one Bla Kn.da Childhood Chapter 1 King Dasharatha's Joy O Ayodhy! Architects designed you to be beautiful, gracious, and strong. Untouched by enemies, invincible behind towering gates with a wide moat circling your waist, your brave and noble warriors could find their target through sound alone. O Ayodhy, delight to the senses! Melodies of poets, singers, and musicians echoed through your markets where merchants from faraway kingdoms traded their wares in peace. Trumpets, bugles, flutes, conches, and gongs sweetened the air with music. Mansions lined your wide, straight streets, their high-arched porches streaming with flags and banners, ringed by gardens of sweet-smelling flowers. An array of palaces adorned you like a string of pearls, their walls set with precious gems and their high domes towering like mountain peaks. Mango groves and tall trees girded your edges like a sash. The chanting of sages and pandits learned in the four Vedas blessed your people, who shimmered with gold and jeweled ornaments like the sun. Truthful, brave, and contented, no one lived in poverty, and all lived happily with their families. Elephants, camels, horses, cattle, and mules lightened the work. Rice was plentiful and the water pure. Your generous and truth-loving people lived long lives, revered by their children and grandchildren. Like great sages, they were pure and chaste, clear-minded, self-controlled, and only did what was right. All your people were blessed with beauty and riches. And all these noble people of Ayodhy were devoted to their noble king, Dasharatha. King Dasharatha waited alone inside his private chambers. It was spring, the ninth day of the pleasing lunar month of Chaitra. A light breeze carried the sweet scent of jasmine blossoms through the open windows, but the king did not notice. His mind was absorbed in thoughts of his three cherished queens, who at this moment were about to give birth. How many years had he waited to be blessed with an heir? How many hours had he prayed for healthy offspring? And now, the fulfillment of his heart's desire was only moments away. As King Dasharatha reflected on his long and celebrated life, the past, glorious as it had been, seemed like the darkness of night compared to the joy he glimpsed ahead. The king stepped onto his verandah. From there, he could see the golden rooftops of the city below, beyond that the holy River Sarayu, and beyond that the fertile fields of his beloved country of Kosala, which stretched as far as the rays of the sun. Since the beginning of time, King Dasharatha's family, of the glorious and peaceful dynasty of Ikshvku, had ruled Kosala from the capital city of Ayodhy. Founded by Manu, the father of Ikshvku, king of the solar dynasty, the fabled city of Ayodhy was celebrated throughout the three worlds. As King Dasharatha thought of the virtuous people of Ayodhy, he was grateful that they deemed him worthy to rule. For the king was humble in his greatness. Learned in the Vedas, truthful and pious, he had never broken his word. He had performed many yagyas, ceremonies to create balance in nature, and always gave generously to the pandits, saints, and wise men of the kingdom. His name, Dasharatha, meant "strong as ten chariots," a title he had earned long ago, while helping the Devas, the divine forces of nature, achieve victory over the asuras, the negative forces of nature. Celebrated on earth and in heaven, King Dasharatha was loved and revered by all. Standing on his verandah, King Dasharatha reflected on his long rule, the years when Kosala had lived peacefully with its neighboring kingdoms and increased its wealth many times. Like the sun surrounded by brilliant rays, King Dasharatha was surrounded by eight wise ministers, who practiced right conduct with their families and friends, never speaking a word in anger. They were known for their honesty, courage, and friendliness. Versed in economics, they kept the kingdom's treasuries full without unduly taxing the people. Experts in defense, they made friends with the neighboring kingdoms. Skilled in lawmaking, they governed all with justice, levying fines on wrongdoers, but never more than the person could afford. King Dasharatha also relied on the judgment of spiritual advisors, wise R.ishis, headed by the radiant Vasishtha. Supported by benevolent ministers and enlightened sages, celebrated as the ocean of truth, King Dasharatha had no equal among all the monarchs on earth. In all the years of his long rule, the king had known only one sorrow: even though he had ruled with wisdom and had conducted many yagyas, he had not been blessed with an heir. The grief of reaching old age without a son had weighed heavily on him, like a grinding stone on wheat chaff. Knowing that the illustrious line of the Ikshvkus would not continue, Dasharatha and his three wives were not able to fully enjoy the wealth and glory of their kingdom. But that was behind him now, for on this very day his three queens would give birth to his children. King Dasharatha felt the cool spring breeze and stepped back inside his palace, drawing the curtains over the doors. His chief minister, Sumantra, waited inside. Ghee lamps cast a warm glow over Sumantra's shining garments. "O Sumantra," said King Dasharatha with a smile. "How delightful to have your company as I await glad tidings. After all, it was you who helped me reach this happy state." Sumantra, who was the minister of the household and the king's most trusted ally and friend, smiled as he bowed low to King Dasharatha. "It was not I who helped you, but Destiny herself," he said humbly. He took a seat across from his esteemed monarch, whom he had served during King Dasharatha's entire rule. The king smiled at Sumantra, but soon was lost again in his thoughts. As old friends, they fell into a comfortable silence, content just to be in each other's company at such a moment. King Dasharatha thought back six seasons, to the moment when he realized that he could no longer bear to live without an heir. On that day he had called the sage Vasishtha and all of his wise advisors to the court. "O honored sages," he said, "I have walked the path of virtue, and yet I have not been fortunate enough to produce an heir. With your blessings, it is my desire to conduct a special yagya, and by so doing I wish to gain a son." "Glory to King Dasharatha!" the ministers exclaimed. "Success to King Dasharatha! Your wish is now our desire." Later that day Sumantra asked for a private audience with King Dasharatha. "O gracious king," said Sumantra, bowing low. "There is an ancient story that came to my mind as you spoke today. I think it will help you obtain a son." "Then by all means, tell me, trustworthy Sumantra," said Dasharatha, his eyes shining with love. "Many years ago I heard a prophecy about our kingdom. Sanatkumra, the sage of eternal youth, predicted that a certain young ascetic called R.ishyashr.inga would marry the daughter of King Romapda in order to end a drought in his kingdom. After that, the story predicted, the esteemed R.ishyashr.inga would travel to Ayodhy and perform a yagya, and as a result, King Dasharatha would gain four sons of untold valor, who would become the glory of the Ikshvkus." Sumantra paused for a moment. Then he said, "Just today, word reached us that King Romapda's daughter has recently married the pure-souled sage named R.ishyashr.inga, and their marriage did, indeed, end the drought in their kingdom." King Dasharatha's face lit up. "O fearless king," Sumantra advised, "do not delay. Invite R.ishyashr.inga here to conduct your yagya and thereby obtain your sons." Taking his trusted minister's words to heart, King Dasharatha first sought the blessing of the holy Vasishtha. Having received the sage's blessing, King Dasharatha, the most powerful ruler on earth, set out the next day to the domain of King Romapda with his wives and ministers. As they neared that virtuous king's domain, they passed fertile fields and lush gardens, and noticed that the rivers ran with ample waters now that the drought was ended there. He spent a week being entertained in the opulent palace of his friend King Romapda, where the young sage R.ishyashr.inga sat beside his father-in-law like a blazing fire. On the seventh day, King Dasharatha shared with King Romapda the reason for his visit, and humbly requested that the king's lovely daughter Shant and the wise R.ishyashr.inga return to Ayodhy with him. When King Romapda consented, King Dasharatha faced the young sage with his palms pressed together in a sign of respect, said, "O holy one, I beseech you to fulfill my desire for an heir, just as you have ended the drought for King Romapda." Sage R.ishyashr.inga said, "Do not fear, O noble king. Four courageous sons will be born to continue your line." Thus the luminous R.ishyashr.inga and his wide-eyed bride, Shant, traveled to Ayodhy with King Dasharatha. There, in due time, R.ishyashr.inga began the powerful Ashvamedha Yagya, the ceremony of the horse, which lasted more than a year and was attended by all the kings of the land. After the flawless completion of the Ashvamedha Yagya, which is difficult even for the greatest monarch to achieve, King Dasharatha radiated purity and light. Sage R.ishyashr.inga, in the silence of his meditations, knew what to do next. He said to Dasharatha, "I will now perform a certain yagya from the Atharva Veda to enable you to attain an heir." While the yagya was taking place, while King Dasharatha and Queen Kausaly, his first queen, were pouring ghee on the ceremonial fire, a secret meeting of the celestials was taking place in heaven. It seemed that Rvan.a, a demon who terrorized the earth, could not be defeated even by Indra, the king of the divine Devas. Rvan.a and his rkshasa armies wreaked havoc on the people and even desecrated the yagyas of holy men, spreading fear in all three worlds. All of the Devas and the celestial musicians called Gandharvas had gathered together to ask Brahm, the Creator, to save them from this dangerous tormentor. "O revered Brahm," said Indra, bowing low, "it is because of your boon that Rvan.a is so powerful. He destroys all good, all truth in the world. He and his warriors make the heavens and the earth tremble." Everyone knew that at one time Rvan.a had engaged in difficult austerities and had mastered the four Vedas. Pleased with his devotion, Brahm had granted him any boon he desired. "May I never be destroyed by Devas, Gandharvas, yakshas, or rkshasas," Rvan.a begged. And Brahm had granted him his wish. That was why even Indra, the king of the Devas, could not defeat Rvan.a in battle. Rvan.a and his armies had even entered the gates of heaven and scattered the Devas to the four ends of the earth. Now Brahm, the Creator, seated on his lotus flower, clearly remembered the boon that he had bestowed on Rvan.a. Rvan.a was, in fact, his great-grandson. But Rvan.a was also the son of a rkshasa woman and had followed in her ways of evil. Rvan.a was terrifying to look at, with ten heads and twenty powerful arms. He had become the king of Lank, the sumptuous city of the rkshasas far to the south. There he enjoyed boundless wealth, entertainments, and luxury. Yet it was not enough. He wanted to rule over heaven and earth. Brahm knew all of this, but he also knew a secret. "In his arrogance," Brahm told the assembly quietly, "Rvan.a did not ask to be invulnerable to mankind. He thought that man was not significant enough to hurt him. This blind pride is Rvan.a's weak point, for he will surely be destroyed by a mere man." At this the celestial Devas and Gandharvas joyfully cried out praises to Brahm. Then, placing their palms together in respect, they turned and bowed to the immortal Vishn.u, the Maintainer of the Universe. He rested on a golden couch, his skin blue as a summer sky, his face radiant and peaceful. "Revered Lord Vishn.u, we entreat you to hear our prayers," cried the Devas after bowing to him in reverence. "Today the noble King Dasharatha is conducting a ceremony to beget four sons. His three queens are chaste and virtuous, beyond reproach. O most compassionate one, we entreat you, let yourself be born as King Dasharatha's son! This monster Rvan.a has destroyed all good in the world. The way of Dharma, of truth, has never been in greater danger. Cruelty reigns on earth while he still lives. Be born as Dasharatha's son and destroy him!" The ever-compassionate Lord Vishn.u, whose desire was to maintain the balance of good and evil in the world, reassured the Devas. "So be it," he said, raising his right hand to bless them. "I will take birth in the world of men and destroy this enemy of truth." Meanwhile, back on earth, the blameless R.ishyashr.inga, having conducted the yagya without flaw, poured a final offering of ghee on the ceremonial fire. A radiant being emerged from the flames. It was Agni, the lord of fire. Shining like the sun, he wore robes of red, the color of his flaming hair. His skin shimmered like burnished copper, and his eyes blazed like yellow sapphires. Agni stepped out of the flames holding a golden container with a silver lid, filled with a mixture of milk, rice, and sugar called pyasa. He handed the sacred vessel to King Dasharatha, who bowed with reverence. "Take this pyasa, prepared by the Devas. Give this fruit of your yagya to your three queens, who will bear sons in due time." Having delivered the pyasa, Agni melted into the flames. Dasharatha offered half of the pyasa to the pious Queen Kausaly, who was his first wife. He offered half of what remained to Queen Sumitr, and half of what remained of that to his youngest queen, Kaikey. That still left a tiny portion, and that he gave to Queen Sumitr, who then had two portions. The queens felt blessed to eat the auspicious pyasa, the fruit of King Dasharatha's yagya. In a few months, the three queens basked in carefree happiness as they prepared for the birth of their children. The children that they carried were so pure that the wombs of the three queens were said to glow like the sun. The halls of the palace were filled with laughter and delight, and the entire kingdom lived in happiness, hearts swelling in joyful anticipation of the long-awaited births of King Dasharatha's sons. As King Dasharatha sat with his trusted friend Sumantra, remembering the blissful months since Sage R.ishyashr.inga's yagya, he fell into a sweet slumber. Sumantra slipped away, leaving his beloved monarch to his dreams. Excerpted from The Ramayana: A New Retelling of Valmiki's Ancient Epic--Complete and Comprehensive by Linda Egenes, Kumuda Reddy All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
