Faith in Motion: The Story of Prahlada
Where divine will meets human challenge.
I was just five years old when I first saw the flames.
My name is Prahlada. My father, King Hiranyakashipu, ruled over the three worlds. A great warrior. Stronger than any man, feared even by the gods. But he hated Lord Vishnu—the lord who preserves and protects. My father believed no one was greater than him. And I, his only son, believed the opposite.
He couldn’t stand it.
From birth, I was drawn to devotion. Even before I could read the sacred texts—the Puranas, the Ramayana, the Mahabharata—I felt Lord Vishnu’s presence. In the rustling leaves, in my mother’s lullabies, in the silence before dawn. That was enough.
My teachers, sent by my father, warned me. “Only speak of your father’s greatness,” they said. But I couldn’t lie. My heart knew the truth.
Every morning, I chanted Vishnu’s name. Every night, I prayed. I didn’t do it to rebel. I did it because it was my dharma—my truth, my duty.
My father didn’t see it that way.
“Where is your God now?” he shouted once, shaking my small shoulders. “Is He in this pillar?”
I nodded.
He struck the pillar with his mace. It split in two, and from it emerged someone not man, not beast. Lord Narasimha—Vishnu in the form of half-lion, half-man—roared as the sky darkened.
The room trembled.
Even I stood still, breath caught.
With claws and fury, Narasimha destroyed Hiranyakashipu—at dusk, on the threshold, neither indoors nor out. Not by weapon, not by man.
He followed every word of Brahma’s boon—and still kept justice. That is the power of Karma. Of divine balance.
I did not cheer when my father fell. He had been wrong, but he was still my father.
But that night, I understood. Faith does not crumble under fear. It grows.
Years later, when I ruled, I guided my people with the same truth. Not through force. Through dharma. I told them, “Faith is not just in temples. It is how you treat your neighbor. It is the hands you use to lift others. It is remembering that power means nothing if it is not used in service.”
This story—my story—gets told in the Bhagavata Purana, one of the sacred devotional stories of our tradition. But it’s more than a tale of gods and kings. It’s the story of a child who chose truth over fear. And who learned that Karma means every action ripples forward.
You don’t have to fight demons to change the world. Sometimes, you just have to stand still in a burning room… and believe.
That day, I did not just survive my father.
I transformed.
And with me, so did faith.
Keywords: devotional stories, Ramayana, duty, Mahabharata, Puranas, Karma
Word Count: 555
Faith in Motion: The Story of Prahlada
Where divine will meets human challenge.
I was just five years old when I first saw the flames.
My name is Prahlada. My father, King Hiranyakashipu, ruled over the three worlds. A great warrior. Stronger than any man, feared even by the gods. But he hated Lord Vishnu—the lord who preserves and protects. My father believed no one was greater than him. And I, his only son, believed the opposite.
He couldn’t stand it.
From birth, I was drawn to devotion. Even before I could read the sacred texts—the Puranas, the Ramayana, the Mahabharata—I felt Lord Vishnu’s presence. In the rustling leaves, in my mother’s lullabies, in the silence before dawn. That was enough.
My teachers, sent by my father, warned me. “Only speak of your father’s greatness,” they said. But I couldn’t lie. My heart knew the truth.
Every morning, I chanted Vishnu’s name. Every night, I prayed. I didn’t do it to rebel. I did it because it was my dharma—my truth, my duty.
My father didn’t see it that way.
“Where is your God now?” he shouted once, shaking my small shoulders. “Is He in this pillar?”
I nodded.
He struck the pillar with his mace. It split in two, and from it emerged someone not man, not beast. Lord Narasimha—Vishnu in the form of half-lion, half-man—roared as the sky darkened.
The room trembled.
Even I stood still, breath caught.
With claws and fury, Narasimha destroyed Hiranyakashipu—at dusk, on the threshold, neither indoors nor out. Not by weapon, not by man.
He followed every word of Brahma’s boon—and still kept justice. That is the power of Karma. Of divine balance.
I did not cheer when my father fell. He had been wrong, but he was still my father.
But that night, I understood. Faith does not crumble under fear. It grows.
Years later, when I ruled, I guided my people with the same truth. Not through force. Through dharma. I told them, “Faith is not just in temples. It is how you treat your neighbor. It is the hands you use to lift others. It is remembering that power means nothing if it is not used in service.”
This story—my story—gets told in the Bhagavata Purana, one of the sacred devotional stories of our tradition. But it’s more than a tale of gods and kings. It’s the story of a child who chose truth over fear. And who learned that Karma means every action ripples forward.
You don’t have to fight demons to change the world. Sometimes, you just have to stand still in a burning room… and believe.
That day, I did not just survive my father.
I transformed.
And with me, so did faith.
Keywords: devotional stories, Ramayana, duty, Mahabharata, Puranas, Karma
Word Count: 555
