cow!

  “But mother, the cow willingly gave it to me,” said Krishna.

  It was true, after all. The cow had stood still, seemingly letting the boy drink his fill.

  Still, his poor mother soon got used to listening to a long list of complaints from all the neighbors. She chided Krishna, warned him, scolded him and punished him, but no matter what she said or did, Krishna had an answer to everything.

  Krishna was Krishna!

  One day just before a festival, Krishna kept getting in his mother’s way. He meddled in her preparations and upset her pots of curds, making her so cross that she decided to punish him. She tied him up with rope to a large mortar, his hands behind his back. This mortar, a heavy piece of stone that was almost as tall as Krishna, stood outside the house and was to be used for pounding grain into flour.

  Krishna waited and waited. Soon he began to get bored, so he tried to think of a way to get loose.

  “I know! I will go to Balarama. He will surely untie me!”

 
No sooner had he thought of it, Krishna began to move. Dragging the enormous weight of the mortar behind him easily, he made his way down to the fields to find Balarama.

  Unfortunately, he had to go through some trees and soon found himself trapped. The mortar had wedged itself between the broad trunks of two tall trees.

  He paused for a minute and then tugged impatiently at the weight, hoping that he could dislodge the mortar. With an enormous CRASH! the trees came tumbling down, and Krishna went on his way.

  As the news of this event spread, a crowd gathered to marvel at the great strength of this young boy. “This Krishna is no ordinary lad!” they agreed.

  But it would take many years, many stories, and many magical feats before people realized that Krishna was in fact a deva in human form.

  The Story of Rama

  The gods, or devas, were upset. Milling around, talking all at once, they complained to Brahma, the Creator.

  “Ravana, the ten-headed rakshasa, has grown too proud. He is an insufferable bully! He and his gang of demon hooligans strut around scoffing at everything sacred. They pillage and plunder and ill-treat even the priests and the women.”

  “You, Brahma, are the one who granted him the boon that makes him so strong. It is you that we now turn to for help!”

  Brahma considered the matter. Yes, it was he who had granted Ravana’s prayer, although he hadn’t really had a choice in the matter. Ravana had managed, with extreme penance and the practice of yoga, to gain the power to slow the movement of the planets almost to a standstill. To save the universe, Brahma had had to allow him his wish. And so, as Ravana had requested, no deva, asura, gandhara, rakshasa, or other such being could destroy him. He had become invulnerable, invincible. Or, so he thought.

  But Brahma told the devas that Ravana, in his arrogance, had not chosen his wish carefully. He had forgotten about the humans and the animals on earth. Perhaps Ravana had thought them too puny to fear.

  The devas turned immediately to Lord Vishnu, the Preserver, and begged him to be born as a man—the man who would destroy Ravana.

  Meanwhile on earth, the good king Dasaratha was preparing for a horse sacrifice. Dasaratha had many blessings—Ayodhya, the capital city of his kingdom, was magnificent. His people were happy, contented and virtuous and they loved him well. But the aging king was not happy. He had no children, no heir, no one to whom he could hand down his kingdom. And so he prepared the sacrifice and prayed for a son.

  As ghee was poured into the fire and the flames shot up to meet it, there was a blinding flash. A figure, brilliant as the noonday sun, appeared with a golden bowl in his hands. He offered it to King Dasaratha and said, “Let your wives share the sweet delicacy in this bowl and they will be blessed with sons.”

  In time, four sons were born to Dasaratha’s three wives, Kausalya, Kaikeyi and Sumithra.

  Kausalya’s son was called Rama and Kaikeyi’s son was called Bharata. Sumithra, Dasaratha’s youngest wife, gave birth to twins, whom they called Lakshmana and Shatruguna.

  The young princes grew up to be strong, handsome young men who were brave and skilled in all the princely arts. But of them all, the most beloved was Rama.

  One day, a wise and respected sage came to see Dasaratha. He had come for help. Ferocious rakshasas roamed around the forests in which he and the other holy men lived and prayed. They polluted the religious sacrifices and preyed on the people.

  The sage wanted Rama to go with him to fight the rakshasas and protect the innocent.

  The king was fearful. His favorite son was but sixteen years old and he knew not what the gods had planned for him. But, in the end, with the sage’s assurance that no serious harm would befall Rama, the king agreed to let him go with the holy man. Lakshmana, Rama’s favorite brother, was to go with them.

  On the journey to the forest where he lived, the sage, who was a master of every weapon, trained the boys well in the art of war. In addition, he gave them special powers of their own. Soon, they had vanquished the rakshasas.

  On the way home, the princes visited Janaka, the king of of the neighboring kingdom, at his capital city of Mithila.

  Janaka had a daughter, Sita. Believed to be the goddess Earth’s gift to the noble king, Sita was divinely beautiful. And she was as good and virtuous as she was lovely.

  Many princes had wished to marry her, but her father had set a test. He had a special bow, given to him by a god. It was so large and heavy that it could only be moved in a chariot with eight enormous wheels. Nobody had ever been able to lift the bow to string it, though many had tried. Janaka had declared that anyone who could accomplish this great feat could marry Sita.

  To the amazement of all gathered, Rama lifted the bow with no effort at all. He strung it and drew back the string with ease, but it broke with a thunderclap so loud that it shook the earth.

  The kingdom celebrated the marriage of Rama and Sita with great joy, and the heavens sent down showers of flowers to bless the wedding.

  However, the lives of the royal couple would soon take the path the gods had determined for them.

  King Dasaratha was now ready to hand down his kingdom to his eldest son, Rama, the rightful heir. All the people rejoiced at this welcome news and prepared for the coronation. That is, all the people except Kaikeyi, Dasaratha’s second wife, who was greatly displeased. She said to the king, “Once, when you were wounded in battle and at death’s door, I cured you. You then promised me two boons that I could use at my pleasure. If you are truly a king, grant me my wishes now or all men will forever despise you!”

  And so, she forced Dasaratha to crown her son, Bharata, king instead of Rama.

  She also made the heartbroken and desperate king order Rama, the son he adored, into exile. Rama was to live in the forest for fourteen years.

  The people were greatly upset. Bharata even refused to accept the crown. Eveyone in the kingdom grieved, except Kaikeyi and Rama himself. The king had given his word, and Rama was determined to uphold the honor of his father’s promise.

  Rama gave up his life of luxury willingly. With simple clothes made of bark and little else, he set off for the forest. His devoted wife Sita and one of his brothers, Lakshmana, left as well, refusing to be parted from him.

  Life was hard, but for many years Rama, Sita and Lakshmana were happy in the forest. They lived in a small hut and found joy in simple pleasures—the flowers, the trees and the songs of the birds.

  But, trouble was in store.

  One day, the terrifying Ravana heard about Rama—and the beautiful Sita. He decided to kidnap Sita and keep her for himself.

  Ravana’s powers allowed him to change his shape at will. He arranged for his friend to take the form of a shining golden deer with silver spots and horns that shone like jewels. This beautiful, gentle animal was to graze in the forest and lure Rama and Lakshmana away from Sita, whom they protected at all times.

  Sita caught glimpses of the deer through the trees and was enchanted. “Rama, please capture it for me!” she begged. “Our time in the forest is almost done. When we return to the palace it will remind us of the wonderful years we have had here.”

  Leaving his brother to guard Sita, Rama went after the deer.

  But as he neared it, he realized that he had been tricked, for the magic deer called out in a voice like Rama’s, “Ah! Sita! Lakshmana! Save me!”

  Sita, hearing the voice, was confused into thinking that Rama was in trouble. Despite Lakshmana’s protests that it could be a trick, and that he had promised Rama to stay beside her, she insisted that he go to her husband, who needed help.

  Meanwhile, the evil Ravana, pretending to be a holy man, came to the door of the hut where the three lived to ask for food. As was the custom, the good Sita invited him in. And so, alas, the ten-headed demon grabbed Sita, threw her in his flying chariot and carried her away
to his mountaintop palace, which laid in Lanka, hundreds of miles away and across the sea.

  While struggling with the demon as they traveled across the skies in his chariot, Sita managed to throw down the wildflowers from her hair and pieces of her jewelry. Tearfully, she prayed, “Rama, Lakshmana, please come to my rescue!”

  When Rama and Lakshmana found Sita gone, Rama was heartbroken. They looked for her everywhere.

  While searching, they reached the Land of the Monkey King, deep in the mountains. There they met his chief minister, Hanuman, son of the Wind God Vayu. Hanuman showed them the flowers and jewels that had been found scattered.

  “These are the very flowers I gave her! These are her jewels!” said Rama excitedly.

  Hanuman quickly became a firm friend. He did not know then, but this too had been decided by the gods. He and his companions, the monkeys and the bears, joined forces with Rama, and the search for Sita continued.

  Different search parties traveled east and west, north and south.

  Finally, Hanuman and his team came to where the land reached the sea and could go no further.

  At the water’s edge, they found flowers and jewels that could only have belonged to Sita. Hanuman realized that Ravana must have carried Sita across the waters. As they stared into the distance across the glistening waves, the richly jeweled city of Lanka shimmered into view. But how were they to cross to the other side of the sea?