Long, long ago, nestled on the banks of the shimmering Sarayu River, there stood a kingdom so grand that even the heavens envied its beauty. This was Ayodhya — a land of golden palaces, vast gardens filled with blooming flowers, and bustling streets lined with glittering shops. Birds sang sweet melodies in the sky, and rivers danced through the meadows, blessing the land with abundance. The people of Ayodhya lived in joy, for their king, Dasharatha, was as kind as he was mighty. He ruled not with pride, but with love, treating his people as his very own children.
Yet, within the grand marble halls of his palace, King Dasharatha bore a sorrow that even the beauty of Ayodhya could not mend. Though he had three noble queens — the gentle Kaushalya, the wise Sumitra, and the enchanting Kaikeyi — fate had not blessed him with a child. The days passed, and the king grew older, his heart heavy with longing. Who would sit on his throne when his time had passed? Who would carry forward the glorious name of his ancestors?
The sages, wise and kind, saw the king’s suffering and approached him with a solution. “O mighty king,” they said, “perform the sacred Putrakameshti Yagna, and the gods themselves shall bless you with sons.” Dasharatha’s heart filled with new hope. He summoned the greatest priests and sages, and together they began the sacred ritual.
As the flames of the yagna danced high into the sky, a miraculous event took place. From the heart of the sacred fire, the mighty Agni Deva — the God of Fire — rose, his face radiant as the sun. In his hands, he carried a golden vessel filled with divine nectar, sweet and glowing like the morning sun.
“O noble king,” Agni Deva declared, “the gods have heard your prayers. This nectar is no ordinary offering. It is the gift of life itself. Share it with your queens, and soon you shall hold your sons in your arms.”
Tears of gratitude filled Dasharatha’s eyes. With great reverence, he took the vessel and entered his royal chambers. He offered half of the divine nectar to Kaushalya, his eldest queen. The remaining nectar he divided equally — one part he gave to Sumitra and the other to Kaikeyi.
Time passed like a pleasant dream, and soon, the palace echoed with laughter and joy. The gods kept their promise. Queen Kaushalya gave birth to a son as radiant as the sun — he was named Rama. Kaikeyi gave birth to Bharata, who shone like the moon. And from the gentle Sumitra came two sons, Lakshmana and Shatrughna — brave and loyal, like twin stars in the night sky.
Ayodhya rejoiced as the royal children grew strong and bright. Festivities filled the air, and the kingdom shone even brighter, blessed by the birth of these four noble princes. Among them, Rama, the eldest, shone brightest of all — his face calm like the moon, his heart pure as a crystal stream.
King Dasharatha looked upon his sons with pride, but it was Rama who held the deepest corner of his heart. For Rama was no ordinary child — he was the very embodiment of dharma, born to uphold righteousness and fill the world with light.
And so, under the watchful gaze of the heavens, the days of Ayodhya passed in peace and happiness, as the four princes grew, their names soon to be sung across the ages.