A. Royden D'souza

Aṅgirā. No genealogy bound him. He was not born, he emerged. One of the first visionaries, one of the founders of sacred insight, a being who heard the rhythm of the cosmos before anyone else understood its beat.

Brahmā meditated on devotion, knowledge, and sound. From his contemplation emerged a sage holding a shining vīṇā. He was Narada.

Dharma, born not as an enforcer of law, but as the living essence of righteousness. Brahmā welcomed him warmly.

Among Dakṣa’s daughters was Satī, child of extraordinary purity and strength. As she grew, her heart turned instinctively toward Śiva, the great ascetic, the silent lord seated on Kailāsa, who saw no difference between honor and dishonor, gold and dust, life and death.

Satya (Krita) Yuga In the earliest dawn of creation, when existence was still raw, trembling, and undefine, Brahmā opened his eyes upon the newborn cosmos. Vast emptiness stretched before him. The elements had formed, but life had not yet awakened. The worlds waited for minds that could perceive, shape, and sustain them. So Brahmā turned inward. From the stillness of his own mind, he created beings of pure thought. They emerged like sparks from his consciousness—radiant, wise

Agastya begins not as a “character” but as a ṛṣi in the Veda, a poet-seer of Ṛgveda Maṇḍala. His origin myth is cosmic: Mitra and Varuṇa, gods of vow, law, oaths, behold the celestial Apsarā Urvaśī. A moment of desire flickers. Their semen spills.

Saraswathi lifted the vīṇā. One note, and the distances between stars learned how to be measured. A second, and the first meter found its beat. A third, and grammar took root like a tree, branches of cases and tenses spreading clean and even.