कुशलवाभ्यां रामायणगानम्

When the night gave way to dawn, the two boys bathed, made their offerings into the fire, and then sang everything there at the sacrificial ground just as the seer had told them. Kākutstha heard that unprecedented style of recitation, devised by masters of old and adorned with the art of song, set to many measures and in time with the strings, and as he listened to the two boys singing it, Rāghava was filled with curiosity. This style of recitation is a special form in which reciting and singing are joined, and its "measures" are the patterns of fast, middle and slow tempo, or, as the commentator says, the varieties of the seven notes. Rāma's curiosity was twofold, at the sweetness of the song and at the looks of the singers. The sage's plan has worked: the boys sing at Rāma's door and Rāma himself hears them. That they bathed and made their fire offerings first shows that they kept their duties as young students and did not forget their daily rites even before singing. "Devised by masters of old" shows how ancient the manner of singing was. So the very start of the song draws Rāma's mind, and he goes on to summon an assembly of the learned. The boys sing first at Rāma's door and before the priests, as the sage had taught. The harmony of strings and rhythm is the chief beauty of the song, and we learn that Rāma, king though he is, loves the arts: he does not listen with indifference but wants to know the secret of the song.

Then, in a pause in the rite, Rāma, tiger among men, summoned the great sages, the kings, the learned and the citizens versed in the Veda; the reciters of the old tales and the grammarians; the aged brahmins and those who knew the marks of the notes, and excellent brahmins eager to hear song; those who knew the marks of the body, the musicians, and above all the Vedic scholars; those who understood the relations of metrical feet, syllables and compounds and were grounded in metre; those who knew the fine divisions of the arts and of quantity, masters of astronomy, experts in ritual procedure and men skilled in affairs; those who understood languages and gestures; logicians skilled in argument and widely learned men; those versed in prosody and the old tales, and excellent brahmins learned in the Veda; those who knew painting and the codes of good conduct, and those skilled in song and dance; those who knew the śāstras, those skilled in statecraft, and those who expounded the meaning of the Vedānta. When he had brought them all together, he seated the two singers. The purpose of this long list is that the poem be tested by masters of every branch of learning. Rāma does not simply listen by himself; he has the song performed before the learned so that all may judge its merits. Here one sees a whole picture of the sciences of ancient India, grammar, metre, astronomy, ritual, music, dance, painting, logic, statecraft and Vedānta, and the poet shows Rāma's court as a meeting place of all learning. Some could judge the words and meaning of the poem, some its metre, some its notes and rhythm, some its drama, so the singing of the Rāmāyaṇa became a test of every aspect. "He seated the two singers" shows the honour done to the boys: they were given seats in the midst of the assembly, not left standing at the door like ordinary singers.

While the listeners were talking among themselves, the two sons of the sage began the song that filled them with delight. Then sweet, more than human music began, and none of the listeners could have enough of the richness of the song. All the sages were delighted, and the mighty kings too, and they gazed at the two boys again and again as though drinking them in with their eyes. Absorbed, they all said to one another: "Both of them look just like Rāma, like a reflection risen from its original. If they did not wear matted locks and bark garments, we could see no difference between these singers and Rāghava." While the people of the city and the country were saying this, the song began from the very beginning, from the first canto, the one that Nārada had shown. From then on the two sang as far as twenty cantos, and then, in the afternoon, Rāghava spoke. Here the drama of the sarga reaches its height: everyone sees the likeness, Rāma sees it too, yet no one speaks the truth. "Like a reflection from its original" expresses the perfect likeness of father and sons, and "drinking them in with their eyes" shows that the listeners could not look their fill. They were all absorbed in the sweetness of the song and yet talked among themselves of the resemblance. "The people of the city and the country" tells us that townsfolk and country folk alike were listening. The first canto is the brief summary of Rāma's story that Nārada taught Vālmīki, so the song began from the beginning of the poem. Twenty cantos in one day: the sage's rule was kept exactly.

When he had heard twenty cantos, Rāma, who loved his brothers, said to his brother Bharata: "Kākutstha, give these two great-souled boys eighteen thousand pieces of gold at once, and whatever else they may want." Bharata quickly gave to each boy separately. But Kuśa and Lava would not accept the gold that was offered. Astonished, the two great-souled boys said, "What is this for? We live in the forest, content with wild fruits and roots. What would we do with gold and silver in the forest?" At these words all the listeners, and Rāma too, were filled with curiosity and greatly astonished. Eager to hear how the poem had come to be, mighty Rāma asked the two sons of the sage: "How long is this poem? Where does the great poet dwell? Who is the author of this great poem, and where is that foremost of sages?" The lesson the sage had taught in the previous sarga, to feel no greed, bears fruit here: the boys refuse even a king's gift, and their freedom from greed astonishes Rāma all the more. Rāma asks four things, the length of the poem, the poet's dwelling, its author and where he is, and these shape the answer that follows. Eighteen thousand pieces of gold is a great reward, and refusing it proves the boys' upbringing in the hermitage. Their question "What is this for?" is simple and childlike, yet it holds a deep lesson in detachment. Rāma too is astonished, for few in a royal court refuse wealth.

To Rāghava's questions the two sons of the sage replied: "The holy Vālmīki is its author, and he has come to the sacrifice; it is he who has set out your whole story for you. That ascetic of Bhṛgu's line composed it in twenty-four thousand verses, with a hundred episodes. From the beginning, O king, the great one made five hundred cantos in six books, together with the Uttara. Our teacher the seer composed your story, and it holds the whole course of your life for as long as you live. If you have a mind to hear it, great warrior king, listen to it with your brothers when you have leisure between the rites." "Very well," said Rāma, and the two took leave of Rāghava and went happily back to where the foremost of sages was staying. Rāma too, with the great sages and kings, having heard the sweetness of that song, went to the hall of the rite. He had heard that poem, sung by Kuśa and Lava, perfect in rhythm and tempo, divided into cantos, rich in fine notes and words, and joined to the tempo and ornaments of the strings. Here the poem introduces itself: the Rāmāyaṇa states its own length, and "of Bhṛgu's line" marks Vālmīki's descent. "Together with the Uttara" mentions even the Uttara Kāṇḍa, for Rāma, the listener, is still alive, and that is why the poem covers his life "for as long as you live". Rāma accepts with a single word, "Very well", and his eagerness is plain. The boys go back to their teacher, their task done. So the first day's singing ends, and in the next sarga Rāma will send messengers to have Sītā take her oath.