As a child he saw the sun come up and took it for a fruit, and went for it. He got close enough that Indra had to knock him out of the sky, and the blow broke his jaw — hanu — and gave him the name.
The gods, sorry for it, gave him everything: he could not be burnt, could not be drowned, could grow to any size. And because a boy with all that is dangerous, a rishi added one thing — that he would forget what he could do until somebody told him.
So on the shore, with the sea in front of them and no way across, the whole army sat down. It took Jambavan reminding him of his own name before he stood up and went.
Every house that calls him is doing what Jambavan did.
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