The Boy with Eight Names

In the beginning there was only Prajapati, the lord of creatures, and he was alone.

He toiled, and out of his toil came the waters. Out of the waters came foam, then clay and sand, then stone and gold, and at last the wide earth was spread out. Then, when a year had gone round, a child was born to Ushas, the Dawn.

It was a boy, and he was crying.

Prajapati bent over him.

"My boy, why are you crying? You were born out of so much toil. What is there to cry for?"

"I am not free from evil," said the child. "I have no name. Give me a name."

This, the old book adds, is why a newborn child should be given a name. A name drives the evil away from him.

"You are Rudra," said Prajapati.

He called him that because he had cried, for the word for crying is rud. And when the boy was named Rudra, fire took that form. Rudra is Agni.

The boy was not satisfied.

"I am greater than that," he said. "Give me another name."

"You are Sharva," said Prajapati. And the waters took that form, because everything there is comes out of the waters.

"I am greater than that. Give me another name."

"You are Pashupati, the lord of cattle." And the plants took that form, because cattle grow strong and masterful when they find plants to graze on.

"I am greater than that. Give me another name."

So it went on, and Prajapati kept giving.

"You are Ugra, the fierce one." That became the wind, for when it blows hard people say that Ugra is blowing.

"You are Ashani, the thunderbolt." That became the lightning.

"You are Bhava." That became the rain cloud, because everything that lives comes into being from the rain.

"You are Mahan Deva, the Great God." That became the moon.

Each time the boy answered the same way. "I am greater than that. Give me another name."

Then Prajapati gave him the eighth.

"You are Ishana, the Ruler." And the sun took that form, because the sun rules over everything there is.

The boy stopped crying.

"That is how great I am," he said. "Do not give me any name after this."

These, says the Shatapatha Brahmana, are the eight forms of Agni, the sacred fire: fire and water, the plants and the wind, the lightning and the rain, the moon and the sun. The boy himself is the ninth. Nobody ever sees him as a child. What we see are his eight forms, which make up the world we live in.

Another old book of ritual knows the same eight names. But in its telling the newborn does not cry.

Here Prajapati has five children: Agni, the fire; Vayu, the wind; Aditya, the sun; Chandramas, the moon; and a daughter, Ushas, the Dawn. From the four brothers and their sister comes a seed, and Prajapati gathers it into a golden bowl, as deep and as wide as an arrow is long.

Out of the bowl a being rises. He is no infant. He has a thousand eyes and a thousand feet, and a thousand arrows ready on the string.

He does not weep and he does not ask. He takes hold of his own father.

"Give me a name," he says. "Without a name I will not eat food here."

"You are Bhava," says Prajapati, and Bhava is the waters.

"With one name only I will not eat. Give me a second."

"You are Sharva," and Sharva is fire.

And so it goes, with the archer holding fast and the father naming him. He is Pashupati, who is the wind, and Ugra Deva, the dread god, who is the plants and trees. He is Mahan Deva, the great god, who is the sun, and Rudra, who is the moon. The seventh name, Ishana, is food. The eighth is Ashani, the thunderbolt, who is Indra.

To each name this book attaches a small rule for the person who knows it. One who knows him as Ishana should never turn away anyone who asks for food. One who knows him as Ashani should speak only the truth.

Then it sums him up in a single line: this is the great god of eight names, spread out in eight ways.