The Eighth Son

The oldest form of this story is two verses long.

A hymn of the Rigveda about the birth of the gods says that eight sons sprang from the body of Aditi. With seven of them she went up to meet the gods. The eighth, Martanda, she cast away. Then, the hymn adds, she brought him back again, to be born and to die.

That is all. The poet does not say what was wrong with the eighth son, or why his mother changed her mind.

People must have asked. One of the priestly books, the Shatapatha Brahmana, quotes the verse and then answers the question.

Aditi had eight sons, the book says, but only seven of them were called the gods, the sons of Aditi.

Seven were born whole. The eighth was not. He came into the world unformed, a mere lump of flesh, as broad as he was high. Some people, the book admits, say he was as big as a man.

His mother took her seven sons and went to the gods. The eighth stayed where he was.

It was the brothers who turned back.

They stood around the thing that had been born after them. It did not look like them. It did not look like anything.

"He was born after us," said one of them. "He is ours."

"He has no shape," said another.

"Then we will give him one."

"Come," they said to each other. "What was born after us must not be lost. Let us fashion him."

So the seven set to work on their brother. They cut away the flesh that was too much, and they shaped what was left. They gave him the form that every man and woman has had since. When they had finished, he was no longer a lump. He stood there shaped as a human being is shaped.

The flesh they had cut off lay thrown down in a heap. It did not stay a heap. It became the elephant.

That, the Brahmana says, is why a priest should not accept an elephant as a gift. The elephant has sprung from man, and is too close a relation to be given away.

The brother they had made was Vivasvat, the Aditya, the sun who shines up there. And from him, says the book, came these creatures. It means us.

Vivasvat spoke then, in the way the old books like best, with a rule for his children.

"Among my offspring," he said, "the one who offers a pot of boiled rice to the Adityas shall do well."

So some priests, when a man is being made ready for the Soma sacrifice, cook that rice for the seven brothers who went back for the eighth.

And the hymn's last words fall into place. Seven sons went up to be gods. The eighth was brought back to be born and to die, and it is from him that we come.

The Yajurveda tells it from the mother's side, and begins before any of the sons were born.

Aditi wanted children. She cooked a pot of rice for the Sadhyas, the gods who were there before the others. They ate, and they gave her what was left. She ate the leavings, and she conceived. Four Adityas were born to her.

She cooked a second pot. This time she stopped to think.

"Those four were born to me from the leavings," she said to herself. "If I eat first, before the gods, stronger sons will be born from me."

So she ate first. She conceived again. And what she bore was an egg that had miscarried.

Aditi cooked a third pot. She did not offer it to the old gods. She offered it to her own sons, the Adityas, and she was plain about what she hoped for.

"Let this labour of mine bring me some good," she said.

The Adityas answered her with a bargain.

"Let us choose a boon. Let the one who is born from this be one of us. And among his children, let whoever prospers be ours to enjoy."

Then Vivasvant the Aditya was born. Human beings are his children. Among them, the text says, only the one who sacrifices does well, and he belongs to the gods.

The Samhita is a book for priests, and it ends with the cup in the priest's hand. At the Soma pressing the cup for the Adityas is not drawn fresh. It is filled from what is left over in other cups. The Adityas were born from leavings, says the text, and so their share is taken from leavings still.

The Purana turns the cast-off child into a rescuer.

The Daityas and Danavas had beaten the gods. They had taken the three worlds from Aditi's sons, and the shares of the sacrifice as well. Aditi turned to the Sun and praised him for a long time, fasting.

At last he showed himself to her, glowing like heated copper.

"Choose the boon you want," he said.

Aditi lay with her forehead on the ground.

"Be gracious, lord. My sons have lost the three worlds and their share of the offerings. Enter into brotherhood with them. Be born as one of them, and destroy their enemies."

"I will be born from you with all my thousand rays," said the Sun, "and I will destroy the foes of your sons."

He vanished, and one of his rays entered her womb. Aditi knew that the child she carried was no ordinary child. She kept herself pure, and went on with hard fasts and penances.

Her husband Kashyapa watched this and lost his temper.

"Why are you killing the egg in your womb with all this fasting?"

"Look at this egg, angry man," said Aditi. "It has not been killed. It will be the death of our enemies."

And in her anger at his words she gave birth then and there. The child blazed like the rising sun. Kashyapa fell on his face and praised him with old verses of the Veda.

Then a voice as deep as a thundercloud spoke out of the empty air.

"Because you spoke of this egg as killed, sage, your son shall be called Martanda. He shall hold the Sun's rule, and he shall destroy the Asuras."

When the gods and the Asuras met in battle, Martanda only looked at the enemy. His glance burned them to ashes, and the sons of Aditi had their worlds and their offerings back.