Paundraka's Pretension: The Mask of False Divinity
In the courts of Karusha, a king named Paundraka cultivated a delusion so polished it passed for doctrine: he declared himself to be Vasudeva, the Supreme, and fashioned emblems to mimic divinity—conch and discus carved of metal, a fake insignia worn with theatrical solemnity. Flatterers echoed him; courtiers reworded reality to fit his costume. The lie grew into a system, and the system began to demand obedience.
Word reached Dvaraka that Paundraka had sent a proclamation: Krishna should renounce the symbols of divinity, for Paundraka claimed them by right. The city laughed; Krishna did not. He understood that lies do not deserve anger; they deserve accuracy. When a false center is allowed to stand, societies orbit emptiness and call it order. Krishna traveled to Karusha, not to humiliate Paundraka, but to restore alignment where speech had unseated truth.
In the assembly, Paundraka repeated his claim, buoyed by audience and habit. Krishna answered with a quiet inventory: power that does not serve is theater, symbols without reality are burdens, and names detached from substance become cages. He offered Paundraka a choice—relinquish the mask and return to sincerity, or defend the mask and meet its end. Paundraka chose performance.
The battle that followed was swift and clean. Krishna’s discus cut through pretension the way dawn cuts through fog—no malice, only clarity. Paundraka fell, not as an enemy worthy of epic grief, but as a caution: spiritual symbols do not make one divine; divine service makes symbols meaningful. The court sat in stunned silence, feeling the strange relief that arrives when a lie is removed.
Krishna instructed Karusha to rebuild truth at the level of practice: judges must weigh facts, priests must honor meaning, and citizens must learn the grammar of sincerity. The city reoriented itself around the uncomplicated center that had always been available: reality. The people learned to distrust eloquence that hides emptiness and to trust simplicity that carries weight.
Back in Dvaraka, the tale of Paundraka became a teaching for children: do not wear greatness; serve it. The conch and discus, in the hands of the Supreme, are not ornaments but instruments—sounded to awaken, wielded to correct. When they are carved into props, they lose not their shine, but their purpose. Purpose is the true radiance.