‘Who is the most chaste woman in the world,’ asked Narada. This created chaos in the heavens, especially when the sky said none was more chaste than Anasuya, wife of sage Atri. So, the three great gods went to Anasuya in the form of three handsome sages.

‘How may I serve you,’ asked Anasuya. Give us the milk of your body, they asked, knowing fully well that Anasuya was childless. But she was not hurt. She looked up at the three men as if they were her children and instantly milk flowed from her breasts and the three gods transformed into infants — her babies.

This created chaos in the cosmos. The three great goddesses went to Anasuya and begged her to restore their husbands to their original form. They admitted this was a prank to test her chastity, and it had backfired spectacularly. The three gods eventually returned to the heavens with the three goddesses. They blessed the noble Anasuya with a child. On their way, they encountered Narada who was chuckling away and chanting, ‘Narayana, Narayana!’

Nara means human. Narayana means the full potential of humanity. Narada comes in between, helping humans make the journey from Nara to Narayana, by outgrowing the need to compare. Narada is a popular figure, yet we know little about him.

The Chandogya Upanishad, dated to around 6 BCE, refers to a dialogue between two Brahmin sages on the nature of knowledge. Sage Sanatkumar tells Narada to distinguish between material knowledge that satisfies hunger and spiritual knowledge that enables contentment. Here, Narada is a seeker, aware of learning yet aware of its limits.

The more familiar lute-bearing, wandering Narada enters Sanskrit imagination in the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, composed and consolidated between 4 BCE and 2 CE. He advises Yudhisthira, the eldest Pandava brother, converses with Lord Vishnu, and appears at turning points — sometimes as counsellor, sometimes as provocateur. In the Puranas, we are told he was cursed for choosing not to marry and for encouraging his brothers to become monks. Condemned to wander, he becomes the eternal storyteller of Vishnu, the householder god.

The Narada Smriti, placed between the 3rd and 5th centuries CE, situated him within the world of law and social order. The Narada Bhakti Sutra, between the 5t and 8 CE, reframes him as a theologian of devotion. His circulation exceeds Vaishnava space, too. In Buddhist Jatakas, monk Sariputta’s previous birth is called Narada. Jain traditions speak of multiple Naradas as heroic figures.

Between 5 and 12 CE, as temple architecture expands, Narada finds space on stone walls. In Andhra Pradesh’s Undavalli Caves, he appears seated in meditation and standing with a tambura. In the Chidambaram Nataraja Temple, associated with the Chola period, he stands as witness to Shiva’s cosmic dance.

From 14-17 CE, during the Vijayanagara and Nayaka periods, his presence intensified within the bhakti age. At Lepakshi Veerabhadra Temple he appears on pillars, sometimes dancing. At Parthasarathy Temple he stands serenely with a veena. The travelling sage becomes the patron of musical devotion.

In eastern India, between the 17th and 18th centuries CE, a striking folk innovation appears. Terracotta panels at Joypur Dutta Para Temple and Uchkaran Char Chala Temple in West Bengal show Narada riding a dheki, the wooden husking pedal of agrarian life, around which women gather to gossip. The cosmic messenger is recast in rural rhythm.

Across more than a millennium of sculpture, continuity and adaptation coexist. The veena persists. The ascetic frame persists. The wandering posture persists. Yet settings, vehicles, and gestures change. From Gupta relief to Chola mandapa, from Vijayanagara pillar to Bengal terracotta, Narada evolves without losing identity.