The two Kuśīlava singers stood before the assembly of sages, their voices weaving the tale with remarkable sweetness. The sages, moved by the beauty of their song and the depth of the verses, praised them warmly, marveling at how the events of the distant past appeared vivid and immediate, as if unfolding before their very eyes. The singers entered the gathering with grace, embodying the story so completely that all who listened felt transported. Their performance was marked by passion and accomplished melody, the two harmonizing in perfect unity. The great sages, renowned for their austerity, honored them with praise. As the singers poured even greater fervor and sweetness into their song, a delighted sage standing nearby gifted them a water pot. Another sage, pleased and famous, gave bark garments, while yet another bestowed a black antelope skin. One offered a sacred thread, another a water vessel, and yet another sage presented a girdle made of muñja grass. A staff, a loincloth, and an axe were given by others, along with ochre robes and another garment of bark. Filled with joy, one sage gave a matted hair band and a wooden rope, while another presented ritual vessels, and yet another gave a bundle of firewood. Someone offered a staff of udumbara wood, and many sages showered them with blessings and words wishing them a long life. All the truth-speaking sages gave gifts, declaring that this wondrous tale had been proclaimed by the sage. They recognized the song as the supreme foundation of poets, skillfully completed, and sung by those accomplished in all forms of music. The sages proclaimed that this song brings long life, generates strength, and delights all who hear it. Wherever the Kuśīlava brothers performed, they were praised. On the streets and royal roads, Rāma, elder brother of Bharata, encountered the two singers and brought them to his own house. Rāma, the destroyer of enemies, honored the two who were worthy of honor, seating himself on a divine golden throne and paying them homage. Surrounded by his counselors and brothers, Rāma saw the two brothers, handsome and well-mannered. He spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, Śatrughna, and Bharata, saying, "Let the story of these two, radiant as gods, be heard." He encouraged the singers to perform the tale, rich in meaning and expression, and they sang with sweet passion, their voices drawn from the depths of their hearts. Their song harmonized perfectly with strings and rhythm, conveying the meaning clearly. The melody delighted every limb, mind, and heart, shining brightly in the assembly of people. Rāma observed that these two ascetics, bearing the marks of royal birth, were skilled singers and great in austerity; they were wondrous even in his own eyes. He urged all to listen to the noble story of their mighty deeds. Thus prompted by Rāma, the two singers began their tale, following the proper method. As they sang, Rāma, seated among the assembly, gradually became absorbed in the desire to listen. Now, the fifth chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Bāla Kāṇḍa, begins. All the earth, in ages past, belonged entirely to kings victorious in battle, beginning with Prajāpati himself. Among these kings was Sagara, who dug the ocean and was surrounded by sixty thousand sons as he journeyed. From the line of these great-souled kings of the Ikṣvāku dynasty arose the great tale known as the Rāmāyaṇa. The story is now recounted from its very beginning, accompanied by righteousness, desire, and wealth, and is to be heard without envy. There was a city called Ayodhyā, famed throughout the world, built by Manu, the lord of men. This splendid city stretched twelve yojanas in length and three in breadth, its main roads well-divided. It was adorned with a grand royal road, always strewn with fresh flowers and sprinkled with water. King Daśaratha, who increased his realm, dwelled in Ayodhyā as the lord of the gods dwells in heaven. The city boasted gates and archways, well-divided marketplaces, and was filled with machines, weapons, and artisans of every kind. It was crowded with charioteers and bards, its splendor unmatched, with tall mansions, banners, and hundreds of engines of war. Surrounding it were troupes of actresses and dancers, gardens and mango groves, and a great belt of śāla trees. Ayodhyā’s moats were deep and fortified, difficult for others to approach, and the city was filled with horses, elephants, cattle, camels, and donkeys. Assemblies of vassal kings gathered to pay tribute, and merchants from many lands beautified its streets. Its palaces, adorned with jewels, rose like mountains, and lofty mansions made it resemble Amarāvatī, the city of Indra. The city was splendid, shaped like a chessboard, filled with hosts of noble women, crowded with every kind of jewel, and adorned with celestial mansions. It was a residence, deep-rooted and unbroken, established on level ground, filled with rice and barley, and water sweetened by sugarcane stalks. The supreme abode resounded greatly with the music of drums, mridangas, veenas, and panavas. Like the celestial palace attained by the Siddhas through austerity in heaven, Ayodhyā’s dwellings were well-arranged and filled with noble men. Among its people were those who never missed their mark with arrows, whether at distant or close targets, skilled in striking by sound, with light hands and expertise. Thus began the wondrous tale, sung by the Kuśīlava brothers, in the assembly of Rāma and his kin, bringing to life the glory of Ayodhyā and the noble lineage from which the story of the Rāmāyaṇa arose.