The Mystery and Meaning of Ganesha and the Race Around the World
What this moment reveals about faith and destiny.
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You won’t find my name in any scripture, but I was there—sweeping the floors outside Lord Shiva’s hall when the gods gathered. I’d grown up in Mount Kailash's shadow, where snow never melted and wisdom whispered through the wind. On that quiet morning, I saw something I’d never forget.
It began with a fruit.
Not any fruit. This one was shaped like gold, glowing faintly as if it held a universe inside.
Lord Shiva, destroyer and restorer, sat beside his consort, Goddess Parvati. Between them, the fruit. Their sons—Kartikeya and Ganesha—stood nearby. Both were children of divine power. Kartikeya, the god of war, fierce and swift, rode a peacock and carried a spear bright as lightning. Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, had the head of an elephant and wisdom deeper than the ocean.
Shiva said, “This fruit holds knowledge, power, and immortality. But there is only one. To share it would diminish its truth.”
Parvati smiled and added, “So we present a challenge. Travel around the world once. Whoever returns first shall receive the fruit.”
A hush fell. Even the wind outside seemed to stop.
Kartikeya bowed. In a flash, he mounted his peacock and soared off. He was made for speed. Mountains, oceans, kingdoms of sages and demons—nothing could slow him.
I looked at Ganesha. His mouse, Mushika, trembled under him. Around the world? With that soft body and tiny mouse?
He turned toward me and smiled.
Then Ganesha did something strange. He walked slowly, deliberately, around Shiva and Parvati. Once. Twice. Three times.
I leaned forward, confused.
He stopped in front of them, hands joined in prayer. “My world begins and ends with you,” he said. “You are the source of all knowledge, the parents of the universe. By circling you, I have gone around the world.”
Silence again. Shiva’s brow lifted slightly. Parvati’s eyes softened.
And then Kartikeya burst in. Wind-swept, proud, flushed from effort. “I am ready,” he said, “I’ve done it.”
He saw Ganesha standing there, calm.
Shiva stood. “The fruit goes to Ganesha,” he said.
Kartikeya froze. “How? I flew across oceans. Climbed mountains!”
Ganesha said nothing. Only bowed to his brother.
I watched Kartikeya then. He looked at his parents. Then his brother. Then the ground.
But he didn’t shout. He didn’t argue.
He only asked, “Why?”
Shiva replied gently, “To seek the world outside is dharma. To understand the world within—that is wisdom.”
Ganesha had understood the deeper law. Not the race of steps, but the race of heart.
I was just a servant, but in that moment, I understood karma for the first time. Karma isn't just action—it's intention. Ganesha chose reflection over motion. He followed not just the rule, but the spirit of it. That was true dharma.
Later, I asked Ganesha why he didn’t race.
He smiled, eyes twinkling. “Faith is not always about moving fastest. Sometimes it’s seeing clearly where you stand.”
That day changed me. I still sweep the same floors, but now I do it with care. With mindfulness. I think of Ganesha’s circle. His choice. His quiet strength.
In the Puranas, this story lives as a lesson in transformation. Just as Arjuna in the Mahabharata must see beyond the battlefield, Ganesha shows us to see beyond the obvious path.
And so, when people speak of karma, of dharma, they think of mighty deeds. But I remember a boy with an elephant head, circling slowly around his parents—and winning the whole world with a single step of faith.
The Mystery and Meaning of Ganesha and the Race Around the World
What this moment reveals about faith and destiny.
---
You won’t find my name in any scripture, but I was there—sweeping the floors outside Lord Shiva’s hall when the gods gathered. I’d grown up in Mount Kailash's shadow, where snow never melted and wisdom whispered through the wind. On that quiet morning, I saw something I’d never forget.
It began with a fruit.
Not any fruit. This one was shaped like gold, glowing faintly as if it held a universe inside.
Lord Shiva, destroyer and restorer, sat beside his consort, Goddess Parvati. Between them, the fruit. Their sons—Kartikeya and Ganesha—stood nearby. Both were children of divine power. Kartikeya, the god of war, fierce and swift, rode a peacock and carried a spear bright as lightning. Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, had the head of an elephant and wisdom deeper than the ocean.
Shiva said, “This fruit holds knowledge, power, and immortality. But there is only one. To share it would diminish its truth.”
Parvati smiled and added, “So we present a challenge. Travel around the world once. Whoever returns first shall receive the fruit.”
A hush fell. Even the wind outside seemed to stop.
Kartikeya bowed. In a flash, he mounted his peacock and soared off. He was made for speed. Mountains, oceans, kingdoms of sages and demons—nothing could slow him.
I looked at Ganesha. His mouse, Mushika, trembled under him. Around the world? With that soft body and tiny mouse?
He turned toward me and smiled.
Then Ganesha did something strange. He walked slowly, deliberately, around Shiva and Parvati. Once. Twice. Three times.
I leaned forward, confused.
He stopped in front of them, hands joined in prayer. “My world begins and ends with you,” he said. “You are the source of all knowledge, the parents of the universe. By circling you, I have gone around the world.”
Silence again. Shiva’s brow lifted slightly. Parvati’s eyes softened.
And then Kartikeya burst in. Wind-swept, proud, flushed from effort. “I am ready,” he said, “I’ve done it.”
He saw Ganesha standing there, calm.
Shiva stood. “The fruit goes to Ganesha,” he said.
Kartikeya froze. “How? I flew across oceans. Climbed mountains!”
Ganesha said nothing. Only bowed to his brother.
I watched Kartikeya then. He looked at his parents. Then his brother. Then the ground.
But he didn’t shout. He didn’t argue.
He only asked, “Why?”
Shiva replied gently, “To seek the world outside is dharma. To understand the world within—that is wisdom.”
Ganesha had understood the deeper law. Not the race of steps, but the race of heart.
I was just a servant, but in that moment, I understood karma for the first time. Karma isn't just action—it's intention. Ganesha chose reflection over motion. He followed not just the rule, but the spirit of it. That was true dharma.
Later, I asked Ganesha why he didn’t race.
He smiled, eyes twinkling. “Faith is not always about moving fastest. Sometimes it’s seeing clearly where you stand.”
That day changed me. I still sweep the same floors, but now I do it with care. With mindfulness. I think of Ganesha’s circle. His choice. His quiet strength.
In the Puranas, this story lives as a lesson in transformation. Just as Arjuna in the Mahabharata must see beyond the battlefield, Ganesha shows us to see beyond the obvious path.
And so, when people speak of karma, of dharma, they think of mighty deeds. But I remember a boy with an elephant head, circling slowly around his parents—and winning the whole world with a single step of faith.
