There was once a boy-sage named Markandeya who had loved truth so much, and held it so close, that he could not really be harmed by anything — not even by the end of the world.

And one day the world did end.

The sun grew terribly hot, then went dark. The rivers dried, then the seas rose. Rain fell for a hundred years, and the mountains crumbled, and at last everything — every village, every forest, every star — melted away into one vast, dark, endless ocean. There was nothing left anywhere. No earth. No sky. Only water, stretching forever in every direction.

Anyone else would have been terrified. But Markandeya floated on that great water, awake and calm, his heart quiet. He was sad to see the world go, yes. But he did not tremble. Deep inside he knew that what truly mattered could never be drowned.

He floated for a long, long time. And then, in the middle of all that emptiness, he saw something small and bright: a single banyan leaf, drifting. And on the leaf lay a baby — a shining blue baby, peaceful and smiling, with one tiny toe held to his lips.

Markandeya swam closer, wondering. As he came near, the baby breathed in — and the old sage was gently drawn inside the baby's body. And there, inside that little child, Markandeya saw the whole universe: all the rivers and hills and people and worlds that had melted away, kept safe and whole. The baby was holding everything, the way the sky holds the wind.

Then he breathed out, and Markandeya floated again on the dark water. But now he understood. The baby was the Lord himself, resting between worlds. When the world was made, it would come out of him. When it dissolved, it would rest inside him.

"Those who hold the highest knowledge," Krishna told Arjuna, finishing the tale, "become like Markandeya. When new worlds are born, they are not dragged back into fear. When worlds dissolve, they do not tremble. They share my own calm, and they rest in what never, ever ends."