Nama panduranga.

Namdev Becomes Panduranga: A Divine Play of Devotion and Disguise

In the sacred town of Pandharpur, where the river Chandrabhaga gently flows and pilgrims sing the name of Vitthal with unending love, lived a childlike saint—Namdev. His love for

Lord Panduranga was not of ritual, but of intimate friendship, like that of a son who believes his beloved Lord lives only to speak with him, eat with him, and laugh with him.

Every day, Namdev’s mother would prepare a simple meal with utmost love and devotion. And every 

Day, she would tell Namdev, “Go, my child, call Panduranga to come and eat. Tell Him it is cooked with my heart.” And Namdev, ever obedient, would rush to the temple and plead before the deity, “Come home, Lord. My mother waits.”

The priests scoffed, the pilgrims smiled at his innocence, but Namdev never missed a day.

Then, one day, the miracle happened.

The idol of Vitthal glowed softly, and a gentle voice called out, “Namya.”

The Lord appeared before him, resplendent and kind. “Namdev, I shall come to your house today,” He said. “But you must do something for me.”

Namdev's eyes sparkled with delight. “Anything, my Lord.”

“While I go to eat at your home, you

must take my place here in the sanctum. I will make you look like Me. But listen carefully. When the priests bathe you in cold water, do not shiver. When they place butter on your nose, do not lick it off. When pilgrims come and cry out for boons—sons, riches, health—you must not grant any wish. Stand still, calm, and divine. You are Me for today.”

With a smile, the Lord adorned Namdev in yellow silk, darkened his skin with sandal paste, placed a black crown on his head, and adjusted his arms on the hips—just so.

Then, laughing softly, Panduranga vanished and walked to Namdev’s humble hut.

Namdev’s mother was overjoyed to see Him. Though He appeared as her own son, her heart recognized the divine. “Namya, you’ve brought the Lord Himself today!” she whispered.

The Lord sat like a simple guest, ate every morsel with relish, praised her cooking, and made her heart overflow with bliss.

But she noticed something strange. “Why is Namya not eating? He always rushes to eat!”

The Lord smiled. “Come with me. I’ll take you where Namdev is now.”

He asked her for a black shawl to cover Himself and quietly accompanied her to the temple.

There, standing on the sanctum platform, Namdev stood as the deity—still and radiant. The priests sang the Aarti, pilgrims offered flowers, and bells rang loud. The Lord, now among the crowd, enjoyed it all like a devotee. He clapped, sang, and beamed with joy.

Namdev, however, trembled inwardly. “Will He fall at my feet in front of everyone? Oh, please, no!”

But the Lord remained a playful pilgrim, watching His devotee playing God, savoring the scene. He whispered to Namdev’s mother, “See how well he listens to Me? Even the butter on his nose tempts him not!”

After the Aarti, the Lord revealed the leela to all.

“This is the power of devotion,” He said. “Namdev became Me—not by penance, not by rituals, but by love so pure that I cannot refuse his call. And today, I walked in the streets, tasted his mother’s cooking, and sang praises of My own image.”

Since that day, the tale of Namdev impersonating Panduranga has been sung across Maharashtra, a testimony that when devotion is true, even God plays along—happily.