Nearby, the sage Vālmīki beheld a pair of krauñcha birds moving together, inseparable in their affection, their calls sweet and lovely upon the air. As he watched this gentle scene, suddenly, a hunter with evil intent struck down the male of the pair, driven by enmity, and killed him before the sage’s eyes. The female, seeing her mate wounded and his body stained with blood, writhed upon the ground and cried out in a voice filled with deepest sorrow. Separated from her companion, the twice-born bird, whose coppery head and radiant feathers had shone with life, mourned in anguish. Witnessing this act—the bird struck down by the hunter—compassion welled up in the heart of the righteous sage. Moved by pity, Vālmīki thought, “This deed is unrighteous,” and, seeing the weeping krauñcha, he spoke out in grief: “Hunter, may you never attain lasting fame, since you have slain one of the loving krauñcha pair, driven by lust.” As he uttered these words, a sudden realization dawned in his heart: “What is this utterance I have spoken, overwhelmed by the grief of the bird?” Reflecting on this, the wise sage composed himself and addressed his disciple, saying, “Bound in meter, with syllables arranged and joined with melody—let this verse, born of my sorrow, be so and not otherwise.” His disciple, filled with joy, received these excellent words, and the teacher, seeing this, was pleased. After performing his ablutions at that sacred place according to tradition, the sage returned, his mind still dwelling on the event he had witnessed. Bharadvāja, his obedient and learned disciple, carried a full water pot and followed behind his teacher. Entering the hermitage, the sage, versed in righteousness, sat down, conversed with those around him, and then settled into meditation. At that moment, Brahmā, the four-faced creator of the worlds, radiant and resplendent, came to visit the foremost of sages. Vālmīki, upon seeing him, immediately rose, controlled his speech, joined his palms in reverence, and stood in awe and wonder. He honored the divine guest with offerings of water for the feet, arghya, a seat, and salutations, and, after proper obeisance, inquired after his well-being. The blessed Brahmā, having seated himself on the honored seat, offered a seat in turn to Vālmīki. With Brahmā’s approval, Vālmīki also took his seat, and the Lord of all beings was visibly present. Still absorbed in the memory of the event, Vālmīki entered into meditation, pondering the cruel deed committed by the wicked-hearted hunter. As he mourned the needless slaying of the sweet-voiced krauñcha bird, he again sang his verse in lament for the bereaved female. Immersed in sorrow, his mind turned inward, when Brahmā, smiling, addressed the sage: “Let this verse remain as it is composed; there is no need for further deliberation. By my will alone, O sage, this Sarasvatī has arisen within you.” Brahmā continued, “Compose the entire story of Rāma, O best of sages—the righteous and wise Lord—for the benefit of the world. Tell the account of the steadfast one, as you have heard it from Nārada, both the secret and the open events that befell that wise man. Whatever happened to Rāma, to Saumitri, to all the rākṣasas, and to Vaidehī, whether openly or in secret, all that is unknown will become known to you; no falsehood will enter your speech in this poem. Compose the sacred story of Rāma, bound in verses and delightful, for as long as mountains and rivers endure upon the earth. So long as the tale of Rāma, created by you, is told, the story of the Rāmāyaṇa will circulate among people. For that duration, above and below, you will dwell among people.” Having spoken thus, the blessed Brahmā vanished, and the venerable sage, together with his disciples, was left in wonder. Then, all his disciples, delighted and greatly astonished, repeatedly sang that verse. What the great sage had sung in four-footed meter, through repeated recitation, transformed sorrow into poetry. A resolve arose in Vālmīki’s purified mind: “I will compose the entire Rāmāyaṇa in such verses.” With noble themes, meanings, and words, delightful to the mind, he composed the glory of Rāma; with hundreds of verses of equal measure, the illustrious sage created a poem that brings everlasting fame. With proper arrangement of compounds and conjunctions, and sweet, well-constructed sentences, Vālmīki composed the story of Raghu’s descendant, concerning the slaying of the ten-headed one. Thus, let the third section be heard in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Bāla Kāṇḍa, the third sarga. Having heard all the events, with their righteous and meaningful aspects, the sage again clearly sought out what happened to that wise one. Purifying himself with water, he stood with joined palms upon darbha grass, its tips facing east, and sought to discern the course of events according to righteousness. He observed everything—smiling, speaking, movement, and all actions—thoroughly and properly, guided by the strength of righteousness. And likewise, whatever befell Rāma, steadfast in truth, as he wandered in the forest with his wife and brother, all this Vālmīki examined, preparing to tell the sacred tale.