King Daśaratha, filled with reverence and joy, welcomed the great sage Viśvāmitra into his palace. With hands folded in humility, the king exclaimed, “O venerable sage, your arrival is a blessing beyond measure! Please, tell me your highest wish. What service can I offer you, gladdened as I am by your presence?” He continued, his voice warm with devotion, “You are truly worthy of my deepest reverence, O Brāhmaṇa. By the greatest fortune you have come to me, the bestower of honor. Today, my birth finds its purpose, and my life is well-lived. Just by seeing the lord of Brāhmaṇas, my night has turned auspicious. Once you were called a royal sage, but your brilliance, kindled by austerity, now shines all the brighter.” “Now you have attained the status of Brahmarṣi, worthy of manifold worship. This is a wondrous and supremely pure event for me. By your presence, O lord, I am blessed with merit. Please, tell me what you seek, for which you have come. I wish to be favored by you and to contribute to your purpose. You, steadfast in vows, should not hesitate to state your request. I am indeed the agent in all things, yet you are my divine protector. This great fortune has come to me, O Brahmin, and all this supreme righteousness arises from your arrival.” Hearing these words—so pleasing, humble, and spoken from the heart—the illustrious sage Viśvāmitra felt supreme joy well up within him. Then, as the next portion of the tale unfolds, the radiant and mighty Viśvāmitra, his hair bristling with emotion, addressed the lion among kings. “Such noble conduct, O tiger among kings, is yours alone. None on earth, born of a great lineage and bearing the name of Vasiṣṭha, could act as you do. Now, what I hold in my heart, the resolve for which I have come, you must fulfill. Be true to your promise.” He explained, “I observe a sacred vow, but two demons, capable of taking any form, obstruct me. When the vow is nearly complete, these two powerful and cunning ones—Mārīca and Subāhu—appear. They shower the altar with streams of flesh and blood, defiling the sacrifice and hindering its completion. Exhausted and discouraged, I am forced to withdraw, yet I do not give way to anger. Such is the predicament: the practice is thus, and the curse remains unbroken.” Viśvāmitra then made his request clear, “O tiger among kings, you must give me your son Rāma, whose valor is true. Your eldest son, the heroic youth with hair like a crow’s wing, is capable—protected by my own divine power. He will destroy those demons who spoil the sacrifice, and I will bestow upon him manifold blessings, without doubt. By his actions, fame will spread through all three worlds, and those two cannot stand against Rāma in any way. No one other than Rāma, son of Raghu, can slay those two, arrogant in their strength and bound by the noose of time.” He added, “Those two are not equal to the great-souled Rāma, O king; nor should you let affection for your son sway you. I promise you: those two demons will be slain. I know Rāma’s true valor, as do Vasiṣṭha and all the steadfast ascetics. If you desire righteousness and supreme fame on earth, if you desire steadfastness, you should grant me Rāma—if your ministers, O descendant of Kakutstha, give their approval. With Vasiṣṭha at their head, let your counselors consent, and give me your son Rāma, who is dear to you and unattached. For the period of the sacrifice is ten nights, and Rāma, lotus-eyed, will not be delayed beyond that time, as I have said.” Having spoken thus, the great and radiant sage Viśvāmitra fell silent. Hearing these auspicious words, King Daśaratha was seized by deep sorrow. He trembled and became faint, but regaining his senses, he rose, filled with fear and anxiety. The sage’s words had pierced his heart and mind, and the noble king, deeply troubled, wavered and rose from his seat. Then, gathering himself, Daśaratha replied, his voice trembling, “O sage, my Rāma, lotus-eyed, is not yet sixteen years old. I do not see him as fit for battle with the Rākṣasas. I have at my command a mighty army, an Akṣauhiṇī, and I am its lord and master. With this force, I shall go and fight those night-roaming demons myself. My servants are valiant and skilled in arms, fit to oppose the Rākṣasas. You should not take Rāma.” He pressed on, “I myself, bow in hand, will protect you at the forefront of battle. As long as I have life, I shall fight the night-dwellers. Your vow will be fulfilled without hindrance and kept safe; I will go there, you should not take Rāma. He is but a boy, untrained in knowledge, unfamiliar with strength or weakness, not skilled in the power of weapons, nor in battle. He is not fit to face the Rākṣasas, who fight with deceit. Separated from Rāma, I cannot endure even for a moment. O best of sages, to live I cannot bear to be without Rāma; but if you, O noble one, wish to take Rāghava—” With these words, the king’s heart, torn between love for his son and duty to the sage, was laid bare.