This sacred composition, the very foundation upon which poets build, was crafted with utmost care, its verses arranged in perfect order. It was a song cherished by those skilled in every art of music, a work that bestowed long life and generated strength, delighting the hearts of all who listened. Wherever it was sung, the two singers received praise from everyone, their art celebrated in every gathering. One day, as Bharata’s elder brother, the noble Rāma, was traveling along the city streets and royal roads, he noticed these two Kuśīlavas—singers of great talent. Drawn by their presence, Rāma brought them into his own home. There, seated upon a divine golden throne, the destroyer of enemies honored the two, recognizing their worthiness. He paid them homage in the presence of his counselors and brothers, beholding the two young men—handsome in form and gentle in manner. Turning to Lakṣmaṇa, Śatrughna, and Bharata, Rāma said, “Let us hear the story sung by these two, who shine with the radiance of gods.” He encouraged the singers to perform their tale, which was rich in meaning and beautifully expressed. The two sang with sweet and passionate voices, drawing each note from the depths of their hearts. Their song was perfectly accompanied by the harmony of strings and the rhythm of drums, their words clear and full of meaning. The melody delighted every listener, pleasing ear, mind, and heart alike, and filled the assembly with joy. These two ascetics, marked with the signs of royal birth, were not only skilled singers but also great in their austerities. Even Rāma himself considered them wondrous. “Now,” he said, “listen to the noble story of their mighty deeds.” At Rāma’s urging, the two began to sing, following the proper tradition. As their voices rose in song, Rāma, seated among his people, found himself gradually absorbed in the desire to listen. And so begins the fifth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Bāla Kāṇḍa: Long ago, all the earth belonged to the mighty kings, beginning with Prajāpati himself, each victorious in battle. Among them was Sagara, famed for digging the ocean, and surrounded by his sixty thousand sons. In the lineage of those noble Ikṣvāku kings, this great tale arose, known as the Rāmāyaṇa. Now, let us recount this entire story from the very beginning, a tale woven with righteousness, desire, and prosperity, and meant to be heard without envy. There was once a city named Ayodhyā, renowned throughout the world, built by Manu, the lord of men. This splendid city stretched twelve yojanas in length and three in breadth, with well-divided main roads. Its grand royal road was always adorned with fresh flowers and sprinkled with cool water. In this city dwelled King Daśaratha, the increaser of his realm, just as the lord of the gods dwells in heaven. Ayodhyā was furnished with gates and archways, its marketplaces well organized and bustling with artisans, machines, and weapons. The city thrived with charioteers and bards, its splendor unmatched, with tall mansions, banners, and hundreds of engines of war. Surrounding the city were troupes of actresses and dancers, gardens, mango groves, and a great belt of śāla trees. The city was fortified with deep moats, difficult for enemies to approach, and filled with horses, elephants, cattle, camels, and donkeys. Assemblies of vassal kings paid tribute at its borders, and merchants from distant lands brought beauty and wealth. Palaces adorned with jewels rose like mountains, and lofty mansions made Ayodhyā resemble Amarāvatī, the city of Indra. The city’s layout was splendid, like a chessboard, teeming with noble women and every kind of gem, adorned with celestial mansions. Ayodhyā was a secure and stable abode, established on level ground, filled with rice, barley, and sweet waters flavored by sugarcane. The city resounded with the music of drums, mridangas, veenas, and panavas, echoing across the land. Its dwellings were well arranged, filled with noble men, like the celestial palaces of the Siddhas attained through austerity. The citizens were expert archers, never missing their mark whether near or far, and skilled in striking by sound, their hands light and sure. They were mighty hunters, slaying lions, tigers, and wild boars in the forest with sharp weapons and the strength of their arms. With thousands of such great chariot-warriors, King Daśaratha filled his city. Ayodhyā was further surrounded by virtuous and eminent twice-borns, masters of the six branches of the Vedas, and by thousands of great souls devoted to truth. Sages and pure ascetics, resembling great rishis, also dwelled there, making the city a place of wisdom and righteousness. Now, listen to the sixth section of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Bāla Kāṇḍa: In that city of Ayodhyā, there lived a king learned in the Vedas, possessing all knowledge, farsighted and brilliant, beloved by both citizens and country folk. Among the Ikṣvākus, he was a mighty charioteer, a sacrificer devoted to righteousness, self-controlled—a royal sage, renowned throughout the three worlds, like a great rishi. He was strong, the destroyer of enemies, friendly and master of his senses. In wealth and treasures, he rivaled Indra and Kubera. Just as Manu, radiant and wise, once protected the world, so did King Daśaratha safeguard his realm. Through his truthfulness and observance of the threefold aims of life—righteousness, desire, and wealth—he governed Ayodhyā as Indra rules Amarāvatī. In this foremost city, no one was poor or lacking. Every householder was accomplished, possessing cows, horses, riches, and plentiful grain. Thus, the city of Ayodhyā flourished, a beacon of prosperity, virtue, and joy, under the just and noble rule of King Daśaratha.