The sun shone brightly over the city of Mithila, where King Janaka ruled with wisdom and kindness. His kingdom was a land of prosperity, and his people adored him. But above all his treasures, Janaka’s heart belonged to one — his beloved daughter, Sita.
Sita was no ordinary child. Found in a furrow while Janaka ploughed the earth, she was a gift from the very womb of Mother Earth. Beautiful as the moon, graceful as a swan, and pure as the morning dew, Sita grew up cherished and adored by all.
When Sita came of age, King Janaka was troubled by a mighty task — how would he find a husband worthy of such a divine child? After much thought, he announced a grand swayamvara — a ceremony where the bravest and noblest princes would gather. But there was a challenge, one that could be met only by the greatest of heroes.
In his palace, King Janaka kept the mighty bow of Lord Shiva — a celestial weapon, colossal in size and impossible to move by ordinary men. “He who can lift and string this sacred bow,” Janaka declared, “shall win my daughter’s hand.”
The news of the swayamvara spread like wildfire. Mighty kings and proud princes from distant lands journeyed to Mithila, their hearts filled with dreams of winning the beautiful Sita.
Among those who arrived was the mighty Ravana, king of Lanka, proud and powerful. He marched into the hall, his eyes gleaming with confidence. But when he tried to lift the bow, it would not budge. Not even a thousand men could move it an inch.
One by one, the princes tried and failed. Some strained with all their might, others trembled and stepped away. The great hall grew silent, the air thick with tension.
At last, Sage Vishwamitra turned to Rama, his eyes shining with certainty. “O Rama, the time has come. Step forth, my son. This task was made for you.”
With a humble bow to the sage, Rama rose. All eyes turned to the young prince, radiant and calm, walking towards the mighty bow. Sita watched from behind a veil, her heart whispering secrets even she could not understand.
Rama approached the bow of Shiva, his every step graceful, his face serene. With reverence, he bent his head and offered a silent prayer. Then, with effortless ease, he lifted the bow as though it were but a garland of flowers.
Gasps filled the air.
In one smooth motion, Rama strung the divine bow. And as he pulled the string, the bow broke with a thunderous crack — a sound so mighty that the earth trembled and the heavens rejoiced.
King Janaka’s face lit up with wonder and joy. “I have found the worthiest of men for my Sita,” he declared. “Today, the gods themselves have blessed this union.”
The hall erupted in cheers, and flowers rained from the skies. Rama stood tall, his gaze meeting Sita’s — and in that moment, their souls recognized one another. It was not just a meeting of eyes, but of destinies long written in the stars.
Messengers were sent swiftly to Ayodhya, carrying the joyous news. “King Dasharatha, your son Rama has broken the bow of Shiva and won the hand of Sita. Come, O King, let us join in this divine union.”
And so, as the sun set over Mithila, it was not just the end of a day, but the beginning of a love story that would echo through time.