chapter 1

Today Ayodhya was decorated like a bride. Because today four young girls were coming to Ayodhya. Today there was gaiety all around, all the workers were giving proper form to their karma engaged in their own karma. Houses and courtyards were being decorated, garlands were being decorated with lamps, the moon was also spreading the beauty of its form, drums were being played. It seemed as if nectar was raining from the sky.

The branches of the trees were getting ready to be welcomed by waving. It was as if the flower garden was grooming itself upon his arrival. At the confluence of day and night, the animals and birds were preparing themselves according to their own accord.

The men and women of Ayodhya were seen in divine form. Mother Earth was smiling softly with joy. Flowers and leaves were feeling proud of themselves on the scattered trails.

Today the beauty of Ayodhya was looking more beautiful than heaven. The streams of milk were coming out from the breasts of the mothers, the eyes had broken off from the eyelids. Every mother looks at the coming Pakheru(breeze) as if asking

"And how long will it take for the pieces of our liver to come in?"

Elephants are intoxicated, take a garland of flowers and stand on two feet and have distant vision. Horses are sneezing as if saying

"Come quickly, the pieces of our hearts"

King Dasaratha may be feeling overwhelmed, perhaps thinking that today the whole of Ayodhya will be blessed to get its princes.

" Hey..."

Suddenly he realized that the prince is a little alone, along with his life companions.

King Dasaratha was lost in his imagination when he sent little princes to the forest along with sage Vishwamitra. It was an excuse to get education, the sage considered it appropriate to take the sons of the princes out of his selfishness. What a heart-wrenching scene when the mothers would have sent the pieces of their heart along with the sage. The heart must have been broken time and again and perhaps the tears must have followed the pieces of his heart. Perhaps the mother must have been trying to sleep in the silence of the night, so remembering the horrors of the forest, she would have screamed. Every one thing of his childhood must have been remembered by roaring, but then he must have understood himself by remembering the explanation of sage Vishwamitra.

But I was a father, how dare I show my feelings? Man's masculinity comes in the way. Neither the eyes allow to cry, nor the mouth to fill the sobs.

If it gives support, in the dark nights, only the restlessness of the mind or the hustle and bustle of the steps gives up even thinking, but the words of the sage's mouthpiece support.