Astronomy and Mythology: The Eternal Dance of Heroes and Stars

Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy.

Eskimo Legend

The open evening sky has always been a source of fascination and wonder for me. Back in my village, whenever evening descended, the electricity would vanish as if to grant the stars their rightful stage. I was quite young then, with little understanding of the cosmos. I had seen countless shooting stars streak across the heavens, and my tiny mind wove whimsical tales about them. I imagined these celestial wanderers transforming into fireflies, flitting about in the bushes by our pond. Poetic and dramatic as it may sound, this was my earnest belief.

In those days, light pollution was an alien concept to our skies. The nights were pristine, vast, and brimming with stars. Amid this sprawling celestial canvas, a peculiar gap would draw my attention—a gash in the heavens that seemed denser with stars than the rest. When I asked my father about it, he would gently dismiss it as clouds. It was only as I grew older that I learned the truth: this was our galaxy, the Milky Way. Our home, our celestial courtyard. I delved deeper into the study of stars, one by one acquainting myself with the constellations—their names, their identities, their stories. What captivated me most was the origin of these names—how humanity, with its boundless imagination, named the stars and grouped them into constellations.

For the benefit of the reader, let me elaborate. The sky, with its countless stars, could easily overwhelm the untrained eye. Ancient astronomers, seeking order in this cosmic chaos, imagined clusters of stars as mythical characters and creatures. A constellation, you see, is like a family—a group of stars bound together in our imagination. This grouping made it easier to locate individual stars and remember their positions. These positions, in turn, became guides for ancient travelers navigating the vastness of land and sea, and for understanding the rhythms of changing seasons.

Thus, the stars, ever distant and untouchable, became humanity’s closest companions—keepers of direction, heralds of time, and endless sources of awe.

If you gaze thoughtfully toward the southern sky, you’ll notice a cluster of bright stars that seem to form the silhouette of a warrior—standing tall, holding a shield and a sword. This constellation is one of the most brilliant and renowned in the heavens: Orion. In the rich astronomical tradition of India, it is affectionately named Kalpurush—the Eternal Man. As I trace its form across the vast canvas of the night sky, I find myself lost in contemplation, mingling with the timeless stories humanity has written upon this infinite expanse. My thoughts wander to Hydra.

On an April night, Hydra reveals itself in all its grandeur. This colossal celestial serpent winds its way across the sky, its head mid-heaven and its tail brushing against the eastern horizon, like a menacing titan yearning to soar through the stars.

This Hydra, imagined with vivid detail by the ancient Greek astronomers, has an equally evocative counterpart in Indian astronomy. They named it Hrid Sarpa in Sanskrit, the “Serpent of the Heart.” It amazes me to think that stargazers from opposite ends of the Earth, living in vastly different cultures and climates, could perceive such similar shapes in the stars. These ancient minds, never in contact, envisioned such unity in their interpretations of the heavens—a shared language of imagination etched into the cosmos.

In this celestial tapestry, the heroic sagas of Greek gods find a home beside the sacred tales of Indian Vedic mythology. Here, thousands of years ago, Indian astronomers drew Kansa, the uncle of Lord Krishna, across the stars—a character as vivid in our mythology as any figure from the Greek pantheon. They even immortalized the dramatic tale of Daksha, whose head was severed by Lord Shiva’s wrath.

Let us begin with Kansa, as promised. Just beneath the feet of the Hercules constellation in the northern sky, you’ll find Draco, the mighty serpent of the stars. In Indian astronomy, this constellation is known as Takshak Nag. Before delving into the Vedic tale of Takshak, let us first uncover why the Greeks named this starry serpent Draco. The answer lies in the mythology of Hercules, the demi-god son of Zeus, whose legendary Twelve Labors populate the heavens with constellations. Though all twelve feats are remarkable, I’ll focus on just two: his second and his eleventh.

In Hercules’ eleventh labor, he was tasked with stealing golden apples from the garden of the Hesperides. The garden was guarded by a dragon named Ladon, whom Hercules defeated. That very dragon now resides in the northern sky near Hercules’ feet, immortalized as Draco. Among Draco’s stars is one particularly bright gem, Thuban. Thousands of years ago, during the age of ancient Egypt, Thuban served as the North Star, guiding sailors across vast, dark seas. This celestial beacon, revered as a pathfinder, was named Prachesta by Indian astronomers.

Recognize the name? Prachesta is none other than Prajapati Daksha, the father of Sati, who was the wife of Lord Shiva. In Vedic lore, Daksha’s arrogance led to his downfall when Shiva severed his head in a moment of divine wrath. This same Thuban star was also known as Kansa in Indian astronomy, a nod to the tyrannical uncle of Lord Krishna.

Now, let us turn to Hercules’ second labor, which brings us to Hydra, the multi-headed swamp serpent. In the myth, every time one of Hydra’s heads was severed, two more would grow in its place. Hercules ultimately slew this fearsome beast, earning the constellation Hydra its name. Spanning the night sky, Hydra is the largest of all constellations, its head resting mid-heaven while its tail stretches to the eastern horizon—a cosmic serpent swimming across the heavens.

The tale of Hydra, as told by the Greeks, finds an intriguing parallel in Indian astronomy. Here too, the constellation was imagined as a serpent, earning the name Hrid Sarpa (“The Serpent of the Heart”). Its first star, Alphard, is a brilliant gem called Kaliya in Indian lore. Kaliya was a venomous serpent from the Yamuna River, whose countless hoods terrorized Vrindavan until Lord Krishna subdued it in the legendary tale of Kaliya Daman (The slaying of Kaliya Serpent). This story, immortalized in poetry and song, still resonates in Hindu mythology.

And what of the other stars in Hydra? The second star, Beta Hydri, is named Shesh in Indian astronomy, while the eighth star, Zeta Hydri, is called Vasuki. Both names echo the serpentine legends of Hindu lore. Shesh, also known as Sheshnag, was the eldest serpent son of Sage Kashyapa. A devout follower of Brahma, Sheshnag performed intense penance for thousands of years, earning Brahma’s favor. At Brahma’s command, Sheshnag descended to the underworld, where he held the cosmos upon his hoods to prevent it from collapsing into chaos. For this act, the serpents of the netherworld honored him with the title Vasuki Nag.

Thus, the constellation Hydra weaves together myths from East and West, uniting diverse cultures under a shared celestial heritage. Every star, every name, is a thread in the intricate tapestry of human imagination—binding us to the heavens and to each other, across time and space.

In today’s exploration, we traversed the mythic paths of serpentine constellations, carried upon the shoulders of Hercules’ second and eleventh labors. Through these tales, the stars revealed themselves not merely as points of light but as eternal witnesses to humanity’s imagination and storytelling.

Another day, we shall gather again beneath the celestial vault, to immerse ourselves in the sagas of heroic figures immortalized by ancient astronomers—the warriors and protectors they etched into the heavens. Perhaps we will unravel the lore of Cetus, the monstrous sea-beast, or delve into the legends of the Brahmin-warrior Parashurama, whose stories resonate across epochs.

These constellations are not merely celestial patterns; they are pages of a cosmic epic, inscribed by our ancestors to celebrate the divine, the heroic, and the mythical. The sky itself stands as a boundless anthology, a Mahagrantha of timeless tales, waiting to be read and retold under its eternal gaze. Let us meet again to weave these stories anew, as our forebears once did, gazing up at the infinite.