Never give up in fear, but give up everything for wisdom
"The world says — 'Never give up.'
But what if real strength…
is knowing when to let go?
This is the story of a prince who swam toward the world…
and walked away from it.
Once, in the ancient city of Mithila, the royal house was torn by betrayal and war.
The king was defeated in battle and killed by his own younger brother.
Neither of the brothers was truly evil —
but as destiny would have it, fear, desire, suspicion, and ego brought about war.
The king's pregnant queen was forced to flee for her life —
alone, in disguise, with only a basket of rice hiding the royal jewels and gold.
But the child she carried… was no ordinary child.
She walked on alone, bearing not just her unborn son…
but a destiny the gods themselves were watching over.
The queen, heavy with child, kept walking despite her exhaustion.
The safety of her unborn child was all that mattered.
Seeing this, Indra — king of the heavens — descended in compassion.
Disguised as an old villager with a carriage,
he found her sitting by the roadside, hoping for someone to help.
He offered her a ride.
While she slept, he carried her across sixty leagues in a single night
to the distant city of Kālācampā.
There, a Brahmin teacher — moved by the spiritual power of the Bodhisatta in her womb — adopted her.
To protect her, he told everyone she was his long-lost sister.
Soon after, the queen gave birth to a son.
She named him Mahājanaka.
He grew up bright and strong —
but other children mocked him, calling him “the widow’s son.”
One day, furious and frustrated, he bit his mother as she nursed him.
“Tell me who my father was!” he demanded.
She told him the truth:
“You are the son of a king. And we fled to save your life.”
From that moment on, he no longer felt ashamed of his past.
Mahājanaka grew into a wise and handsome young man.
At sixteen, his mother showed him the hidden royal jewels and offered them to fund a campaign
to reclaim his father’s kingdom.
But Mahājanaka took only half.
He wished to make more through trade.
He set sail for Suvarnabhūmi —
the golden land of the East.
On the same day, back in Mithila, the reigning king fell gravely ill.
After seven days at sea, a violent storm struck.
The ship was about to sink.
Chaos broke out — passengers ran, cried, and prayed.
But Mahājanaka stayed calm.
He ate a hearty meal, covered his body with sugar and ghee,
put on two sets of oiled clothes, and climbed to the top of the mast.
The ship cracked.
The waters turned red as Sharks and turtles devoured the submerged passengers and animals.
Using his strength, he leapt far from the wreck —
hoping to escape the same fate.
That very day, the king of Mithila died.
Mahājanaka floated alone for seven days and nights.
Each time he felt fatigue, he remembered the fate of his fellow passengers.
Sometimes he would drift into sleep, start to drown…
then wake and swim again.
He did not give up.
He resolved:
“I will swim until death takes me.”
Manimekhalā, goddess of the ocean, had been distracted.
When she finally noticed him,
she saw his determination and knew he was no ordinary man.
She appeared before him, praised his resolve,
lifted him in her arms, and held him like a child.
Mahājanaka finally slept — for seven days.
Then she flew him to his family’s kingdom
and gently laid him on a ceremonial stone
in a mango grove, where the garden goddesses watched over him.
Back in Mithila, the king had left no sons or brothers.
Only his daughter, Princess Sīvālī, remained.
Before dying, he gave three conditions to find a worthy successor:
He must win Princess Sīvālī’s approval. or
He must string the king’s great bow — requiring the strength of a thousand men. or
He must solve riddles to find sixteen hidden treasures.
Suitors came forward.
A general was sent first to meet Sivali in her quarters.
Sīvālī asked him to run around. He ran.
She told him to rub her feet. He obeyed.
Then she kicked him in the chest and had him thrown out.
He was not wise enough to rule.
The treasurer, sword-bearer, and other noble men came.
Each one was rejected — none passed her tests.
The ministers moved on to the other tasks.
But no man could string the bow, solve the riddles, or meet the mark.
Then the royal chaplain suggested the ancient method:
Let the royal chariot choose.
They yoked it to four lotus-colored horses,
and a crowd followed the empty chariot as it rolled out of the city…
…until it stopped, circling three times around the stone
where Mahājanaka lay sleeping.
Musicians played loudly to wake him.
Mahājanaka sat up calmly, saying nothing.
The chaplain examined his feet —
and saw the royal signs.
He was no ordinary man.
He was destined to rule the four continents.
Mahājanaka accepted the call.
Right there beneath the mango tree,
he was anointed king.
In the palace, he began governing with wisdom and clarity.
Princess Sīvālī summoned him three times,
but he did not go to her.
She had been observing him —
and was quietly pleased by the one who was now her king.
Finally, she approached him in the garden
and admitted her joy.
They soon grew affectionate toward each other.
Under the white umbrella,
King Mahājanaka asked his ministers
whether the former king had left any instructions.
They told him of the tests.
Though he had already been crowned,
he chose to honor them out of respect.
He passed them all.
He won the princess’s heart, strung the mighty bow,
and solved the riddles — revealing treasures which he gave away to be shared among the poor.
He brought his mother and adopted uncle to the palace.
He married Sīvālī, and together they had a son
with all the auspicious marks.
He had everything he could ever want.
And he ruled with peace and prosperity for a long time.
One day, in a quiet park,
the king saw two mango trees —
one full of fruit, the other bare.
He plucked a mango,
and its taste delighted him.
But when he returned in the evening for more,
the fruitful tree had been destroyed.
Everyone had picked, broken, and torn it apart.
The barren tree was untouched.
Mahājanaka saw the truth:
To possess invites pain.
To own is to suffer.
Peace lies in being like the barren tree.
That moment, he decided to renounce the world.
He handed the kingdom to his commander and ministers.
For four months, he lived in solitude
atop the palace, seen by none but the servants.
Then, one day, at sunrise, he walked away —
toward the Himalayas.
The queens, upon hearing this, wailed and ran after him.
The people of the city followed.
Even Queen Sīvālī tried to deceive him —
ordering a fire set to fake a disaster,
hoping he would turn back.
He said only:
“I have no treasure. I own nothing anymore.”
He drew a line in the dust:
“No one must cross this.”
But the queen, stricken with grief, crossed it.
And all the people followed her.
For sixty leagues, they walked behind him.
The sage Narada saw it all through divine vision.
He flew down to encourage the king.
Then Migājina, another great sage, arrived and blessed his path.
At night, Mahājanaka rested beneath a tree.
In the morning, he walked again.
A dog holding a piece of roasted meat dropped it in fear.
The king picked it up, cleaned it, and ate it.
The queen cried in disgust.
They saw a girl sifting sand —
with two bangles on one wrist, and one on the other.
The two clinked noisily. The single one was quiet.
“Peace,” he said, “belongs to one.”
Then they saw an arrow-maker —
closing one eye to focus.
“Two eyes see too much. One brings clarity.” said the king
The queen said she understood both, but would still not leave.
He plucked a single blade of grass and cut it in the middle.
“We are like this,” he said.
“Split once… can never back to the original again.”
The queen fainted in grief.
And at last, while the crowd panicked over her,
Mahājanaka slipped into the forest…
and was gone.
The queen awoke.
She returned to the mango grove, crowned her son…
and chose to live as an ascetic in the mango groves itself.
In a future life, this king would become the Buddha.
Queen Sīvālī… would be Yaśodharā.
Their son… would be Rāhula.