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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