Sloga for the day:
Namosthesthu, Maha Maye,
Sree peede, sura poojithe,
Sanka , chakra, Gadha hasthe,
Maha Lakshmi, Namosthuthe.
My pranams, to Goddess Mahalakshmi,
Who, is the great magician,Who, lives wherever wealth, is there,
Who, is worshipped by all Gods,
And who has conch, wheel and mace(gadha) in her hands.
Story:
Once upon a time, there lived a poor Brahmin, by the name of Swabhavakripna, in a village. Swabhavakripna was all alone, and had no friends or relatives. He was known, for his miserliness and used to beg for his living. Whatever food, he got as alms, he kept in an earthen pot, and hung it ,beside his bed. Whenever, he felt hungry, he took out some food, from the pot and ate it.One day, the Brahmin got a quantity of rice gruel, so much that, even after eating to his full, a pot full was left. Brahmin was very happy, to get such quantity of food. As the night progressed, the Brahmin, lay on his bed, but he could not, take his eyes from the pot. Soon, he was fast asleep. He began to dream, that the pot is overflowing, with rice gruel. He dreamt that if a famine came to the land, then he could sell it for a hundred silver coins. With these silver coins, he would buy a pair of goats. They would have kids, in every six months and soon he would ,acquire a herd of goats. Then, he would trade the goats, for buffaloes and cows. Then, they would have their young ones. They would grow up, and give lots of milk. He would sell, the milk in the market and make, lots of butter and curd from it. Then, he would sell that butter and curd, in the market. Like this, he would, become richer than ever before. With this money, he would buy, a large house, with four buildings in a rectangle. A wealthy Brahmin, after seeing his affluence would marry his daughter to him. Soon, the wife would deliver a son and he would name him Soma Sharma. The Brahmin would scold Soma, when he would play, around all day making noise. But Soma, would not listen, and anxiously the Brahmin would pick a stick and run after him. Buried in his dream, Brahmin, picked up the stick lying near his bed. He started, hitting in the air with the stick. While doing so, he hit the earthen pot with the stick, the pot broke and all the contents spilled over him. The Brahmin, woke up to find, that he was dreaming the whole situation. All his dreams, got shattered at once.
Moral: One should not build castles in the air.
