The poem was sweet to recite and to sing, composed with three measures, adorned with seven kinds of metres, and accompanied by the harmonious sounds of stringed instruments and rhythm. Within its verses flowed the full range of sentiments—love, compassion, humor, fury, terror, heroism, and more—woven together and sung with skill. The two brothers who sang this poem were masters of music and intonation, their melodious voices enchanting all who heard them. They seemed like incarnate Gandharvas, celestial musicians descended to earth. Endowed with beauty and auspicious marks, their voices gentle and sweet, they appeared as if they were images sprung from the very body of Rāma himself. These royal sons had thoroughly mastered the noble and righteous narrative. Their recitation was flawless, and in the gatherings of sages, twice-borns, and the virtuous, they sang the poem as instructed, their minds fully concentrated on the task. Great-souled and greatly fortunate, adorned with all auspicious marks, the two brothers would, at times, stand amidst assemblies of sages whose minds were pure. In those assemblies, the brothers stood nearby and sang the poem. The sages, upon hearing their song, found their eyes brimming with tears. Overcome with wonder, they exclaimed, “Excellent! Excellent!” and were filled with joy. The sages praised the two Kuśīlava singers, marveling at the sweetness of their song and the beauty of the verses. Though the events described in the poem had occurred long ago, the brothers brought them to life as if they were unfolding before the very eyes of their listeners. They sang together, their voices passionate and melodious, and the great sages—renowned for their austerity—offered them high praise. As the brothers sang with even greater fervor and sweetness, a delighted sage standing nearby gifted them a water pot. Another sage, pleased and famed, gave them bark garments; another offered a black antelope skin, and yet another, a sacred thread. One sage presented a water vessel, another a girdle of muñja grass, while others gave a staff and a loincloth. Still another sage gave them an axe, another ochre robes, and yet another a garment of bark. Filled with joy, one sage offered a matted hair band and a wooden rope, while others gave ritual vessels and a bundle of firewood. One sage gave a staff made of udumbara wood, and some offered blessings and words of long life. Thus, all the truth-speaking sages bestowed gifts upon the brothers, saying, “This wondrous tale has been proclaimed by the sage.” They declared this song to be the supreme foundation of poets, completed in proper order, sung by those skilled in all songs. The poem brought long life, generated strength, and delighted all who heard it. Wherever the two brothers performed, they were praised. One day, on the streets and royal roads, the elder brother of Bharata saw the two Kuśīlavas and brought them to his own house. Rāma, the destroyer of enemies, honored the two who were worthy of honor. Seated on a divine golden throne, the lord paid them homage. Surrounded by his counselors and brothers, Rāma beheld the two handsome and well-mannered brothers. Turning to Lakṣmaṇa, Śatrughna, and Bharata, Rāma said, “Let this story of these two, radiant as gods, be heard.” He encouraged the singers to perform the tale, rich in meaning and expression. The brothers sang sweetly and passionately, their voices drawn from their very hearts. Their song was in perfect harmony with strings and rhythm, the meaning clear and vivid. Their music delighted every limb, mind, and heart, and its melody shone in the assembly, pleasing to every ear. These two ascetics, marked by royal birth, were also skilled singers and great in austerity. Even Rāma himself declared them wondrous. He invited all to listen to the noble story of their mighty deeds. At Rāma’s prompting, the two began to sing, following the proper method, and as they performed, Rāma, seated among the assembly, became gradually absorbed in the desire to listen. Now, hear the fifth chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Bāla Kāṇḍa. Long ago, this earth belonged entirely to kings victorious in battle, beginning with Prajāpati himself. Among them was Sagara, famed for digging the ocean, surrounded by his sixty thousand sons as he journeyed. In the line of these great-souled kings of the Ikṣvāku dynasty, this great tale arose, known as the Rāmāyaṇa. We shall now recount this entire story from the beginning, a tale accompanied by righteousness, desire, and wealth, to be heard without envy. There was a city called Ayodhyā, renowned throughout the world, built by Manu, the lord of men, himself. This splendid city stretched twelve yojanas in length and three in breadth, with main roads well divided. It was adorned with a grand royal road, always strewn with fresh flowers and sprinkled with water. In this city dwelled King Daśaratha, the increaser of his great realm, just as the lord of the gods dwells in heaven. The city was furnished with gates and archways, well-divided marketplaces, filled with all manner of machines and weapons, and inhabited by skilled artisans. It was crowded with charioteers and bards, unmatched in splendor, adorned with tall mansions and banners, and thronged with hundreds of engines of war.