Chapter 134 The Way Home
Bhū-loka.
The sun shone bright in the endless blue sky, unmarred by a single cloud. Its golden rays spilled gently across the land, bathing everything in warmth. The forest was alive, not peaceful, but vibrant, with squirrels darting through the underbrush, wild boars rustling in the leaves, and frogs croaking in sync with the buzz of summer insects. Life was loud, wild, and full of purpose.
In stark contrast, a lone figure strolled beneath the trees.
Indra, clad in a plain Kashaya, stepped barefoot upon the sacred earth. His expression was serene, but his mind was adrift. The king of devas had no thunderbolt in hand. No retinue of his brothers or apsaras or gandharvas trailed behind him. There was only silence, and soil, and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.
"Where to?" he muttered softly.
He hadn't meant to wander this far. He had only set out to find a quiet place to rest, perhaps even nap, but his feet had carried him farther than he intended. There was no plan, no destination. Just the open road and his wandering thoughts.
Indra walked aimlessly.
Until he saw it.
A humble thatched cottage lay in the distance, surrounded by a bamboo fence. Vines of bright yellow morning glory trailed along the posts, their petals open wide to the sun. Banana trees swayed gently inside the courtyard, and in the very center stood a great Jambū tree. Its broad leaves formed a natural canopy, filtering the sunlight into soft, dappled gold.
Beneath it, seated cross-legged upon a stone platform, was a woman in a saffron-yellow sari.
Her face was calm and radiant, with a yellow tilak marking her brow. Rudrākṣa beads hung in a single loop around her neck, and her long lashes rested softly against her cheeks as she sat in meditation. The wind played gently with her sari's hem, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and earth.
Indra stopped. His breath caught.
"Mother…?"
He blinked. The path he had taken, unconsciously and instinctively, had led him back here. To her.
To Aditi.
The woman before him, graceful and serene, was none other than the daughter of Daksha Prajāpati. The mother of the Ādityas. His mother.
For a long moment, Indra simply stood there, uncertain. Then, quietly, almost shyly, he lifted his hand.
Above them, the scorching sun dimmed behind a veil of light clouds. A cool breeze stirred, rustling the leaves of the Jambū tree. It flowed over Aditi's form like a whisper of devotion.
Her eyes stirred behind her eyelids.
Her lashes fluttered.
Then, slowly, her eyes opened.
And there he was reflected in her gaze. The boy she had raised. The king of Svarga. The child who still came home when he was lost.
"Mother!" Indra stepped forward, his voice bright with a childlike joy. He folded his hands in reverence, the smile on his face helplessly genuine. "It's been so long…"
It had. Too long.
Aditi's lips curved slightly, and she rose from her seat with effortless grace. Her eyes didn't scold, but they held a gentle reproach, the kind only a mother could give.
"Well," she said softly, brushing the dust from her sari, "after all these years, I had nearly forgotten what my son looked like."
Indra winced.
He hadn't visited much. Not after becoming King of Svarga. Not after bearing the weight of battles, curses, alliances, and wars. And truth be told… the other Devas hadn't come much either.
"…When a child is troubled," Aditi murmured, stepping closer, "he always finds his way back to his mother. Isn't that so?"
Indra laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Guilty as charged."
Aditi shook her head gently, a serene smile blooming on her lips as her eyes swept over Indra's austere robes. Her voice was soft, almost amused.
"So," she asked, tilting her head slightly, "what's troubling you this time?"
Indra gave a sheepish smile. Of course, there was something.
"Mother… is there a better forest nearby for penance?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Quiet and secluded. Preferably one where squirrels don't try to steal my food."
Aditi's brows drew together faintly.
Her gaze shifted with quiet calculation. And then she asked, rather directly, "Were you kicked out of Svarga by the Asuras?"
She looked around the empty courtyard. There was no trace of Surya, no glimmer of Agni's fire, no whistle of Vāyu's wind, nor the calm presence of Varuna.
"…Where are they?" she asked slowly. "Were they captured?"
A shadow passed over her calm face. Worry settled into her heart.
Among Prajāpati Daksha's many daughters, Aditi had always carried herself with the most grace. She, along with her sisters Diti and Danu, had all been married to the great sage Kashyapa. Diti and Danu became the mothers of the Daityas and Dānavas, the two principal Asura lineages.
She had given birth to the Devas.
And now those Asura sons of her sisters were making their bid for the Svarga. Patāla was no longer enough. If they had taken Svarga… if they had captured her children…
Aditi's heart clenched.
She took a single step forward and raised her hand. Like sunlight breaking through a storm, her palm gently cupped Indra's cheek. Her touch was warm, but her voice held a tremble of emotion.
"My child… You've suffered, haven't you? You used to have such fire in your eyes… like young lions waiting to leap. But now…"
Her gaze deepened.
"…Have the Asuras already reached Svarga?"
"Do you want me to step in?"
Her voice was quiet but firm, almost dangerous. The way a mother speaks when she's ready to protect what's hers, even if it means burning down kingdoms.
Indra flinched slightly.
Ah. That… would be bad. If he allowed her to intervene, things could quickly spiral out of control. He could already foresee the chain of events: Aditi would rise to his defense, prompting Diti's immediate retaliation. Danu, too, would likely involve herself, and soon,
Daksha would be dragged back into the affairs of the Triloka, despite his previous retirement after the incident with Shiva. And knowing fate's twisted sense of humor, even Sati reborn as Parvati might find herself caught in the turmoil.
Which meant Shiva would get involved. Which meant everything would go straight to maha shunya in a handbasket.
He broke into a cold sweat just thinking about it.
"N-No, Mother! It's nothing like that!" he waved his hands quickly. "Surya and all my brothers are still in Svarga. I… I stepped down voluntarily."
Seeing her expression, he quickly launched into a full explanation.
When he was done, Aditi let out a long, quiet sigh. Some of the tension in her shoulders eased.
"I see… I'm glad you're safe." Her eyes softened. "But that Rishi Durvasa… his temper goes too far. That curse of his... honestly!"
Indra smiled faintly.
"It's fine, Mother. You should return to your meditation. I'll just find a place nearby to continue my penance."
He couldn't continue his penance here. It was emotionally draining. Spiritually, it would undermine his resolve. And if he remained here, she'd spoil him, offering him comfort and care instead of the harsh discipline he needed to renounce his throne. It was simply too much of a temptation, and he knew he needed distance to truly follow through with his vow.
Aditi studied him for a moment, her gaze steady, before she nodded with understanding.
"Very well," she said, raising her hand and pointing. "One hundred and eighty yojanas to the south lies a dense forest, nestled near the border of Jambūdvīpa, close to Yama's domain. Few Rishis venture there. It is said that the place is too close to death's threshold."
Her voice remained calm, but her smile carried a knowing quality.
"There, you will find silence. A silence that will test the strength of your spirit."
Yama's city lay in the deep southern reaches of Jambūdvīpa, hidden far beneath the earth. It was a place avoided by most sages, its name whispered only in caution. To many, the south was not merely a direction; it was a threshold, the boundary between life and death.
"Dhanyavad, Mother!" Indra brought his palms together in respectful reverence. With a brief glimmer of divine light, he vanished.
Aditi stood still.
Her eyes glinted faintly, the soft breeze tugging at the edge of her yellow sari. The Asuras may not have directly played a part in Durvasa's curse… but the chain of events had begun long before that. Hiranyaksha. Hiranyakashipu. Hayagrīva. Each had stirred the cosmic balance, each had pushed the Devas out of Svarga, step by step.
One day, when her penance was complete, she would speak with Diti and Danu.
They needed to talk about their children.
With a soft breath, Aditi turned to return to her stone platform, intending to resume her meditation.
But just then, a voice called out, graceful and gentle, like the chime of golden bells carried by the wind.
"Pranām, Devi Aditi!"
Aditi paused. A quiet smile touched her lips.
She turned, her expression softening.
A young woman approached with measured steps, her posture elegant, her aura radiant. Her beauty was refined and dignified, the kind that turned heads not with arrogance, but with grace. There was charm in her eyes, mischief tucked in her smile, and purpose in every movement.
In her hands, she carried a golden plate, adorned with offerings: sandalwood paste, flowers, ghee lamps, and fragrant herbs prepared for Yajna.
Aditi's smile deepened. "So you've come."
The girl stopped before her and returned the smile with a graceful nod.
The sacred stillness of the forest hummed with quiet life again, the golden light filtering through the Jambū tree above them.
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The 12 Ādityas:
Aṁśa – giver of portions, linked with solar rays
Aryaman – god of nobility, customs, and societal order
Bhaga – god of wealth, inheritance, and good fortune
Dakṣa – embodiment of skill, order, and creation
Dhātṛ – the sustainer and supporter of the cosmos
Indra – king of the gods
Mitra – god of harmony, friendship, and agreements
Pūṣan – protector of travelers, herds, and roads
Savitṛ (Savitar) – inspirer and life-giver; aspect of the sun
Tvaṣṭṛ – the divine artisan, creator of forms and weapons
Varuṇa – guardian of cosmic law (ṛta) and justice
Vishnu – preserver of the universe and cosmic balance (In texts like the Bhāgavata Purāṇa (6.6.39), Vishnu is explicitly called one of the 12 sons of Aditi.)
These twelve Ādityas are understood as divine aspects of the Sun, governing universal principles like truth, time, justice, life, and cosmic law. Each is believed to preside over one month of the solar calendar.
In the Ṛgveda, Sūrya is a distinct and separate solar deity, often called "the eye of Mitra and Varuṇa." He is not originally listed as one of the Ādityas in early hymns.
Sūrya Nārāyaṇa is a later theological development, especially in Vaishnava traditions, where Viṣṇu is worshipped in the form of the Sun.
In this view, Sūrya becomes the radiant form of Viṣṇu, and temples like Konark.
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Chapter 135 Aditi’s Blessing
"You came! I rarely get visitors out here."
Aditi turned, a serene smile blooming across her timeless face. Her gaze softened as it landed on the girl approaching, clad in a crimson sari that shimmered like liquid flame in the dappled light. The silk hugged her waist, tracing the proud curve of her hips, full and vibrant with youthful strength.
Aditi recognized her instantly.
"Yes!" the girl replied brightly. "My father's yajña required many offerings today. I thought… since you and the revered grandmothers dwell in seclusion and are always engaged in tapasya, you may not have had the time to gather the offerings yourselves. So, I brought some for you."
She held out the golden plate in her hands, its surface carefully arranged with ghee, milk, honey, and sacred herbs. Her smile was both sweet and respectful—a quiet blend of reverence and natural grace.
Aditi's smile deepened, her expression touched with pride.
"You really are different from the others… Shachi."
The girl's name left her lips like a blessing. Tilting her head slightly, Aditi's eyes flicked over the neatly placed offerings. She could tell by the gleam of the golden pots. This was no casual gesture. These were personal, thoughtful gifts.
Shachi, daughter of the Danava king Puloman… descendant of Danu, who in turn was the sister of Diti. By blood, Shachi called Aditi her grandmother. But between the elder goddesses, relations were strained. Diti and Danu hadn't raised their sons with much temperance, and so the asuras had grown wild, hungry for conquest. That made Shachi's gesture all the more meaningful.
"Asuras and Devas may be at odds," Shachi said softly, "but both should honor their elders."
Aditi's back was to her now, her gaze distant, caught between memory and foresight. Her eyes shimmered faintly, like a moon reflected on water.
"Beautiful, kind-hearted Shachi…"
She turned just enough to look over her shoulder, the lines around her eyes crinkling fondly. "I will be entering deep penance soon. These offerings, while thoughtful, won't be needed—at least not by me."
Her tone lightened playfully.
"But," she added, "there is a young ascetic in the southern forest of Jambūdvīpa. A hundred and eighty yojanas from here. He's rather thin and hopeless when left alone… like a calf that's lost its herd. He may have more use for these gifts."
Shachi blinked. Then her graceful and bright smile returned.
"I'll take them to him."
She bowed slightly, her voice soft and sure.
Meanwhile, far to the south…
Indra had already arrived at the edge of the great Jambūdvīpa forest. The foliage was thick, the air heady with the scent of earth and rain. After some walking, he found a flat, wide, and sun-drenched clearing. The soil was soft and sandy, free of rocks or tangled roots. Perfect.
"This will do," he muttered.
With a flick of his hand, a brilliant golden light flashed.
Boom.
A large, smooth slab of white stone appeared with a small shockwave. Indra stretched out lazily across it, propping his head on one arm as he rolled onto his side. A breeze whispered through the trees, ruffling his hair and carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and peace.
For the first time in a long while… he felt free.
The strength of his penance, which had quietly been building since his abdication, now surged within him like a rising tide. As if the heavens themselves recognized that his sacrifice had been sincere.
"The work's done. Sleeping now counts as hard labor," he chuckled to himself.
"This life… It's not bad at all. I wouldn't trade it for anything."
Smiling, content in body and soul, Indra closed his eyes. His thoughts quieted. His breath slowed. And gradually, he drifted into a deep, meditative slumber.
Da… da… da…
Soft footsteps echoed through the glade. Delicate, cautious.
Someone was coming.
"Is this the ascetic?"
Shachi stood at the edge of the clearing, clutching the golden plate to her chest. Her gaze locked onto the figure lying in repose, and for a long moment, she forgot to breathe.
There, on a wide stone slab bathed in sunlight, was a man. He lay on his side, face calm, posture serene. The wind stirred the leaves around him, some fluttering gently across his body like nature itself dared not disturb his peace.
In Shachi's eyes, it was as if time slowed. The golden light filtering through the canopy framed his face in a soft halo. That tender and unguarded smile on his lips wasn't just beautiful.
It was as if a dangerous painting had come to life, channeling freedom straight from the artist's soul into hers.
"When is a man most captivating?" she murmured, eyes still fixed. "Only two times… when he's focused, and when he's childlike."
And today, he was both.
Engaged in deep penance, yet sleeping so peacefully, as though the weight of the cosmos had finally loosened its grip on his shoulders. Devoted to discipline, yet innocent in slumber.
"What a devoted ascetic," Shachi whispered, a note of admiration slipping into her voice. "So serious… and so adorable. No wonder Grandma Aditi said he needed to be taken care of."
She smiled to herself, blinking rapidly, cheeks warming.
"His Lord must be very pleased to have such a sincere devotee."
Another gust of wind swept through the glade. Rustle... plop. A few scattered leaves tumbled from the trees, landing softly on the stone bed.
Shachi jolted back to reality.
"Oh no—!"
She quickly knelt, setting the offering plate aside. With both hands, she lifted the hem of her sari and rushed forward, carefully brushing the leaves away from the stone. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though she feared waking him with even the whisper of her movements.
The wind, however, was relentless. More leaves began to fall. Determined, Shachi glanced around, then turned on her heel and slipped into the forest. A few moments later, she returned with several broad banana leaves, each as wide as a fan.
Working quickly, she planted them upright in a semicircle around the stone, forming a humble windbreak to shield him from the falling debris and grit.
When she finished, she stepped back, placing her hands on her hips with quiet pride. The makeshift fence swayed slightly in the breeze, but it held.
Shachi looked at him again.
His brow was glistening now. The sun had warmed the stone, and beads of sweat had begun to form at his temple.
"It must be so hot, lying there for so long…" she murmured.
She reached for a soft and light silk cloth infused with sandalwood and rosewater and approached him slowly. Her fingers, pale and slender, moved with gentle care as she dabbed at his arm, wiping away the moisture.
In his dreams, Indra stirred.
It tickles... he thought groggily, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. The sensation was delicate, like a butterfly brushing against his skin.
Uh-huh…
Far away, in the center of the Kshira Sagara, deep within Vaikuntha, Vishnu's eyes fluttered open.
He smiled.
A slow, knowing smile that radiated like morning light across his divine face. The ocean stilled, the cosmos hushed. He had seen it. Felt it. A thread of destiny shifting, ever so slightly.
"It may indeed be time," said Vishnu, his voice soft as lotus petals drifting on the Kshira Sāgara. "For Indra to finally enter grhasta life."
Shesha Nāga stirred beneath him, ever watchful, as if even the great serpent agreed.
Lakshmi raised a brow, eyes still on her weaving of a garland. "Hmm. Now you say it? I've been telling you this since the last time devas were here. How long do you expect Indra to keep roaming about like a wandering ascetic? He's the king of Svarga, not some Brahmachari."
Vishnu chuckled, reclining against Śeṣa's hoods with an amused sigh. "He insists it's tapasya. But between us, I suspect it's a noble escape from the endless petitions of Devas and the complaints of Asuras alike."
"Tapasya," she murmured, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Whenever life presses too hard, he slips into the forest with nothing but a kamandalu and a vow of silence. As if seclusion can solve what courage must face."
She glanced away, then added, "Just like Four Kumāras, those ageless sages who chose stillness over struggle, retreating into the hush of meditation while the world burned around them."
Vishnu tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well… he has grown stronger with each penance. But strength without stability can only go so far."
Lakshmi set down her garland, her voice softening. "What he needs is someone to anchor him. Someone who can look him in the eye when he puffs up his chest and say, 'Sit down, Indra. Eat something first."
"But not just yet," Vishnu murmured with a chuckle. "Let's give it a little time."
Matchmaking was, after all, something of a divine specialty for him. He had even arranged Shiva's marriage. Who else could claim that on their resume?
From her seat beside him, Devi Lakshmi watched her husband fondly. The expression on his face made her heart flutter. When Vishnu smiled like that, it meant something good was blooming. Something that might one day bless the whole world.
And in the quiet glade beneath the trees, the girl with the golden plate and the deva in slumber remained two destinies brushing against each other like silk in the breeze.
...
Time slipped by like sand through divine fingers.
In the celestial realm of Svarga, the air thrummed with preparation. Armies of Devas stood poised on the edge of war, their armors gleaming like polished lightning, their spears humming with divine energy. The great battle loomed on the horizon like a storm no one could outrun.
At the heart of the war effort, many Rishis and Gandharvas moved with purpose and rhythm. Sacred chants filled the skies, rising with the smoke of yajñas meant to summon strength from the cosmos itself. That power was not hoarded; it was offered freely to the Devas, who accepted it with bowed heads and tightened grips on their weapons.
Far below, in the shadows of the Patalaloka, Rishi Kasyapa had descended on a mission of peace. He had gone to speak with Vajranga to persuade him, somehow, to abandon the path of vengeance.
But not all devas remembered the stakes.
Agni was having the time of his life.
Laughter rang from a golden pavilion where the fire god lounged in leisure, wine goblets clinking as celestial dancers spun around him in waves of red and gold.
"Rahu!" Agni bellowed, his cheeks flushed with intoxication. "Drink!"
Without waiting for a reply, he poured the shining liquor directly into Rahu's open mouth. The liquid spilled from the corner of Rahu's lips and down his serpentine neck, glimmering like molten silver in the torchlight.
Agni burst into laughter, doubled over in delight.
He was drunk on more than soma, drunk on his own invincibility.
"AGNI!"
The joyful din shattered like glass as Brihaspati, the Rishi of wisdom and counsel, stormed into the pavilion. His eyes burned with fury behind his brow-marked forehead, his beard trembling with indignation.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Brihaspati shouted, his voice carrying the weight of thunder.
"Kasyapa has failed to convince Vajranga! The war you were meant to prevent is now upon us! And here you are drinking?!"
The apasaras froze. Even the drunken Rahu looked slightly less amused.
Agni's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his smile faded into something more serious, more ancient.
He rose slowly, his movements deliberate yet powerful. Beneath his playful veneer, a quiet fury began to simmer.
"You lecture me on war, teacher?" Agni's voice was steady, but there was a fire beneath his words. "When Indra drank Soma, he faced down every challenge. But it's not only in battle that one proves strength."
He set his goblet down with a firm clang on the marble table, the sound carrying through the room with an almost regal authority.
"Very well," Agni continued, his voice growing bold, "let me drink three hundred cups of Soma, and lead the charge myself! I'll burn Vajranga to ash and carve a new chapter in the Svarga."
Then, a deep, hearty laugh escaped him, one that seemed to shake the very air, his flames flickering brighter as they swirled around him.
It was unclear whether this was a show of arrogance or an expression of divine confidence. Even Brihaspati, wise as he was, couldn't fully tell.
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A.N.: Lord Brahmā created the Four Kumāras from his mind with the intent that they would assist in creation by populating the universe.
However, upon being born, they refused to follow his order to engage in worldly creation. Instead, they chose a life of brahmacarya (celibacy) and spiritual pursuit, desiring only jñāna (knowledge) and mokṣa (liberation).
This act angered Brahmā, and from that anger, Rudra (Shiva) was born. This story originates from the Purāṇas, not the Upaniṣads. The Vedas do not contain this specific tale either.
When the Kumāras visited Vaikuṇṭha, they were stopped by Jaya and Vijaya, Vishnu's gatekeepers.
Angered by this insult (despite being pure sages), they cursed the guards to take three demonic births.
This leads to the famous stories of Hiranyakashipu, Ravana, and Shishupala.
Vishnu respects the curse but offers salvation through His avatāras (Narsimha, Rama, Krishna).
Sanaka (सनक) is the Eldest of the Kumāras. Symbol of eternal wisdom and detachment.
Sanātana (सनातन) means "eternal", symbolizing the unchanging spiritual truth.
Sanandana (सनन्दन) embodies delight and bliss (ānanda) through spiritual realization.
Sanatkumāra (सनत्कुमार) is the youngest, but often the most prominent, in Upaniṣadic lore. vDescribed in the Chāndogya Upaniṣad as the teacher of Nārada, where he elaborates on the path from name to Brahman.
Called "Mahāmuni" (great sage) in many texts.
His teachings bridge the gap between bhakti, yoga, and jñāna.
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