The First Śloka of Ramayana

After Nārada ascended back to the heavens, Vālmīki walked toward the quiet waters of the river Tāmasā, a gentle stream near the sacred Gaṅgā. The river shone clear and cool, as pure as the mind of a righteous person. Vālmīki turned to his disciple.

"Bharadvāja, look at this holy place. I shall bathe here. Bring me my bark robe."

The sage bathed, then wandered through the forest glades, enjoying the peace of nature. Birds called from the trees. Soft breezes carried the scent of blossoms. Vālmīki felt his heart grow calm.

As he walked, he saw a pair of krauncha birds. They danced together in joy, unaware of anything but each other. In their play, they looked like a symbol of pure love.

Suddenly a sharp twang broke the quiet. A hunter's arrow struck the male bird. He fell to the ground, lifeless. The female cried in sorrow, her voice full of pain for the mate who had shared her nest.

Vālmīki saw everything. His heart filled with deep compassion. Before he could think, words burst from him in a flowing rhythm:

"O hunter, you killed one of a loving pair while they rejoiced together. Because of this cruel act, you shall earn no honor for all your life."

Vālmīki stopped, surprised. How had such words come to him? Why had he uttered a curse? And why did the words fall so perfectly into a steady, musical pattern?

He realized this was not ordinary speech. Each line had equal syllables, gentle rhythm, and the power to be sung. He understood that this form of verse would be called a śloka, born from sorrow yet glowing with truth.

Still thinking of the birds, Vālmīki returned to his hermitage. As he sat with his disciples, studying sacred texts, a brilliant radiance filled the hut. Before him appeared Brahmā, the Creator, with four faces glowing like sacred fire, each chanting a Veda.

Astonished, Vālmīki offered worship. Brahmā smiled and said:

"What you spoke is indeed a śloka, and it came through you by my will. Now you shall compose the history of Rāma—his virtues, his courage, his vows, his journey with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, the deeds of Bharata, and the battles with the rākṣasas. Nothing will be hidden from you. Every thought and action will be revealed by my grace.

Compose this great tale in the very metre that has filled your mind. As long as rivers flow and mountains stand, the Rāmāyaṇa you create will live on earth. And as long as your poem is remembered, you will move freely among the worlds, from the earth to Brahmaloka."

With these words, Brahmā vanished.

Vālmīki sat in wonder. The divine command had been given. He resolved with steady heart to compose the sacred Rāmāyaṇa in thousands of sweet and perfect ślokas. Each verse would carry the melody of dharma, the beauty of truth, and the story of Rāma, the slayer of the ten-headed Rāvaṇa.

Thus began the epic that would delight the ear and inspire the heart for all ages.