The villagers of Vrindavan looked up at the sky with growing unease. Dark clouds swirled above, and the wind carried the scent of an impending storm. The village elders whispered among themselves, their faces grim.

“We must perform the grand yajna (prayer) to appease Lord Indra,” said one elder. “If we fail, he will send a mighty storm upon us.”

Little Krishna, with his mischievous smile and twinkling eyes, listened intently. “Why do we worship Indra every year?” he asked.

“To ensure he blesses us with rain,” his father, Nanda Maharaj, explained.

“But, Father,” Krishna said, “Is it not Govardhan Parvat that nourishes our cows and fields? It is Govardhan Hill that gives us fresh grass, pure water, and shade. Shouldn’t we worship the mountain instead?”

The villagers pondered over his words. Convinced by Krishna’s wisdom, they prepared an offering for Govardhan instead of Indra. But Indra, furious at being ignored, unleashed his wrath. Torrential rains poured down, and thunder roared across the land. The villagers ran, seeking shelter, fear gripping their hearts.

As panic spread, Krishna stood amidst the chaos, calm and resolute. “Do not be afraid,” he reassured them. “Come with me.”

With effortless grace, the little boy placed his pinky finger beneath Govardhan Hill and lifted it as if it were a mere leaf. The villagers gasped in awe—Krishna lifting Govardhan Hill was a sight they would never forget.

“Come, take shelter beneath Govardhan,” Krishna called.

One by one, the people of Vrindavan, along with their cows and calves, hurried beneath the mountain, now held aloft like a great umbrella. For seven days and seven nights, Krishna stood unwavering, shielding his people from Indra’s fury.

Seeing that his storms had no effect, Indra finally relented. The clouds dispersed, and the sun shone once more. Humbled, Indra descended to Vrindavan and bowed before Krishna.

“O Lord,” he said, “I now understand. You are not just a little cowherd boy—you are the Supreme One. Forgive my arrogance.”

Krishna smiled, lowering Govardhan Parvat gently back into place. “Pride blinds even the mightiest,” he said. “True strength lies in protecting, not in destroying.”

From that day on, the people of Vrindavan celebrated Govardhan Puja, honoring the mountain that had sheltered them and the divine boy who had lifted it with a little finger.