Sandipani arrived at the home of Nanda the Cowherd to tutor the child. The teacher duly enquired asked the boy, “Did you revise your lessons from yesterday, Krishna?”
“I did study, master”, Krishna dutifully replied.
“Well then, in that case, go on — recite the multiplication tables for thirteen.”
Krishna began his recitation:“Thirteen ones are thirteen, Twenty threes make twenty threes, Thirty threes are but only thirty threes…”
“Stop it!”, the teacher hissed.
Krishna looked kindly at his teacher and stood there.
“Now, recite…”, the teacher pressed on: “…the Bhagavad Gita.”
Krishna began: “On the golden sickle shaped crescent moon…”
The teacher was infuriated.
“Stop this racket!” he said. “Have you studied anything at all?”
“No.” Krishna replied.
Sandipani opened up his tuft of hair, let it loose, rolled it up again, and then picking up a caning stick, he hollered: “Come along with me, now!”
Sandipani walked ahead and Krishna followed. When they arrived at the foothills of the Govardhana mountains, the teacher ordered: “Stop.”
Krishna stood still. Sandipani pointed to the Govardhana and said: “You, lazybone! Go lift the mountain!”
Krishna then duly picked up the mountain and held it high. Suddenly, a passing rain swept in. Sandipani looked around on all sides. Sensing there was no recourse to getting drenched if he stood there, Sandipani snuck under the Govardhana mountains held aloft by Krishna’s little finger.
Krishna, ever generous to those who seek refuge in him, gently smiled.