Once, long ago, there was a great sage whose name was Parnada. Through study, abstinence, holy sacrifices, long meditation and difficult disciplines he had trampled human limitations underfoot and earned great merit. Indeed, so far had he gone in his journey that one day, while he was cutting some sacred kusha grass, he happened to cut his finger and instead of blood, what emerged from the wound was plant sap.

When Parnada saw this, he laid down his knife and marvelled, and said with a smile, “Surely I have reached the stage of spiritual perfection! I am perfect among men! Never has a sage gone this far!”

But as he said these word to himself, suddenly a wandering beggar appeared before Parnada and asked him, “What makes you smile so broadly, O sage?”

“I smile because I have surpassed all human limitations,” Parnada replied. “See? Blood no longer flows in my veins. Only tree sap is there.”

“Tree sap!” said the beggar dismissively. “Do not trees grow old and die? And when their life is done? They are cut down and burnt, so that only ash remains!”

Saying this, the beggar seized Parade’s knife and sliced his own finger – and neither blood nor sap emerged but only powdery white ash flowed from the opening.

Parnada knelt and touched the beggar’s feet. “Now I know you must be Lord Shiva himself,” he said. “Forgive me for my spiritual pride!”