The Form That Could Not Be Calmed
After Narasimha had slain Hiranyakashipu at the threshold, his roar shook all the worlds. Even in victory, the fury of the Lord did not subside. He remained seated at the threshold, Hiranyakashipu's body before him, his mane wild, his eyes blazing.
The devas were frightened. Brahma himself would not approach. Shiva came close but hesitated. The goddess Lakshmi tried to approach but was stopped by the intensity of the form.
None of the greatest beings in the cosmos dared come close to that throne.
The Small Boy Who Walked Forward
Then Prahlada — five years old, the same child Hiranyakashipu had tried to destroy — walked forward alone.
No weapons, no attendants, no protection. Just the boy who had always loved this Lord, in whatever form He took.
Prahlada knelt before Narasimha. He began to sing — the Prahlada Stuti — a hymn of praise so pure and so full of love that the cosmos grew still to listen.
He sang of the Lord's presence in all beings. He sang that the Lord was not confined to any form. He sang that devotion was its own reward.
Slowly, as Prahlada sang, the terrible form softened. The blazing eyes grew gentle. Narasimha placed His massive hand on the small boy's head.
The Blessing
"Ask for a boon, Prahlada," Narasimha said.
"Lord," Prahlada replied, "my father is gone. I do not grieve for him — I know his end brought him to your feet, and there is no better ending. Grant me only this: that I may never desire anything, in any life, except devotion to You."
Narasimha granted it. And added: "Your father is liberated. He died touching my hand. The touch of an avatar, even in battle, is purifying."