As the sage Valmiki wandered in the forest, he witnessed a poignant and sorrowful scene: a pair of krauñcha birds, united in companionship, were suddenly struck by a hunter’s arrow. The male bird fell to the earth, his body stained with blood, writhing in agony. His mate, bereft and overwhelmed by grief, cried out in deep sorrow, her voice echoing through the woods. Separated from her beloved, the female krauñcha—marked by her coppery head and splendid feathers—mourned her loss with anguished cries. Moved by the suffering he witnessed, compassion welled up in Valmiki’s heart. The sage, righteous and sensitive, reflected on the cruel act he had seen. He thought, “This is unrighteous,” and, seeing the weeping krauñcha, he spoke words born of grief and indignation: “Hunter, may you never attain lasting fame, since you killed one of the krauñcha pair, driven by lust.” As these words left his lips, Valmiki was struck by their form and power. He wondered, “What is this utterance I have spoken, overwhelmed by the bird’s sorrow?” Gathering his thoughts, Valmiki addressed his disciple, saying, “Bound in meter, with syllables arranged, and joined with melody—let this verse, born of my grief, be so and not otherwise.” His disciple received these words joyfully, and the sage was pleased. After performing his ablutions at that sacred place, Valmiki returned to his hermitage, his mind still dwelling on the event he had witnessed. His faithful and learned disciple Bharadvāja followed behind, carrying a full water pot. Entering the hermitage, Valmiki, versed in righteousness, settled himself, conversed with his disciples, and entered meditation. At that moment, Brahmā, the creator of the worlds, radiant and four-faced, came to visit the sage. Valmiki, filled with wonder, rose at once, controlled his speech, and joined his palms in reverence. He honored Brahmā with offerings of water for the feet, arghya, a seat, and salutations, then respectfully inquired after his well-being. Brahmā, seated on the honored seat, offered a seat in turn to Valmiki, who, with Brahmā’s approval, also sat. Absorbed in the memory of the cruel event, Valmiki meditated deeply, pondering the wickedness of the hunter who had slain the innocent krauñcha. He mourned the loss of the lovely-voiced bird and, in lament for the grieving female, recited the verse once more. Immersed in sorrow, Valmiki’s mind withdrew inward. Brahmā, smiling gently, addressed the sage: “Let this verse remain as it is composed; there is no need for deliberation. By my will, O sage, this Sarasvatī has arisen in you. Compose the entire story of Rama, O best of sages, the righteous and wise Lord, for the world. Tell the account of the steadfast one, as you heard it from Narada, both the secret and the open events that befell that wise man. Whatever happened to Rama, to Saumitri, to all the rakshasas, and to Vaidehī—whether openly or in secret—will become known to you. No falsehood will enter your speech in this poem. Compose the sacred story of Rama, bound in verses and delightful, for as long as mountains and rivers endure upon the earth. So long as the tale of Rama, created by you, is told, the story of the Ramayana will circulate among people. For that duration, above and below, you will dwell among people.” Having spoken thus, the blessed Brahmā vanished, leaving Valmiki and his disciples in awe and wonder. The disciples, delighted and astonished, repeatedly sang the verse composed by their teacher. Through their recitation, the sorrow was transformed into verse, and Valmiki resolved, with his purified mind, “I will compose the entire Ramayana in such verses.” With noble themes, meanings, and words, delightful to the mind, Valmiki celebrated Rama’s fame, composing hundreds of verses of equal measure—a poem that brings glory. With proper arrangement of compounds and conjunctions, sweet and well-constructed sentences, Valmiki crafted the story of Raghu’s scion, concerning the slaying of the ten-headed one. He invited all to listen to the tale as he composed it. Having heard all the events, together with their righteous and meaningful aspects, Valmiki again sought to understand what befell the wise Rama. After ritually purifying himself with water, he stood with joined palms on darbha grass, its tips to the east, and sought the course of events according to dharma. He observed everything—smiling, speaking, movement, and all actions—thoroughly and properly, guided by righteousness. He examined whatever befell Rama, steadfast in truth, as he wandered in the forest with his wife and brother. Established in yoga, Valmiki perceived all that happened in the past, as clearly as a fruit in the palm of his hand. Having seen all truly, with discernment, the great-minded sage became intent on composing the entire story of the delightful Rama.