In a time long past, two skilled singers emerged, captivating their audience as if they were performing right before their eyes. Their melodies intertwined beautifully, resonating with passion and artistry, earning them the praise of revered sages known for their austere practices. As their song reached new heights of sweetness and fervor, one delighted sage, moved by their performance, gifted them a water pot, while another, equally pleased, offered bark garments. The generosity continued, with one sage presenting a black antelope skin, another a sacred thread, and yet more gifts flowing in—a water vessel, a girdle of muñja grass, a staff, and a loincloth, each bestowed with joy. The gifts kept coming; one sage offered an axe, another ochre robes, and yet another provided a garment of bark. Filled with delight, a sage gifted them a matted hair band and a wooden rope, while another contributed ritual vessels and a bundle of firewood. The offerings were abundant, with one sage presenting a staff made of udumbara wood, and many others joyfully uttering blessings of long life. They all spoke of the wondrous tale now being sung, recognizing its profound significance and the skill of its narrators. This tale, the supreme foundation of poets, was recounted in perfect order, bringing forth long life, strength, and delight to all who heard it. The two singers, celebrated for their artistry, found themselves praised in every corner of the land. On the bustling streets and royal roads, Bharata's elder brother encountered the two Kuśīlavas and welcomed them into his home. There, Rāma, the destroyer of enemies, honored the singers, who were deserving of such reverence. Seated on a divine golden throne, Rāma paid them homage, surrounded by his counselors and brothers, who admired the handsome and well-mannered duo. Rāma turned to his brothers, Lakṣmaṇa, Śatrughna, and Bharata, urging them to listen to the radiant story of the two singers, who shone like gods. Encouraged by Rāma, the singers began to recount their tale, rich with meaning and expression. Their voices, drawn from the depths of their hearts, harmonized beautifully with the strings and rhythms, conveying the essence of their story. The melody delighted every listener, resonating in their limbs, minds, and hearts, shining brightly in the assembly. The two ascetics, marked by royal lineage and mastery in song, captivated all, even Rāma himself, who became absorbed in the desire to listen. Thus, the narrative unfolded, ushering in the fifth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, beginning with the tale of kings victorious in battle, starting with Prajāpati himself. Among these kings was Sagara, who had the ocean dug, surrounded by sixty thousand sons as he journeyed. From the illustrious lineage of the Ikṣvāku dynasty arose the great tale known as the Rāmāyaṇa, a story to be recounted from its very beginnings, filled with righteousness, desire, and wealth, meant to be heard without envy. In this grand narrative, there existed a city named Ayodhyā, renowned throughout the world, built by Manu, the lord of men. This splendid city stretched twelve yojanas long and three wide, adorned with well-defined main roads. Ayodhyā was graced with a magnificent royal road, always strewn with fresh flowers and sprinkled with water, where King Daśaratha, the increaser of his great realm, resided like the lord of the gods in heaven. The city boasted gates and archways, bustling marketplaces filled with artisans and all manner of machines and weapons. It thrived with charioteers and bards, unmatched in splendor, with towering mansions and banners, and was alive with the sounds of war engines. Surrounded by troupes of actresses and dancers, Ayodhyā was adorned with gardens and mango groves, encircled by a great belt of śāla trees. Its deep, fortified moats made it difficult for enemies to approach, while the city bustled with horses, elephants, cattle, camels, and donkeys. Vassal kings paid tribute, and merchants from distant lands filled its streets, enhancing its beauty. The palaces, adorned with jewels, gleamed like mountains, filled with lofty mansions that resembled Amarāvatī, the city of Indra. The city was splendidly arranged, filled with noble women and every kind of jewel, adorned with celestial mansions, and its residences were established on level ground, filled with rice, barley, and sweetened water. The sounds of drums, mridangas, veenas, and panavas resounded greatly, echoing the vibrancy of life within. In this thriving city, the people were skilled warriors, adept at striking targets with precision, whether near or far. They were slayers of the forest's fierce beasts, using sharp weapons and the strength of their arms, embodying the valor and spirit of their great lineage. Thus, the tale of Ayodhyā and its noble inhabitants began to unfold, rich with the promise of adventure and the depth of human experience.