1.6: The Radiant Kingdom

In the city of Ayodhya, where the mighty Sarayu River flowed with serenity, my father, King Dasaratha, reigned with extraordinary wisdom and valor. As I, Rama, recall those days, I am filled with deep reverence for him. He was a scholar well-versed in the Vedas, his knowledge encompassing every sphere of learning. With his farsighted vision and radiant splendor, he illuminated the lives of his subjects, a beacon of hope in their darkest hours. Dasaratha embodied the very essence of Dharma, his reign synonymous with justice, righteousness, and noble governance. Among the three worlds, his fame knew no bounds. His might, like that of Manu, the ancient ruler of the world, extended far and wide, protecting all within his realm.

Within Ayodhya's confines dwelled a populace immersed in joy and blessed with righteousness. Their hearts embraced Dharma, their minds adorned with knowledge, and their lives enriched by abundant wealth. Truth flowed from their lips, and greed found no haven in their souls. Each citizen possessed a share of the city's prosperity, from grain-filled storehouses to herds of cattle and galloping steeds.

As I, Rama, reminisce about Ayodhya, I recall how within its precincts, cruelty, lust, and avarice found no place to thrive. Instead, righteousness blossomed, self-control reigned, and the people lived as exemplars of virtue. They shared a bond of unity, a collective resolve to abide by the principles of truth and justice.

Ornaments adorned the bodies of Ayodhya's denizens, garlands encircled their necks, and crowns graced their heads. They reveled in worldly pleasures, anointed their bodies with fragrant oils, and adorned their wrists with bracelets. Their lives mirrored opulence and abundance, reflecting their unwavering commitment to the pursuit of joy and prosperity.

In my father's kingdom, not a single sacrificial fire remained unkindled. The air resonated with the chants of Brahmins, their knowledge of the Vedas and sacred scriptures a testament to their unwavering devotion to their duties. Acts of charity flowed freely, reaching those in distress and bringing solace to troubled hearts. The Brahmins epitomized self-discipline, their marital fidelity unwavering, as they embraced their sacred vows with utmost devotion.

In Ayodhya, atheism held no sway, lies found no voice, and envy had no place to hide. In this city of wisdom, each citizen embodied the essence of virtue, having imbibed the teachings of the sacred scriptures. Their minds were adorned with knowledge, their actions guided by the righteous path.

Every Brahmin in Ayodhya possessed a profound understanding of the Vedangas, the branches of Vedic wisdom. They engaged in rigorous penance, extending their hands in charity to those in need, embodying the virtues of compassion and kindness. The city's very fabric was interwoven with devotion and gratitude toward my virtuous father, King Dasaratha.

Ayodhya knew no scarcity—its people thrived in beauty and abundance. The city pulsated with devotion toward my father, their hearts overflowing with wealth and a deep reverence for his regal authority.

In this great city, every individual, regardless of caste or gender, revered guests as gods incarnate. They exemplified gratitude, living lives steeped in righteousness, surrounded by loving families and blessed with prosperity. They upheld the truth and walked the path of Dharma, their conduct resonating with the wisdom of sages.

Kshatriyas obeyed the guidance of the Brahmins, while the Vaisyas cooperated with the Kshatriyas. The Shudras, in turn, supported the three higher castes, each fulfilling their respective roles in society. Harmony prevailed, for the people of Ayodhya understood that unity and cooperation were the bedrock of a prosperous kingdom.

Thus, Ayodhya, the city once governed by the wise Manu, now flourished under the illustrious rule of my father, King Dasaratha. Its splendor rivaled that of Indra's celestial realm, guarded by warriors as fierce as mountain lions. Ayodhya's stables housed steeds as magnificent as Uchaisrava, the fabled celestial horse, while its mighty elephants, with strength akin to the Himalayas, evoked awe and wonder. They belonged to the noble lineage of Airavatha, Mahapadma, Anjana, and Vamana, their might unparalleled in all the land.

Ayodhya, its boundaries stretching far and wide, mirrored the radiance of the moon reigning over a starry sky. Its gates were strong, its locks secure, and its buildings adorned with unparalleled beauty. The people basked in the glory of a kingdom that thrived under the watchful eye of my father, a ruler equal in might to the king of the gods himself, Indra.

This is the tale of Ayodhya, a realm where splendor and virtue converged, where the people embraced righteousness as their guiding light. Within the city's bounds, a symphony of harmony played, each inhabitant a note in the grand tapestry of existence.