Everyone in town recognized the nightly resounding clattering of iron. Every day, Kuresha, the town’s richest and most generous man, opened up the gates of his mansion and allowed—no, encouraged—anyone from town to come and take anything they wanted. After sunset, he would shut his iron gate with an ear-splitting bang heard through all of town—so everyone would know to come the next day.
In the nearby city of Kanchipuram, the blessed Kanchi Purna was doing his daily service of fanning Lord Varadaraja and Sri Perundevi.
“What is that loud sound I hear in the distance?” Perundevi asked around sunset.
Kanchi Purna told her about Kuresha’s daily charity.
“Wow, he must be so prosperous—generous too,” said Perundevi.
The following day, Kanchi Purna met with Kuresha.
“Listen, Kuresha,” Kanchi Purna said excitedly. “Mother Perundevi asked about you last night. Sri Mahalakshmi—the goddess of prosperity herself—talked about how wealthy and generous you are.”
Kuresha was taken aback. “What?” he asked. “Is that really what Mother said about me? I’m so ashamed. Here I am flaunting my wealth so much that my money—not my devotion to Ramanuja—is the first thing Mahalakshmi remembers about me.”
That very day, Kuresha left all his property and wealth—giving up even the act of charity—and left for Srirangam with his wife Andal (not to be confused with Goda). As they walked to Srirangam, Kuresha noticed that his wife had something tucked under her arm.
“What are you bringing?” he asked.
“It’s our gold cup—to drink water from.”
“Oh, no, Andal, please throw that away too,” he said. “Why do I need it? Are we that attached to a mere water cup? I no longer want the burden of all this wealth.”
At Srirangam, their acharya Ramanuja arranged a small place near the temple for them to stay. Kuresha and Andal simply ate whatever food they got from begging house to house each day.
But one day, there was a torrential downpour of rain, and Kuresha had no chance to go outside to beg. It was almost evening and neither Kuresha nor Andal had had anything to eat. Andal prayed to Ranganatha to not let them sleep hungry. Unaware of all this, Kuresha was wholly immersed in his own worship—until he heard a loud knock on the door.
A priest had arrived, carrying plates full of prasadam straight from the temple.
Kuresha raised an eyebrow, confused. He didn’t want to indulge in any pleasures or extravagances. But at the same time, the food was prasadam—he couldn’t decline it. So, he and Andal each took a small serving of the delicious food and sent it back.
Then, he turned to his wife. “Andal, why is the Lord testing us in such a way—tempting us when we’re trying to give up everything?
She told him how she had prayed to Ranganatha earlier to not let them go hungry.
“Going forward, please don’t ask for such things from the Lord,” said Kuresha. “He is so loving and merciful — that just a small prayer is enough to please him. But we’re trying to give up all our attachments, and this is not the right path for us. Our Lord knows how to take care of us, better than we can ever imagine.”
Nine months later, with the blessing of the consecrated prasadam, two baby boys were born to Kuresha and Andal.
Ramanuja himself named the twins Vyasa and Parashara, fulfilling one of his promises to Yamunacharya. Vyasa and Parashara grew up as great devotees and exemplary scholars, with Parashara Bhattar eventually becoming the lead acharya of the Srivaishnava Sampradayam.
