Yoga Mythology: Hanumān
This is the story of Hanumān, the son of Anjana and Student of the Sun, and his gift of the Sun Salutation
Long ago, in the ancient forest of Daṇḍaka, lived the Vānaras, forest dwellers, a race of simian, monkey-like beings who were organized and intelligent and had built many villages and cities deep in the forest. In one such village lived Añjanā and her husband, Kesari. Añjanā and Kesari were the benevolent leaders of their clan. Much to Añjanā’s despair, after many years of marriage, they remained childless.
Añjanā had long been a devotee of the great destroyer, Śiva (pronounced Shiva). Each day, after her community duties were complete, Añjanā prayed, meditated, and chanted mantras extolling Śiva’s virtues and form, trusting that Śiva would grant her and Kesari a child. She did this every night for decades with devotion, reverence, and a sincere heart until Śiva finally heard her prayers.
Impressed and pleased by her devotion, Śiva decided to grant her a boon: a son.
Destined to Become an Extraordinary Vānara
Although Śiva is known as the destroyer, every now and then he is also the creator. He went to Vāyu, the god of wind, for help in granting Añjanā’s boon. Śiva asked Vāyu to carry his seed to Añjanā so that she might conceive a child. Vāyu obliged.
And so Hanumān, the monkey god, was born to Añjanā and Kesari, with the divine blessings of Vāyu and Śiva. The monkey demigod had arrived.
Hanumān began to grow and learn. At a very early age, he could lift his parents from the ground. He exhibited extraordinary feats of strength and power, and as he grew, so did his abilities. Hanumān possessed the physical power and divine gifts of his godfathers, Vāyu and Śiva.
One morning, before Hanumān was awake, Añjanā went to the village market to buy her son his favorite fruit for breakfast. Hanumān awoke before she returned and was very hungry. He looked out his window, watching for Añjanā’s return.
Then he looked toward the rising sun.
To Hanumān, the sun appeared to be a juicy, golden mango inviting him to take a bite.
Joyful at his good fortune, he ran outside, leapt into the sky, became airborne, and headed toward the sun. As he got closer, Indra, the king of heaven, intervened to stop him.
Indra: That is no mango, child. That is Sūrya, the sun himself, bringer of the day! You cannot go any farther. You are unprepared. You will turn to ash in his flames and perish.
Disappointed, Hanumān returned to Earth. But Indra’s intervention sparked an even deeper interest in learning. Hanumān knew he must one day meet and learn from Sūrya. He understood that the radiant sun traveled across the entire sky each day, seeing the world and illuminating all that was hidden in darkness.
Hanumān grew to be fantastically strong and swift. Of course, he was the son of the wind god. He loved to learn, and under Añjanā’s tutelage, he became spiritually advanced, self-controlled, content, and happy to serve.
But, just as all monkeys are, he was also very curious.
When Añjanā had taught him all that she could, she sent him to the elders of the clan. The elders sent him to the sages, and Hanumān continued his studies.
Over the years, Hanumān would reminisce about his almost meeting with the sun and Indra’s warning that he was not yet prepared. He realized that when he saw the rising sun that morning as a boy, he had not really been hungry for food. That hunger would have been easily satisfied.
Hungry for knowledge
He was hungry for the wisdom that comes from knowledge.
He had spent his entire life on the path toward wisdom through knowledge, truth, devotion, and generosity, preparing himself for the opportunity to greet Sūrya and, hopefully, learn from him about the mysteries of life and how the world works. In due time, Hanumān had learned everything he could from his earthly teachers.
It was time to meet Sūrya.
On a bright, sunshiny day, Hanumān reached toward the sun. The mere gesture of his hands reaching upward gently propelled him toward Sūrya. Soon, he was close enough to see the majestically bright, intensely hot bringer of the day riding in his chariot, driven by his charioteer, the goddess of dawn, Uṣā. Sūrya’s chariot has twelve wheels, each representing a month of the year, and is drawn by seven white horses, each representing a day of the week.
Hanumān humbly greeted Sūrya and asked to learn from him all there was to know about the world. Sūrya traveled across the sky every day, observing everything. It would be an honor to learn from him.
Sūrya: No, I do not have time to teach you. As you already know, I travel all day and sleep all night. I cannot stop to teach you.
Hanumān: Oh, radiantly glorious one, I understand. Allow me, then, to keep pace with you as you travel. If I can keep pace, will you teach me?
Sūrya: You can try, but be warned. The closer you keep pace, the more you will be exposed to my burning heat. You will get burned.
Hanumān: Even if I can keep pace with you for only one day, that one day will be worth the fleeting pain of being burned by your glory. One day of learning from you is worth a lifetime without even a drop of your knowledge.
With this, Sūrya agreed to become Hanumān’s teacher.
Hanumān turned his back to the darkness of night and his face toward the dawn and the sun, and so began his year-long course of study of life and the world under the sun.
Hanumān was already a great yogi, but there was much more to learn. Sūrya taught him the mysteries of the Vedic scriptures. He taught Hanumān what he did not yet know about poetry and music and helped him enhance his skills in shape-shifting, flight, and changing his size, from becoming large enough to take one step halfway around the world to becoming as small as a bee.
By the end of Sūrya’s course of study, Hanumān was extremely wise and extremely blackened by the heat of the sun’s fire. More importantly, Sūrya had helped him realize his full, true divine nature.
Knowing Hanumān to be considerate and wise, Sūrya asked him to offer a tuition fee of his own choosing. He could give whatever he deemed appropriate for his year of study.
Hanumān: I am devoted to you as my teacher, my guru, and I will remain so until the end of my days. I want to offer you a sequence of yoga āsana, postures designed to honor you. The order of the postures will warm the bodies of those who practice this sequence, and it will begin with the hands in Añjali Mudrā in reverence to you.
The Gift of Sūrya Namaskāra
Sun Salutation, a sequence of postures dedicated to Sūrya, the sun god, was Hanuman's gift in gratitude for his great and ancient teachings.
Here we find that Sūrya Namaskāra becomes more than a physical practice. It becomes an offering from student to teacher, an expression of gratitude for knowledge received and wisdom earned through devotion, discipline, and perseverance.
Like Hanumān, we begin with a hunger for something we cannot yet name. We reach toward the light, not knowing exactly what we will find there. We learn from those who come before us. We practice. We prepare. And when we are ready, we reach again.
Perhaps this is the invitation of Sūrya Namaskāra.
To turn toward the light.
To honor the teachers who have illuminated our path.
And to remember that true wisdom is not simply something we receive.
It is something we become ready to carry.
Tuesday Irby writes the Yoga Pose Mythology series here on the TLYoga Free Resources Blog. You can also read more of Tuesday's inspiring and insightful writing when you subscribe to Tuesday's Mindful Moments on Substack.
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