DAY TWO
With folded hands, let us begin by remembering Lord Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, and then let us bow to the great Adi Kavi, Sage Valmiki, through whose compassion and spiritual vision the Ramayana came into the world.
Let us first recite this beautiful invocation:
ಕೂಜಂತಂ ರಾಮ ರಾಮೇತಿ ಮಧುರಂ ಮಧುರಾಕ್ಷರಮ್ |
ಆರುಹ್ಯ ಕವಿತಾಶಾಖಾಂ ವಂದೇ ವಾಲ್ಮೀಕಿ-ಕೋಕಿಲಮ್ ॥
"I bow to Sage Valmiki — the cuckoo perched upon the branch of poetry — who sweetly sings Rāma, Rāma in melodious and charming syllables."
What a beautiful image this is.
Just as a cuckoo sits on a branch and sings with sweetness, Valmiki Maharshi, seated on the branch of poetry, sang the name of Rama.
And that song became the Ramayana.
The syllable 'Ra' burns away sins. The syllable 'Ma' grants liberation.
Thus 'Rāma' is the Taraka Mantra — the mantra that helps us cross the ocean of worldly existence.
"When the story of Rama is narrated with sincerity, even the most restless being becomes still." — Sri Bannanje Govindacharya
Sage Vishwamitra's True Purpose
All four sons of Dasharatha grew up in the palace and received rigorous education in both Shastra — scripture — and Shastra — weaponry — from the age of four. By the time Rama was fourteen and Lakshmana around thirteen, they were already accomplished in both.
Then Sage Vishwamitra arrived and asked Dasharatha to send Rama and Lakshmana to protect his yagna. Dasharatha was alarmed — the boys were young, not yet sixteen, which was the age of adulthood in those times. He offered to come himself with his full army. But Brahmarishi Vasishtha, who was a Trikala Gyani and knew Vishwamitra's real intent, told the emperor: it is absolutely fine to send Rama and Lakshmana with Vishwamitra without fear.
What was the true purpose? Vishwamitra could have easily protected his own yagna — he had immense tapas shakti. But there are several things to understand. As a Brahmarishi, he could not use anger or weapons — that would deplete his accumulated spiritual energy. But more importantly, his real intention was to take Rama and Lakshmana to Mithila — to arrange the marriage of Rama to Sita at the Swayamvara. He also wanted to demonstrate the divine power of Rama to the world. Even Dasharatha himself had never seen his sons fight enemies.
Moral: Great teachers guide not just to solve immediate problems, but to fulfill a higher purpose—what appears as a challenge is often a divine opportunity preparing us for our true destiny.
Ahalya — Clearing the Misconception
On the way to Mithila, Lord Rama redeemed Ahalya. The popular story is that Ahalya had turned into a stone, and that by the touch of Rama's feet she came back to life.
This is not quite right. No human being can become stone. Chetana — the living, self-aware consciousness — cannot become Jada — inert matter. What Valmiki says is this: the Chetana of Ahalya was residing within the Jada, meditating in that state of stillness. When Lord Rama's feet touched the Jada, the Chetana was released from it and took form again as Ahalya — visible to all.
There is a further misconception. Many say that Lord Indra came to the hermitage disguised as Brahmarishi Gautama, and that Ahalya consummated with him thinking him to be her husband. According to the Ramayana, it was true that Indra came to the hermitage when Gautama was away. But the difference is this: Ahalya was young and beautiful. Gautama, much older, was entirely absorbed in penance — he had never truly been a companion to his young wife. For a brief moment, seeing Indra — the most handsome being, the lord of heaven — a single thought crossed Ahalya's mind. Just a thought. Not an act. And Brahmarishi Gautama, who was a Brahma Gnani, came to know of that thought. He cursed both Indra and Ahalya.
One thing we can learn from Valmiki: doing a small mistake is not itself a sin — but it should not be repeated, and it should be repented. Devi Ahalya's personality was not diminished by the curse. In fact, she grew greater through it — which is why the first name in our morning prayer is hers: Ahalya, Draupadi, Sita, Tara, Mandodari.
Valmiki beautifully describes their meeting: Rama did Sashtanga Namaskara to Ahalya and said: you are the wife of Brahmarishi Gautama — you are a mother to me. And Ahalya did Panchanga Namaskara to Rama and said: you are my father — you have given me rebirth.
A single moment of weakness need not define a person—through repentance, inner discipline, and divine grace, one can rise to even greater purity and dignity.
Sita — The Daughter of the Earth
King Janaka of Mithila — whose full name is Siradhvaja Janaka, Janaka being a royal title — was performing a yagna and plowing the earth himself as part of the ritual. The blade of his plow struck something in the soil — a golden casket. Inside, he found a radiant baby girl.
In Sanskrit, the word Sita literally means furrow — the line made by a plow. She was not born from a womb. She is Ayonija — not born of a womb. She is Bhoomija — daughter of the Earth. She is Goddess Lakshmi herself, descended to earth to fulfill the divine plan.
Sita's Swayamvara — Four Marriages in One Mantapa
At the court of King Janaka — properly called Siradhvaja Janaka, for Janaka is a dynastic title, not merely a personal name — the Swayamvara was held. The condition: any man who could lift and string the great bow of Lord Shiva would win Sita's hand. Rama not only strung the bow — he broke it.
Dasharatha was notified. He came to Mithila with Bharata, Shatrughna, his ministers, and his army. Brahmarishi Vishwamitra then made a comprehensive request. He asked Siradhvaja Janaka to give his second daughter Urmila in marriage to Lakshmana. He then asked both Siradhvaja Janaka and his younger brother Kushadhvaja to give their two daughters — Mandavi and Shrutakirti — in marriage to Bharata and Shatrughna respectively.
And so in one single mantapa, four weddings were performed — in order of seniority. First: Sita and Rama. Second: Urmila and Lakshmana. Third: Mandavi and Bharata. Fourth: Shrutakirti and Shatrughna. On their return journey, they met Parashurama — and Rama broke the Vishnu Bow, after which both divine incarnations did Sashtanga Namaskara to each other.
Moral: Divine events unfold according to a higher plan—when destiny aligns with dharma, the right people, relationships, and moments come together in perfect harmony.
When One Avatāra Meets Another: The Deeper Meaning of Paraśurāma and Rāma
Let us reflect on a very subtle and often misunderstood episode in the Ramayana.
When Lord Rama breaks the great bow of Shiva in the court of King Janaka, the entire assembly is astonished. That bow was not an ordinary weapon—it was a symbol of divine strength, and no king, no warrior, no emperor had been able to even lift it, let alone string it. And yet, this young prince not only lifts it, but breaks it effortlessly.
At that moment, Paraśurāma arrives—the fierce Brahmin-warrior, the destroyer of arrogant Kshatriyas, the one who had shaken the very foundations of kingship. He comes in anger. He questions Rama. He challenges Him.
Now the natural question arises: Why would one incarnation of Vishnu challenge another incarnation of Vishnu?
To understand this, we must go deeper—not just into the story, but into its meaning.
Paraśurāma represents a particular phase of dharma. When kings became corrupt, when power turned into oppression, the Divine took the form of Paraśurāma—ugra-rūpa, the fierce form—to destroy that imbalance. His weapon was the paraśu, the axe. His dharma was correction through force.
But Rama represents a different phase. He is maryādā-puruṣottama—the embodiment of order, discipline, and ideal conduct. His weapon is the bow, but his strength lies not merely in battle, but in restraint, balance, and righteous governance.
So when Paraśurāma confronts Rama, it is not a conflict between two egos. It is not even a conflict between two individuals. It is a meeting of two phases of divine work.
One phase is ending. Another is beginning.
Paraśurāma does not truly come to fight. He comes to test, to recognize, and ultimately to yield.
When Rama effortlessly strings the bow of Vishnu and demonstrates his true nature, Paraśurāma understands. In that moment, the fierce energy that once corrected the world recognizes the sovereign presence that will now guide it.
And what does he do?
He withdraws.
This withdrawal is not defeat. It is completion.
The name “Rāma” comes from the Sanskrit root ram—which means to delight, to rejoice, to abide in peace. Thus, Rāma is that in whom the mind finds rest, that which gives joy to all beings, that which the yogis contemplate and rejoice in.
The name Paraśurāma combines two elements:
Paraśu — the axe
Rāma — the one who delights
So Paraśurāma is “the Rama who wields the axe”—the delight-giving Lord in a fierce, corrective form.
Śrī Rāma, the son of Daśaratha, is the same divine essence—but expressed differently. He is not the destroyer of kings. He is the ideal king. He does not merely remove adharma—he establishes dharma for all to follow.
So what we witness in this episode is profound:
The Rama with the axe meets the Rama with the bow.
The force that destroys yields to the force that governs.
The age of correction gives way to the age of order.
And there is one more lesson for us.
Even Paraśurāma—who had conquered the world, who had defeated kings, who had performed unimaginable tapas—does not cling to his role.
When the time comes, he steps aside.
This teaches us:
No matter how great we are
No matter how much we have achieved
When a higher purpose appears
We must have the humility to recognize it
That is true greatness.
So this is not a story of conflict.
It is a story of recognition, transition, and surrender.
Two avatāras do not oppose each other.
They complete each other.
And in that moment, the Divine shows us that dharma is not static—it evolves, and each form of the Divine appears exactly when needed, and withdraws exactly when its work is done.
Dasharatha's Twelve Years of Hesitation
After the royal weddings, all the princes were happily settled in their married lives. Yet, King Dasharatha faced a lingering dilemma: who should be declared the Yuvaraja, the crown prince?
In his heart, he wished to appoint Rama. However, he was bound by an earlier promise made to Ashwapathi, the king of Kekaya, that Kaikeyi’s son would inherit the throne. Torn between affection and obligation, Dasharatha chose neither clarity nor confrontation—he chose delay.
He devised a subtle plan. He invited Bharata and suggested that his maternal grandfather, Ashwapathi, was advanced in age and deeply fond of him. Would Bharata go and spend time in the Kekaya kingdom? Since Shatrughna was especially close to Bharata, he accompanied him as well. Thus, both brothers remained in Kekaya for many years, returning to Ayodhya only occasionally for festivals or important occasions.
Dasharatha’s reasoning was simple: in Bharata’s prolonged absence, the people of Ayodhya would naturally grow more attached to Rama, making it easier to declare him as Yuvaraja without resistance.
And so, the decision was postponed—year after year—for twelve long years.
By the time Dasharatha finally prepared to make the announcement, Rama was twenty-six years old, and Sita was nineteen. Confident that circumstances now favored his desire, Dasharatha believed the path was clear.
But as the narrative of the Valmiki Ramayana reveals, destiny does not yield to calculated avoidance. What was deferred did not disappear—it returned with greater force.
Avoiding difficult decisions through delay or strategy cannot escape truth—only clarity, integrity, and alignment with dharma can lead to rightful outcomes.
Valmiki's Portrait of Rama — His Private Reflections
Before announcing his decision, Dasharatha recounted the virtues of Lord Rama to himself — in private. Let us hear what a father saw in his son.
Rama was beautiful in form, a hero of valor and without envy. By virtues, he was like Dasharatha himself. In this way, he was an incomparable son on earth.
That Rama was always peaceful in mind and spoke softly. He did not react to the hard words spoken by others.
That Rama, because of his good bent of mind, feels glad even by whatever way a good thing is done to him. He does not remember any number of bad things done to him.
Whenever he found some time — even while practicing archery — Rama used to converse with elderly people: those elder by way of conduct, or wisdom, or age, or with good-natured people.
Rama was a wise man. He used to speak sweetly. He was the first man to initiate a talk. His speech was compassionate. He was valorous — but he was not arrogant of his mighty valor.
He did not speak untruth. He was all-knowing. He used to be receptive and worshipful to the elders. People used to love him — and he used to love the people.
He had compassion. He conquered anger. He was worshipful to the wise. He had mercy towards the meek. He knew what was to be done. He had always self-control. He was clean in conduct.
That Rama, having an attitude suitable for his social rank, giving due respect to the righteousness of the warrior class, believed that by following righteousness he would attain great fame — and through it, the fruit of heaven.
Rama was not interested in actions which were not beneficial. He was a scholar. He had no taste in tales opposing righteousness. Like Brihaspati, his eloquent speech contained a series of strategies for action.
Rama was a young man without any disease. He was a good speaker. He had a good body. He knew both time and place. He could grasp the essence of men. He was the one true gentleman born on earth.
People loved the virtuous prince Rama and treated him as their spirit moving outside — as if he were the very soul of all of them, walking among them in a body.
After completing his education properly, Rama — after knowing the science of archery as prescribed — was better than his father in the use of bow and arrows.
Rama, having been born in a good clan, was gentle-minded. He was not feeble. He spoke truth. He was straightforward. He was properly trained by elderly wise men who knew righteousness.
Rama knew the real form of desire, wealth, and righteousness. He had good memory. He had spontaneous wisdom. He had skills in arranging customs useful to society — knowing what his age required.
Rama was humble. He did not let his feelings appear outwardly. He kept his thoughts to himself. He helped others. His anger and pleasure were not wasteful. He knew when to give and when not to give.
Rama had a firm devotion and steadfast mind — not subject to change. He was not stubborn, nor did he speak evil words. He was free from idleness and was ever alert. He recognized his own errors and those of others.
Rama knew the theory and practice of sciences. He understood the differences among men. He could judiciously discriminate whom to protect and whom to punish.
He identified good men and protected them. He knew those worthy of reprimand. He knew the ways and means of getting income as well as the system of spending — as defined by economic sciences.
Rama could obtain great skill in the groups of sciences along with their branches. He was interested in enjoying comforts only after understanding the economic realities. He never remained inactive.
Rama was acquainted with the fine arts useful for entertainment. He knew how to distribute wealth. He was efficient in riding and taming of elephants and horses.
Rama was the best person knowing the science of archery in the world — well appreciated by the champions of archery. He attained skills in marshalling the army. He faced and killed the enemies in battle.
Even enraged celestials and demons could not defeat Rama in battle. He had no jealousy. He conquered anger. He had no arrogance and no envy. He had not humiliated any living being. He had not surrendered to time.
That Prince Rama, with these good virtues, was fair to the people and agreeable to the three worlds. By patience and the related virtues, he was equal to the earth. By wisdom, equal to Brihaspati. By valor, equal to Devendra himself.
Rama, by his virtues, was a source of happiness to all the people and a spring of joy to his father. As the sun shines with his rays, Rama was shining with his virtues.
The earth herself wished Rama to be her Lord — as he was adorned with self-control and norms of behavior, bearing undefeatable valor equal to that of universal lords like Indra.
The earth wished Rama to be her Lord. Dasharatha thought: Will Rama become king while I am still alive? Shall I enjoy that happiness? Is not Rama, like a rain cloud to the earth, better liked by the people than me — as he desires the development of the world and has equal compassion for all living beings? Rama is equal to Yama and Devendra in valor, to Brihaspati in wisdom, to a mountain in courage. He is more virtuous than me.
Dasharatha also observed inauspicious signs: comet-like things in the sky, his body growing aged. He decided: if Rama were crowned now, he would have no worries — for Rama had the face of a full moon, the wisdom of a sage, and the love of the people.