“One time, that wicked king of the Daityas saw his son of lotus-like face and beautiful eyes, surrounded by women, having returned from the home of the guru. In his hand, that boy was holding a slate which had the mark of a chakra at the top and the name of Krishna written with great adoration.” (Narasimha Purana, 41.35-36)

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तं पद्मवक्त्रं दैत्येन्द्रः कदाचित् स्त्रीवृतः खलः
बालं गुरुगृहायातं ददर्श स्वायतेक्षणम्
गृहीत्वा तु करे पुत्रं पट्टिका या सुशोभना
मूर्ध्नि चक्राङ्किता पट्टी कृष्णनामाङ्कितादरात्

taṃ padmavaktraṃ daityendraḥ kadācit strīvṛtaḥ khalaḥ
bālaṃ gurugṛhāyātaṃ dadarśa svāyatekṣaṇam
gṛhītvā tu kare putraṃ paṭṭikā yā suśobhanā
mūrdhni cakrāṅkitā paṭṭī kṛṣṇanāmāṅkitādarāt

It is a difficult subject, for sure. When out at a restaurant, stuck in a long meeting in the boardroom at work, or palling around with acquaintances and colleagues, you try to skirt around the issue, should it come up. While others are eager to share their stories of courtship, of romance, of the planning that went into the wedding, you try to casually nod along or insert surprised looks at the obvious points in the story arc. Anything you can do to avoid having to speak on the issue from your personal experience.

The reason is that your experience is vastly different. You had an arranged marriage. It was never strange to you. It was never a foreign concept. Your own parents met in this way. Their love was the strongest you ever witnessed between husband and wife. Countless generations prior to them followed the same path. Nothing is ever perfect in life, but this system seemed to be much better than the alternative of a risky proposition based on sentimental attachment, as that sentiment can change at any moment. Love turning to hate. Appreciation turning to resentment. A vow of marriage turning into a bitter divorce.

You spend enough time with people and the truth tends to finally get out. You go through with the inevitable. You admit to these people that you had an arranged marriage. There are a few puzzling glances, at first. Most people don’t take you seriously. They think you are pulling a fast one on them. But when they realize you are serious, they ask about the experience. They want to know how someone could ever go through with such a thing. How could you marry a total stranger, they ask. They want assurance that you understand marriage is supposed to be for life, that there is no turning back.

Your trusted response, the one that is most effective at cooling the temperature of the discussion, is to make the comparison to raising children. The newborn child is like welcoming a total stranger to the family. There is no guarantee as to their nature, as to how they will act. There is no assurance that the child will even listen to the mother and the father when they grow up. And yet, no one is afraid. The parents would never dream of turning off affection and care based on the way the child turns out. The love is unconditional, after all.

Today, the pressure is on. That is because you have given the comparison to raising children so often that you feel the need to live up to the role. You don’t want to say one thing and do something totally different. Your young child is just entering school. You got emotional the first time you dropped them off. You were not entirely sure if the school would take care of them. Is that really how things go, you ask yourself. Is everyone else okay with this, you think.

One day, upon returning home after a long day at work, your wife has a strange look on her face. It is like she needs to tell you something but is avoiding it. She has to deliver bad news, but is holding off. She is afraid of your reaction. You ask her to give it to you straight. You have a feeling that something went wrong at school, that your child might be in trouble.

She informs you that the child said a bad word. They said it in front of the entire class. The teacher heard it. The other children heard it. The news is making the rounds on the unofficial wire service that is the community of parents. You are deeply embarrassed. You wonder how this could have happened. Where did they learn the word from? Which word was it, exactly? Is it possible there was a mistake? Maybe it is the wife’s fault. Or perhaps some other children in the class are a bad influence.

This hypothetical situation begins to explain the predicament once faced by the Daitya leader named Hiranyakashipu. He had a son named Prahlada. At five years of age, the child was beginning to attend school. Hiranyakashipu was eager to know how the instruction was going. The father had some pull in the community. If the teachers were failing to live up to the standard, they could be punished. The father could guide the curriculum in a different direction.

The worst thing that could happen was for Prahlada to show affinity for Hiranyakashipu’s enemy. The one person whose name should never be spoken in the kingdom. The one person who was always remembered for what was previously done to Hiranyaksha, who was Hiranyakashipu’s brother. Prahlada could say any other name and likely remain in good standing.

We see that the child came home one day from school and had a slate with him. Prahlada had drawn a chakra at the top, which is commonly associated with Vishnu. What is worse is that Prahlada had written the name of Krishna in a reverential manner. The Sanskrit here is adarat. Prahlada knew what he was doing. It was not some casual attempt at writing some random name.

Vishnu was the one person Hiranyakashipu did not want to hear about. Though Vishnu has no enemy, the asura class creates enemies based on their inimical ways. Hiranyakashipu is described as khalah. This is a wicked or evil person. Krishna is another name for Vishnu, and for Prahlada to show such allegiance was not a good sign, in the eyes of the father.

In truth, it was a great blessing. To have a devotee in the family is like the best gift a parent could ask for. Even if that parent is askew in their alignment, gravitating towards sinful ways, the association with the devotee son will be purifying. Simply by seeing the name written in such a respectful way is auspicious, as is the chakra, which itself is known as sudarshana.

In Closing:

Greatest vision to see,
Innocent son was he.

With natural affection to give,
In same kingdom to live.

One time upon returning home,
Name on slate his own.

Of Krishna and chakra the sign,
Not with father’s nature to align.

Categories: prahlada and his slate

Tags: bhakti, dailyprompt, education, parenting, poem, poems, poetry