As the armies of the Mahābhārata gathered on the vast plains of Kurukṣetra, the land shook with preparation. Trees were being felled by elephants, the ground cleared for the camps of warriors, and massive kitchens were being prepared to feed the multitudes. Amidst one such mighty tree lived a humble sparrow, mother to four young chicks—too small to fly, too fragile to escape.
When her tree was struck down by a royal elephant, her nest tumbled to the earth. Miraculously, the chicks remained unharmed, but now they lay exposed on the battlefield. The helpless mother sparrow, trembling with fear, looked for help—and saw none other than Śrī Kṛṣṇa Himself, walking the field with Arjuna, surveying the grounds before the battle began.
Summoning all her strength, the little bird flapped her wings and reached Kṛṣṇa’s chariot.
“O Lord,” she cried, “please protect my children. They’ll be crushed when the war begins tomorrow!”
Kṛṣṇa looked upon her with compassion but replied softly, “I hear you, little one. But I cannot interfere with the laws of nature.”
The sparrow bowed her head and replied, “I know nothing of laws and philosophies. I only know that You are my Lord. Whether You choose to save them or take them, I surrender to You.”
Kṛṣṇa was silent for a moment, then said gently, “Gather enough food in your nest for three weeks.”
Without question, she obeyed and returned to her nest.
The Arrow and the Bell
Two days later, just before the conch shells signaled the beginning of war, Kṛṣṇa suddenly asked Arjuna for his bow and an arrow.
Surprised, Arjuna asked, “Why, my Lord? You have vowed not to lift a weapon in this battle.”
Without answering, Kṛṣṇa aimed His arrow at an elephant nearby. But instead of piercing the beast, the arrow struck the bell tied around its neck, causing it to fly off and fall to the ground with a burst of sparks.
Arjuna chuckled. “Even I wouldn’t miss such an easy target,” he said, half-joking.
Kṛṣṇa said nothing and handed back the bow. The battle began.
Eighteen Days Later
The war raged for eighteen days. Blood was shed, heroes fell, and the field of Kurukṣetra was transformed into a sea of sorrow. The Pandavas emerged victorious, but the cost was immense.
After the war, Kṛṣṇa took Arjuna for one final walk across the battlefield, now littered with corpses, shattered chariots, and broken weapons. They came to a quiet spot where an old elephant bell lay half-buried in the dust.
“Arjuna,” Kṛṣṇa said, “please lift this bell.”
Confused, Arjuna bent down and lifted it. At once, four young birds fluttered out, chirping joyfully, followed by their mother. The same sparrow that had once pleaded for help now soared in circles around Kṛṣṇa, offering her gratitude by circumambulating Him with divine joy.
Arjuna was stunned. “What is this miracle, my Lord?”
Kṛṣṇa smiled gently. “This is the bell I shot off that elephant’s neck eighteen days ago—the same one that knocked down her tree. When I saw her faith, I gave her a chance. She did her part. I did Mine.”
Tears welled in Arjuna’s eyes. “Forgive me, Kṛṣṇa. In seeing You in human form, I forgot who You truly are.”
The Nature of Faith
True faith is not about bending life to our will. It is about aligning our hearts with the will of the Divine. The sparrow never asked for the outcome—she simply surrendered and followed the Lord’s instruction. She didn’t give up her effort; she did all she could. But she did not burden herself with worry over what lay beyond her reach.
Many approach God to fulfill personal desires. But faith is not a business deal. It is not a tug-of-war between human wishes and divine will. True faith is not asking, “Will You do what I want?” It is saying, “Even if You don’t, I will still trust You.”
Desires can cloud vision. We want what seems good to us now, forgetting that life unfolds with a wisdom far greater than our understanding. The secret is to act with sincerity, but surrender the results.
Faith is not passivity. It is action blended with surrender. It is the courage to do your duty, and the wisdom to leave the rest to God.
As Pascal said, “The heart has its reasons which reason does not know.” And it is in this deep heart-space that true faith lives—beyond logic, beyond guarantees.
Let your heart have that faith. Let it fly, like the sparrow and her children, into the vast sky of divine grace.
