Valmiki sat by the serene banks of the Tamasa River, the gentle ripples of the water mirroring the calm yet anticipative state of his mind. The hermit, whose soul was imbued with compassion and curiosity, had asked the divine question—"Is there anyone in this world who embodies the highest virtues?" He had posed this query to none other than Narada, the celestial sage, known throughout the cosmos as the knower of all that transpires in the three worlds: bhuuloka (the earth), bhuvarloka (the intermediary space), and suvarloka (the heavenly realm). The three realms, interwoven by the forces of existence, creation, and dissolution, held secrets that only a few had glimpsed, and Narada was one among them.
Narada's presence was imposing yet comforting, a figure draped in radiant garments that shimmered as though woven from stardust. The veena he carried was not just a musical instrument but a symbol of his eternal travels and boundless wisdom. His face bore the gentle mark of one who has witnessed eons, yet his eyes sparkled with youthful energy—a paradox only he could master.
Valmiki, after posing his question, waited in a state of reverence, his senses heightened to absorb each syllable that would fall from Narada's lips. For in this answer lay not just the essence of a hero but the very seed of a story that would ripple through time, echoing across centuries, across realms.
Narada, understanding the weight of Valmiki's inquiry, smiled. He was prahR^iSTaH—delighted. For what greater joy could there be for a knower of worlds than to recount the tales of the most virtuous beings? The wind stilled as if nature herself paused to listen. The sage raised his right hand in a gesture of benediction and spoke, "Let it be heard..."
The three worlds were not just physical spaces but layers of consciousness that defined existence. In bhuuloka, life thrived in its simplest and most complex forms. It was the plane where duty, virtue, and struggle played out under the sun and stars, where beings lived by the rhythm of karma. Bhuvarloka, often referred to as the intermediary space, was a realm of subtle energies—a plane where celestial beings like apsaras, gandharvas, and siddhas roamed. It was a bridge between the corporeal and the divine, where echoes of mortal actions reached and resonated. Suvarloka, the heavenly abode, was home to the gods and goddesses, a realm of light where dharma was upheld in its purest form and where the devas ruled with benevolent power.
Narada was privy to the truths of these realms, understanding the connections that bound them together. He had walked the paths of bhuuloka, watched as kings rose and fell, and witnessed acts of both great heroism and abject treachery. He had traversed the sky-bound corridors of bhuvarloka, where whispers of prayers from earth ascended like delicate tendrils of smoke, carrying with them hope and despair in equal measure. In suvarloka, Narada had sat amongst the celestial chorus, his veena adding to the symphony that kept cosmic order in harmony. To say he was trilokaj~naH, the knower of the three worlds, was an understatement.
Narada began, "O Valmiki, your question is profound, for to speak of the most virtuous being is to recount the tale of one whose very life was the embodiment of dharma." His voice, deep and resonant, carried the conviction of one who has seen the truth firsthand. The sun dipped lower, casting golden hues that danced upon the waters of the Tamasa.
"As I traveled through bhuuloka, I have witnessed many great kings and sages, each striving to uphold dharma, each attempting to wield power with justice. But there is one who surpasses them all—a scion of the Ikshvaku dynasty, born under the blessings of the cosmos and raised to embody righteousness." Valmiki's eyes widened, for the name that Narada would soon utter was one that would become synonymous with the very essence of virtue.
Narada spoke the name with reverence, "Rama." The sound of the name was like the soft toll of a temple bell, resonating through Valmiki's heart and awakening a curiosity that would set the course of history.
Valmiki listened as Narada recounted the tale of Rama. He spoke of the prince's childhood in Ayodhya, a city renowned for its grandeur and prosperity, where Rama grew under the watchful eyes of King Dasharatha. The sage narrated stories of Rama's skill with the bow, his unparalleled devotion to truth, and his boundless love for his brothers—Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna.
Narada paused, noting Valmiki's rapt attention. "But, O sage, it was not in the luxuries of Ayodhya that Rama's virtues were truly tested. It was in the exile, the vanavaasa, where his character shone with the brilliance of a thousand suns." He described the years Rama spent in the forest, where he was accompanied by Sita, his devoted wife, whose love was as steadfast as the mountains, and Lakshmana, who stood by him as a guardian and a brother bound by loyalty.
The tale unfolded further, detailing the trials they faced—the golden deer that led to Sita's abduction by Ravana, the demon king of Lanka. Narada's voice grew intense as he spoke of Rama's anguish and resolve, how he gathered allies in the form of the vanaras, led by Hanuman, whose devotion knew no bounds.
"Rama's journey was more than a quest for his wife," Narada emphasized. "It was a journey to restore dharma, to challenge the very essence of adharma that Ravana represented. The battle in Lanka was not merely a war for conquest; it was a war of principles. A war to remind the cosmos that dharma, though challenged, would always triumph."
Valmiki's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of this tale, each moment building upon the last to create a narrative that was as divine as it was human. He realized that this was not just the story of a prince; it was the story of human endurance, of relationships tested under the harshest conditions, and of ideals that transcended personal loss.
Narada, now nearing the conclusion of his narration, described Rama's eventual return to Ayodhya. The triumphant arrival marked not just the end of exile but the beginning of a reign that would become the gold standard for governance—Rama Rajya, where peace and prosperity reigned, where no creature suffered, and where dharma was the living breath of the kingdom.
The sage's voice softened as he said, "Rama's life is a beacon, illuminating the path of righteousness for generations to come. He, who bore the weight of expectations and the trials of fate without faltering, is the answer to your question, O Valmiki."
The words hung in the air, resonating with a power that seemed to stir the very elements. Valmiki felt a profound peace settle over him, but it was not an idle peace. It was the kind that spurred action, the kind that demanded a response. He knew then what he must do. This tale of virtue, sacrifice, and the ultimate victory of dharma over adharma had to be immortalized, not just in the spoken word but in verses that would live on, recited by sages and scholars, shared by parents with their children, and remembered by all who sought truth.
Narada, perceiving Valmiki's resolve, offered a final blessing. "Go forth, O sage, and let the tale of Rama echo through the ages. Let it inspire, let it guide, and let it remind the world of the power of dharma."
With that, Narada's form began to shimmer, fading into the golden hues of the twilight. Valmiki watched as the celestial sage vanished, leaving behind a heart filled with purpose and a mind ablaze with the epic that would soon flow from his soul onto parchment—the Ramayana.