Aditi, the devoted mother of the gods, approached the divine Lord with a heavy heart and pleaded for his mercy. “O gracious one,” she implored, “my sons have lost their dominion over the three worlds. The Daityas and Danavas, grown powerful, have seized not only their realms but also their rightful shares in the sacrifices.” With deep reverence, she continued, “O Lord of Cows, please show your favor. Become their brother by taking a portion of yourself and destroy these enemies, so my sons may once again partake in the sacrificial offerings and reclaim their sovereignty over the three worlds. O radiant Sun, remover of distress, fulfill this desire of my sons and grant them relief from their suffering.” Moved by her devotion, the blessed Sun—dispeller of darkness—addressed the bowed Aditi with a gentle, gracious countenance. “By a thousandth part of myself,” he promised, “I will fully enter your womb. I will swiftly destroy your sons’ adversaries, content and resolute.” Having spoken these words, the radiant Lord vanished from her sight. Aditi, her wishes granted, ceased her austerities, her heart filled with satisfaction. Then, from among the thousand rays of the Sun, the one called Suṣumnā entered her. At the end of a year, her desire was fulfilled. The Sun took up residence within the womb of Aditi, the mother of the gods. With unwavering focus, she performed rigorous vows and penances, such as Kṛcchra and Cāndrāyaṇa, maintaining utmost purity as she bore the divine embryo. She declared, “I sustain this divine child.” At that moment, her husband Kaśyapa addressed her, his words tinged with anger. Aditi, who had been fasting and was now stirred by his words, replied with indignation, “Why do you call this egg slain? Look—it is here, unharmed. Only the adversaries will meet their end, not this egg.” Incited by her husband’s words, the goddess released the embryo, which blazed with a radiant brilliance. Kaśyapa, beholding the shining form that resembled the rising sun, bowed in reverence and praised the embryo with ancient, sacred words. As Kaśyapa offered his praises, the divine child emerged from the egg, resplendent like a lotus petal, his brilliance illuminating all directions. Suddenly, a deep, bodiless voice echoed from the sky, addressing the sage: “O sage, since you declared this egg to be slain, this son of Aditi will be known as Martanda. He will destroy the asuras, those who seize the shares of sacrifice.” The gods listened as the celestial proclamation resounded. Indeed, the Danavas, their strength shattered, were overcome with utter dismay. Seizing the opportunity, Indra summoned the Daityas to battle. The gods, filled with joy, advanced, and soon a fierce and terrible conflict erupted between the gods and the asuras. Weapons and missiles rained down, setting the whole world ablaze as Martanda, the blessed one, watched over the battle. The great asuras, unable to withstand his scorching radiance, were reduced to ashes. The dwellers of heaven rejoiced with unparalleled delight. The gods praised Martanda, the source of all brilliance, and also honored Aditi. Thus, they regained their rightful domains and sacrificial shares, restored as before. Martanda, too, assumed his own dominion, surrounded above and below by rays clustered like kadamba flowers. He shone like a mass of fire, his form not yet fully distinct. A question arose: “How did the Sun later obtain an even more beautiful form, shaped like a kadamba sphere? Tell me that, O Lord of the world.” In answer, it is told that Tvashtar, the divine craftsman, after propitiating and bowing to him, gave his daughter, Samjna, in marriage to Vivasvat, the Sun. The Lord of Cattle begot three children with her: two illustrious sons and a daughter, Yamuna. But the radiance of Martanda Vivasvat was so intense that it scorched the three worlds and all beings, both moving and unmoving. Seeing this overwhelming brilliance, Samjna, unable to endure it, spoke to her own shadow, Chāyā: “I am returning to my father’s home. You must remain here, unchanged, by my command, O auspicious one. Regard these two sons and this beautiful daughter as mine, and never reveal this secret to the Lord.” Chāyā agreed, saying, “From the time of the hair-grasping until the curse, I shall never reveal your decision. Go wherever you wish.” Thus, abashed, Samjna went to her father’s house and dwelt there for a thousand years. Despite her father’s repeated requests to return to her husband, Samjna transformed herself into a mare and journeyed to the northern lands of the Kurus. There, she performed austere penances without food. Meanwhile, Chāyā, faithful to Samjna’s instructions, remained in her stead. Assuming Samjna’s form, Chāyā approached Bhāskara, the Sun, who, believing her to be his true wife, lived with her. In the same manner, he begot two sons and a daughter with Chāyā, but Samjna had made those children earthly. Chāyā did not show the same affection to these later-born children as she did to the first ones. Manu, one of the sons, forgave her, but Yama did not. Afflicted by his mother and father in many ways, and suffering greatly, Yama, in a moment of childish anger and compelled by fate, threatened his mother with his foot but did not strike her. For this act, Chāyā pronounced a curse: “Because you threatened your father’s wife, who is most venerable, with your foot, therefore this foot of yours will fall—there is no doubt.” Troubled deeply by this curse, Yama went to his father Manu and reported everything, seeking guidance from his righteous father.