© Puja Goyal (previous title Vishnu – 27th May 27, 2021)
I’m sharing a short story previously written on the occasion of Janamashtami. This story has a special place in my heart, I was going through some really bad times, and my head was nothing short of scrambled eggs.
Vishnu entered my home on a cold, dark night. His footsteps were silent, his aura disguised in tattered clothes. He sat beside my bed, his palm on my forehead, bringing comfort to my grief. The weight of a million births’ of my karma rested beneath his palm.
Entangled in attachments, worries and hopelessness I wept, striking Vishnu with a stick in childish rage, inflicting wounds on him that bled. Yet, he endured, his palm still on my forehead. Night after night, he remained, his love filling the emptiness in my heart. His promise to his devotees kept.
Then, one evening, at his feet, the lotus bloomed.
“Oh, Vishnu! What have I done?” I cried, prostrating at his lotus feet.
“You haven’t wronged me,” he said with a smile. “Even Vishnu should know the pain of your grief.”
Tearfully, he embraced me. “My love for you is immortal, limitless, unwavering, and unchanging. Why do you ask mortal souls for such love? You belong with me, and I with you.”
“Vishnu… oh Vishnu!!!” I surrendered to him at dawn’s break.
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