Ramarajya, The Ideal Embodied in Valmiki Ramayana ..... SIMPLIFIED AND FAITHFUL RENDERING OF THE ADI KAVYA-4: Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 HAPPY NEW YEAR

Ramarajya, The Ideal Embodied 

in Valmiki Ramayana

SIMPLIFIED AND FAITHFUL

RENDERING OF THE ADI KAVYA-4

(Exploring Rama’s Virtues, 

Valmiki’s Vision, Narada’s Dialogue,

Divine Structure of the Epic, and Meaning of Ramarajya)

By Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

The story of Sri Rama is not simply a chapter of the past. It is the eternal pulse of Indian Civilization in its entirety. Every time humanity forgets the path of righteousness, Rama’s life reappears as a moral compass, quietly reminding us of what it means to live with balance, humility, and truth. This section, continuing from the preceding introduction, seeks to bring forth the spiritual architecture of Ramarajya as revealed by Sage Valmiki through the dialogue between Narada and Valmiki. It reveals how divinity manifests through human virtue, how poetry becomes philosophy, and how leadership transforms into service.

For the children of Non-Resident Indians and English-Speaking readers across the world, this rendering aims not merely to retell but to rekindle, to make Rama a living ideal in every heart that still seeks harmony amid noise, faith amid confusion, and duty amid indulgence. May these pages help readers understand that Ramarajya is not a mythological kingdom, but it is a state of consciousness, attainable wherever goodness governs life.

For Sri Rama, the well-being of those who lived around him and depended upon him was always more important than his own comfort. Only after ensuring others’ happiness did, he look to his own needs. He was the first and finest example of humanism in action, fulfilling his duties sincerely before advising anyone else. If one were to claim that a poet who failed to write about such a Great Personification of Humanity, God in Human Form, hardly deserved to live, it might sound like exaggeration, but it is certainly not.

Even when some actions of Rama invited criticism, he never wavered or feared reproach. Those who criticized him ultimately recognized their error, but Rama never abandoned Dharma. Thus, anyone aspiring to live as a true human being has always found in Sri Rama an inescapable ideal. In today’s world, where self-interest often overshadows duty, Rama’s life reminds everyone that, true greatness begins with selfless service and unwavering responsibility.

The Bhagavad Gita, Sri Vishnu Sahasra Nama Stotra, and Sri Ramayana together form the pillars of Indian Spiritual Vedic Culture and Sanatana Dharma. Their foundations rest upon the twin principles of Dharma and Jnana (Righteousness and Wisdom). The Valmiki Ramayana expresses both through its literal and symbolic meanings, namely, the Vachya and Vyanga. Valmiki, the first ever poet (Adikavi) in the literary history, composed the First Great Poem (Adi Kavya), a sacred symphony resonating with divine sound (Dhvani) and meaning. It is imbued with the spiritual potency of Gayatri Mantra and the philosophical essence of the Upanishads. Merely reading or listening to it purifies the inner consciousness.

Among all Sanskrit works, Valmiki Ramayana shines supreme, because its Female Protagonist (The Heroine) is none other than Goddess Sita herself, and its Leading Male Role is Lord Vishnu incarnate as Sri Ramachandra. Even in translation, its rhythm speaks directly to the heart, Uniting Intellect and Devotion, East and West, Past and Present. The supreme truth of the Valmiki Ramayana reveals that Sri Ramachandra Murti was none other than Lord Vishnu incarnate, who descended upon earth to establish righteousness. The Ramayana must be read as divine truth, not as mere mythology.

What Valmiki wrote were not imaginations but realities witnessed in spiritual vision. Other Ramayanas composed later in various languages reflect sectarian or philosophical leanings, but that of Valmiki is universal, in which the life of a Mahapurusha or Maryada Purushottama, an epithet for Lord Rama, meaning ‘the best among honorable men’ or ‘the supreme man,’ a perfect being whose humanity concealed divinity has been depicted well. To modern minds that seek reason in faith, Valmiki Ramayana offers a bridge, it harmonizes history, philosophy, and poetry into one living truth.

Those who read or listen to the Valmiki Ramayana with devotion are freed from all sins and attain Moksha (Liberation). It is not merely a scripture, it is the Veda itself, teaching the very essence of Vedic wisdom. One need not renounce the world to benefit from it; its grace blesses householders too, granting long life, prosperity, family happiness, and finally spiritual fulfillment. Listening or reciting even portions of this sacred text bestows the same merit as studying the Vedas and Vedangas. In an age when life rushes without pause, reading Valmiki Ramayana even for few minutes daily can restore inner harmony and spiritual rhythm.

Valmiki, before composing the Ramayana, was tormented by the thought that he lacked a Guru (Teacher) capable of revealing the ultimate divine truth. When the sage Narada visited his hermitage, Valmiki prostrated and asked: ‘Is there on this earth a person who is virtuous, powerful, wise in Dharma, grateful, truthful, capable, steadfast, righteous, desirous of doing good to all beings, learned, pleasant in appearance, self-controlled, radiant, free from envy, controls his anger, and able to subdue gods and demons in battle?’

Thus, Valmiki asked sixteen questions, a number sacred in itself, corresponding to the Shodasha Kalas (Sixteen Perfections) of the full moon. When we seek role models today, these sixteen questions should echo within us that, are we searching for wealth or worth, or fame or virtue? Sixteen Questions asked by Valmiki represent the completeness of divine virtue, and there is none other than Sri Rama who answers to each one of them. Hence Rama is called Purna Avatara, the Complete Incarnation. These questions were not mere curiosity; Valmiki asked them to strengthen his conviction and to understand divinity through the example of human perfection.

Both the questioner Valmiki, and the responder Narada, were seers immersed in Brahma Jnana. Their dialogue teaches that spiritual inquiry must begin with moral curiosity, the courage to ask, ‘Who truly embodies goodness in this world?  If Valmiki’s questions were about God, why did he ask not about the nature of the Divine, whether He is Saguna or Nirguna, Sakara, or Nirakara, but about virtues? Because Valmiki sought God in conduct, not in concept. For him, divinity was not an abstraction but a way of life. Narada understood this quest and answered accordingly, describing not metaphysical attributes but the living embodiment of God in Sri Rama. In modern times, when spirituality often gets trapped in theory, Valmiki reminds that the truest faith is practiced, not proclaimed.

Narada described Rama as supremely powerful yet devoid of arrogance, radiant yet serene, master of his senses, full of bliss yet detached, all-knowing yet humble. He spoke sweetly, sought the good of all beings, and destroyed evil only when it threatened the innocent. Rama’s divine form was radiant and auspicious, suitable for all devotees to contemplate. His purpose was to protect the seekers and establish Dharma through compassion, not conquest. True power, words of Narada remind us, lies not in domination but in disciplined kindness and purposeful restraint.

Narada further described Rama’s form in minute detail: lofty crown, broad chest, long arms reaching his knees, radiant countenance, a step like a royal elephant, and eyes wide and gentle like lotus petals. Every limb reflected divine symmetry and inner balance. His speech was melodious and his presence magnetic. In his form, the science of Samudrika Shastra (Physiognomy) found its living perfection. To visualize Rama is to see beauty united with virtue, a harmony our modern aesthetics often forget, where outward charm outweighs inward grace.

According to Narada, Rama was the guardian of Sharanagata Dharma (Protection of the Surrendered), unbreakable in promise, steadfast in truth, generous in charity, and devoted to the welfare of all beings. He possessed the knowledge of the Brahman yet lived as the humblest of men. He revered his parents and teachers, respected elders, and protected those who sought refuge in him. Equal to Vishnu in valor and compassion, Rama ruled not to command but to serve. His example teaches every leader, whether of a family, community, or nation that, authority is sacred only when guided by compassion and duty.

Narada continued: Rama could subdue both his own anger and that of others. He was the destroyer of evil, the knower of all scriptures and their inner meanings. He excelled in self-control, possessed keen memory, and was eloquent, wise, and compassionate. His personality radiated calm majesty, inspiring both reverence and affection.
Even in the chaos of our modern age, this balance of intellect and emotion defines the true leader, firm in mind, gentle in heart.

Rama’s courage equaled Vishnu’s might. His patience rivaled the earth’s endurance. In generosity, he surpassed Kubera, and in truth, he stood unmatched. Narada declared that there existed no other Purushottama, perfect man, comparable to Rama. To mistake him for an ordinary king, said Narada, is to miss the divine concealed in the human. Today’s humanity, obsessed with appearances and achievements, needs this reminder that, divinity often hides behind humility.

Valmiki, with his characteristic poetic method, never reveals everything at once. He scatters insights like stars across the epic, each shining when one contemplates deeply. For instance, he notes Rama’s age as twenty-five when going into exile and twelve when accompanying Vishvamitra. In other words: regard Rama as twenty-five years old at the time of his forest exile, and as twelve when he accompanied Vishvamitra.

He was born in the twelfth month, went with Vishvamitra in his twelfth year, spent twelve years in Ayodhya, twelve years in the forest, and Sita Devi resided twelve years at Valmiki’s ashram. This curious numerical pattern is the sort of subtleness of Valmiki that metaphysicians alone will fully appreciate. Such scattered hints, when joined, form the rhythm of deeper truth. Valmiki’s style teaches patience in understanding, truth is never instant, it unfolds through reflection.

In his previous birth, King Dasharatha had worshipped the Lord and sought a boon for sons. To fulfill that olden promise, Lord Vishnu incarnated as Rama, along with Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna, each a ray of divine energy. His descent (Avatara) was not an accident but a divine plan to restore Dharma and to teach humanity the path of Karma Yoga through action and example. Rama’s life shows that spirituality and responsibility are not opposites, but they are one continuous flow of divine duty.

When the young Rama followed Sage Vishvamitra to protect his sacrifice, the sage greeted him tenderly as: ‘Noble son of Kausalya, arise! The dawn has come, and the time for divine worship is near.’ These words implied that Kausalya was blessed because she had given birth to such a child, not that Rama was great because of his birth. In today’s meritless hierarchies of privilege, this moment reminds that, nobility arises from conduct, not inheritance.

During Sita Kalyanam (Wedding), King Janaka addressed Rama as ‘Son of Kausalya.’ Why not simply ‘Rama’ or ‘Son of Dasharatha’? Because in all the worlds, there was only one Rama born to Kausalya, unique and unmistakable. Such precise expressions in Valmiki’s diction reveal layers of reverence. Words, when chosen with awareness, preserve both sanctity and clarity, an art the present language of today urgently needs.

The divine mission of Sri Ramachandra Murty for establishing righteousness (Dharma) begins with the slaying of Tataka, a woman demon. The Valmiki Ramayana itself declares that killing a woman is sinful. Even Bharata’s and Hanuman’s words elsewhere affirm the same. Then why did Rama who initially hesitated ultimately commit this act? The Bhagavad Gita was born precisely to resolve such doubts. Both Arjuna and Rama were Kshatriyas (Warrior Class). Arjuna hesitated to fight, fearing that killing his own kinsmen, even in the line of duty, would bring him sin. Rama too wondered whether, even for Swadharma (One’s Righteous Duty), it was right to slay a woman.

What Krishna taught Arjuna on the battlefield, Vishvamitra taught Rama in the forest. Thus, guided by Vishvamitra and realizing that, performing one’s duty without attachment is itself righteousness, not cruelty or against virtue, Sri Ramachandra Murty carried out the act, not out of desire or anger, but as divine obligation against destructive forces. Therefore, Rama’s slaying of Tataka was not a sin, instead, it was the fulfillment of Dharma. In every age, the true test of duty lies not in comfort but in conscience. When one acts without ego for the greater good, even the hardest action becomes sacred service. When morality seems complex, Dharma demands not blind obedience but discernment, doing what upholds the greater good.

After Sita and Rama Kalyanam (Wedding), the Bala Kanda closes with descriptions of their blissful life in Ayodhya. Their love was mutual and sacred. Rama was the enjoyer, Sita the joy itself, like the sun and its light. Their union symbolized cosmic balance, where masculine and feminine energies exist not in hierarchy but harmony. In a world divided by ego and gender, Sita and Rama together teach that love is not possession, it is reverence.

In Ayodhya Kanda, Valmiki elaborates on noble virtues of Rama, his humility, compassion, steadfastness, and adherence to Dharma. Each quality in him was not theoretical but practiced. To remember Rama’s feet was to worship him with flowers of devotion. One may ask, ‘Why should one remember Sri Rama above all?’ There is an answer. We are all like Swa, the dependent or the possessed; whereas He alone is Swami, the possessor and protector. When we free ourselves from resistance (Pratikoola Bhavana) and turn toward Him in harmony (Anukoola Bhavana), His love surrounds us all the more tenderly.

Even when we do not pray, He continues to protect us; at least, should we not offer gratitude? He is the sustainer of all beings, the guardian of nature, and the upholder of the universe. Therefore, He is our Swami, not by conquest, but by compassion. True devotion begins with gratitude, the quiet realization that every breath we take is already an answered prayer. Faith begins when we stop demanding miracles and start recognizing meaning in every act of duty.

Valmiki emphasizes that even when Rama performed austerities, ruled a kingdom, or fought a war, he did so with the same equanimity. To think of him is to purify oneself. To worship him with gratitude is to align with divine rhythm. When gratitude becomes a daily practice, even ordinary life turns sacred. Among Dasharatha’s four sons, Rama shone brightest in mind, heart, and valor. His devotion to his father equaled Brahma’s to Vishnu. Like the sun revealing itself without losing its brilliance, Rama manifested his divinity without abandoning humanity. True greatness does not need declaration, but it reveals itself through conduct.

Kausalya’s joy at seeing her son resembled Aditi’s delight upon beholding Indra. Rama’s smile melted anger and his words as a child healed hearts. Gratitude defined him. He remembered even the smallest favor forever. To forgive was his pride and to protect the repentant was his joy. Forgiveness, when rooted in strength, becomes the highest expression of power. Even while engaged in archery practice, if elders or seekers approached, Rama would pause, listen, and respond with humility. Even to enemies, he spoke sweetly, with patience and composure. He never uttered falsehood or double meaning. He lived close to people, loved by all. In an era where arrogance passes for authority, Rama’s humility is a lost yet necessary virtue.

Rama shared others’ sorrow as his own. He upheld the vow of Sharanagata Raksha, the protection of those who surrendered. He avoided listening to gossip or tales contrary to Dharma, the Righteousness. He remained healthy, fearless, and serene. His presence brought peace to all hearts. When leaders and citizens alike cultivate empathy, every home can become a miniature Ramarajya. He mastered the Vedas and their auxiliaries, excelled in weapons and scriptures, and surpassed even his teachers in knowledge. He remained tranquil in adversity, truthful in speech, and steadfast in wisdom. Rama’s strength lay not merely in arms but in self-mastery, an ideal for every student and statesman alike, not to speak of every political leader of present-day.

Rama showed unwavering reverence toward his teachers. He never spoke harshly, even to wrongdoers. He could discern character by mere glance and choose friends aligned with righteousness. True education, as Rama exemplifies, is not the accumulation of facts but the cultivation of discernment. Like bees gathering honey, Rama knew how to earn and spend wealth according to Dharma. He was wise in governance, tactful in statecraft, and adept in diplomacy and arts. He could tame even the cruel and transform them through his example. Economic intelligence joined with moral restraint creates prosperity without corruption, and THIS IS THE ECONOMICS OF RAMARAJYA.

Rama bore no envy. Anger visited him only when Dharma was at stake. Despite immense strength, he never humiliated anyone. Pure in thought and nature, he rejoiced in others’ progress. True leadership finds joy in others’ success, not fear in their rise. Dasharatha, witnessing Rama’s virtues, decided that his son alone was worthy of kingship. The people loved Rama even more than they loved the king himself. To them, he was not a prince but a promise, the embodiment of justice, courage, and compassion. In every age, the measure of a ruler lies in the trust his people place in his character.

The ministers and citizens unanimously approved Rama’s coronation. Dasharatha declared that Rama was equal to Indra in valor, to Yama in justice, to Brihaspati in intellect, and to Meru in stability. When governance mirrors divinity, justice becomes not fear-driven but love-guided. All sections of society, scholars and commoners alike, praised Rama’s virtues. They said he possessed countless noble traits but not a single flaw. In him, truth itself became heroism. Integrity, when complete, transforms strength into peace—a lesson still needed in every institution.

Rama’s justice brought joy to all. In his presence, even the weak felt protected. He was firm yet fair, strict yet kind. To think of him was to experience comfort; to live under his rule was to know security. Good governance is not about control, it is about trust, built through fairness and empathy. The citizens of Ayodhya said that Rama greeted everyone before going home, by name, with affection, inquiring about their welfare. Even those suffering afar found consolation in his compassion. He was the father of all. Public life, when infused with personal care, transforms administration into affection.

Rama’s divine form resembled that of Vishnu, bearing sacred marks and features described in the Vedas. His arrows never missed, his heart never wavered. He ruled not just a land but the three worlds through virtue. Rama’s victory was never conquest. It was alignment with the divine order. Under his reign, the world flourished. Sages performed penance undisturbed, women lived without fear, parents never wept for lost children, and nature itself rejoiced. There were no diseases, thefts, or disasters. Society glowed with harmony. Ramarajya was not utopia, it was organized compassion, where every being had a place and purpose.

Rama performed many sacrifices, gave away countless cows and wealth, and ruled by Dharma, preferring people’s happiness to his own comfort. Even fallen dynasties were restored and displaced rulers regained their lands. Each caste and community practiced its duties without oppression or neglect. He ruled for eleven thousand years in justice and peace, finally returning to Vaikuntha, the divine abode. His reign became the golden standard for all governance. True progress restores, not replaces, and it uplifts without exclusion. Whenever humanity loses faith in leadership, the memory of Ramarajya shines as a call to conscience.

When Narada first narrated story of Rama to Valmiki, he spoke of the past and future alike, proving that Ramayana to be written by him, transcends time. It remained just not as a legend but living law. To question its authenticity is to misunderstand its purpose. it is the self-evident Veda of human conduct. Even today, Valmiki Ramayana renews itself in every act of goodness, every word of truth, every heart of faith.

Valmiki composed the Ramayana before performing the Ashvamedha Yagna. It is sacred, longevity-giving, fame-yielding, and liberating. Whoever reads or hears it with devotion overcomes sorrow and gains divine grace. The gods rejoice, evil retreats, and life becomes auspicious. Rama may have departed in form, but his presence fills all time and space. To hold the Valmiki Ramayana close is to walk with Rama through joy, through struggle, through eternity.

The Ramayana is not a tale that ends. It is a light that continues to guide. Its verses are not bound by time, and its message is not confined to faith. Rama still walks among the humanity at large, in every act of compassion, in every truthful word spoken despite consequence, in every leader who chooses justice over comfort, and in every individual who stands alone for what is right.

Let this book remain with one and all, not as an ornament of devotion, but as a living companion, one that teaches courage when we falter, serenity when we succeed, and humility when we rise. For those who read with faith, the Valmiki Ramayana becomes not a scripture but a mirror showing what humanity can be when divinity dwells within. 

A Question, An Institution, and the Memory of Governance (An Evening with Dr Montek Singh Ahluwalia) : Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 A Question, An Institution, and 

the Memory of Governance

(An Evening with Dr Montek Singh Ahluwalia)

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

              I received a phone call from PV Prabhakar Rao extending an invitation: ‘Bhaayi Saab, please join us for an informal conversation on December 30, 2025 at Hotel Daspalla, with Dr Montek Singh Ahluwalia, who is in Hyderabad on our invitation to deliver the memorial lecture of former Prime Minister late PV Narasimha Rao tomorrow (December 31, 2025). Only a select group has been invited.’ I thanked him and said it would be both a privilege and an opportunity to present my recently released book on democracy and governance.

I reached the venue at exactly 7:30 p.m. Within minutes, Dr Montek Singh Ahluwalia, over eighty-two years old, walked in with a gentle smile, accompanied by EMESCO Vijay Kumar and Andhra Jyothi Delhi Bureau Chief A Krishna Rao. We were introduced shortly thereafter, followed by the presentation of a coffee-table book on PV Narasimha Rao, scripted by Sanjaya Baru, former Media Advisor to Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, at the instance of the Telangana Government during the centenary celebrations.

When I presented my book, Democracy and Governance through Lens and Blurred Glasses: A Journey into Distorted Visions of Modern-Day Politics, the moment felt less like a formal book presentation and more like the opening of a quiet symposium, where experience spoke to experience. A customary photograph followed, a memory to preserve. Dr Montek sat quietly, did not leaf through the book casually, and did not begin with a polite generality. His first question was instant and precise: ‘Is there any reference to PV Narasimha Rao in the book?’

I opened a marked page and read aloud. ‘There have been a significant number of civil servants who seldom hesitated to advise the Chief Minister when circumstances demanded courage. One such instance occurred during the Separate Andhra Movement, when riots were spreading relentlessly and Chief Minister PV Narasimha Rao proposed a visit to Vijayawada. The Collector and the Superintendent of Police advised against the visit, fearing escalation. Weighing political implications, PV initially decided to proceed.’

‘At that moment, Chief Secretary Valluri Kameswara Rao, an eminent ICS officer, intervened and firmly advised the Chief Minister not to go. When PV dismissed the advice saying, “You are my subordinate. Please follow my instructions,” Valluri K Rao responded with calm resolve. Soon, the Chief Minister was informed that the official car would not arrive. Valluri K Rao conveyed his message politely yet decisively: “Yes, Sir, I am your subordinate. But the driver is my subordinate. He will follow my instructions.” The visit was deferred.’

‘The following day, PV Narasimha Rao publicly praised Valluri Kameswara Rao, acknowledging that had he gone, tensions would have escalated. It was an example of the moral courage of a role-model civil servant and the humility of a Chief Minister of that era, as observed by journalist Bhandaru Srinivasa Rao. Valluri Kameswara Rao lived to the age of 104.’

As I finished reading, Dr Montek smiled, not with surprise, but with recognition. He nodded slowly and said with unmistakable warmth that he was immensely happy to see PV Narasimha Rao remembered not as a slogan or a statue, but as a thinking political leader who valued institutional integrity. Such moments, he remarked, quietly buried in memory, mattered far more than loud claims of governance.

Well, that moment set the tone for the evening. Dr Montek Singh Ahluwalia does not dominate a room, yet his presence anchors it. Born in 1943, an economist shaped by institutions rather than ideologies, he has served as Deputy Chairman of the Planning Commission with Cabinet rank, worked at the International Monetary Fund (IMF), an international financial institution, and a specialized agency of the United Nations, and advised governments across political divides. What distinguishes him is not merely his resume, but his temperament: a rare blend of analytical clarity and civil restraint. He listens first, speaks later, and when he does, it is without performance. The clarity is unparalleled.

The gathering of well-wishers itself was small, almost deliberately so, as an informal circle of Senior Journalists (K Srinivas, A Krishna Rao, K Ramachandra Murthy, Mallepalli Lakshmaiah), a Highly Respected Publisher (EMESCO Vijay Kumar), an Advocate of High Repute (Harkara Srinivasa Rao), a Vice-Chancellor (Professor Ghanta Chakrapani), a Physician (Dr Kalyan), a former Rajya Sabha Member (KVP Ramchandra Rao), and a social-political activist and technocrat (PV Prabhakar Rao), among others, who had come not for ceremony but for conversation.

There was no podium, no scripted praise, and no hurried speeches. Over snacks on the table, memories and reflections flowed freely as Dr Montek Singh Ahluwalia responded to a wide range of questions from the small group on subjects drawn from decades of direct experience. As the discussion unfolded, PV Narasimha Rao returned repeatedly, not as nostalgia, but as a reference point. Dr Montek spoke of leadership that allowed institutions to function, of Chief Ministers and Prime Ministers secure enough to accept dissenting advice. The VK Rao episode, he observed, reflected something increasingly rare today: mutual respect between political authority and administrative conscience.

From there, the conversation widened effortlessly, to coalition dharma, the erosion of regulatory autonomy, and the difference between authority and wisdom. What unfolded felt less like a meeting and more like entry into a living archive of India’s recent intellectual and political history. Dr Montek spoke with the assurance of someone who had watched governments rise and fall, policies celebrated and diluted, and ideals strained by power.

He recalled Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s civilizational grace that transcended party lines, remembered Manishankar Aiyar and Sharad Yadav, and spoke of a time when rural employment was treated not as a slogan but as a moral responsibility. When Mahatma Gandhi was mentioned, it was with discomfort, at how even names and symbols could be erased, as though history itself were negotiable.

Personal recollections followed, such as, Rajiv Gandhi sending Vajpayee abroad for medical treatment, a gesture almost unthinkable today. Dr Montek mentioned his suggestion to Vajpayee to rename the Planning Commission, which Vajpayee politely declined, perhaps sensing that institutions carry meaning beyond efficiency. P Chidambaram, he felt, was a capable finance minister, though every minister is ultimately constrained by circumstance.

At one point, he paused and asked, almost reflectively: what is contemporary history? His answer was unsettling, that, little has been written after Indira Gandhi. Rajiv Gandhi attempted to understand the emerging middle class as a new social force. Today’s India, Dr Montek said plainly, is a middle-class India, yet one that produces surprisingly few cultural or sporting icons relative to its size.

The conversation drifted naturally from economics to culture. He spoke critically of disruptions to celebrations of a particular community, and warned that communal assertiveness, apart from being morally wrong, is economically unwise. Such tendencies may damage growth, though he remained hopeful they would not endure. On Ayodhya, he widened the lens, speaking of the Ramayana not as a single text but as a civilisation of many telling, with a hundred Ramayanas, each reflecting the society that told it. This pluralism, he implied, was India’s real inheritance.

He was candid about liberalization. What we see today, he said, is not what PV Narasimha Rao had envisioned. Corporates hesitate to speak truth to power. He contrasted figures like Narayana Murthy and Azim Premji, suggesting that corporate leadership reflects a spectrum of conscience. If PV were alive today, he wondered quietly, how would he judge the present? Institutions, for Dr Montek, remain central. India needs strong regulators in every field, who are to be independent and uncaptured. He cited TN Seshan’s uncompromising tenure at the Election Commission as an example of institutional courage.

Coalition governments, despite instability, at least introduced checks and balances, a form of political dharma, said Dr Montek. He was equally pragmatic. Inflation this year is low. A weak currency is not inherently harmful. Freebies make little sense when extended beyond poverty alleviation. While Indians thrive abroad, Satya Nadella being an obvious example, returning to India, he felt, remains a rational and meaningful choice.

Subramanian Swamy, he said, is intellectually sharp, and it was absurd that Delhi University never gave him a professorship. Shashi Tharoor, by contrast, speaks with sensitivity, perhaps too much for the present climate. On the current political leadership, Dr Montek’s assessment was measured. He noted that one significant shift had been the breaking of an old elite monopoly in politics. On Rahul Gandhi, he offered little comment. Instead, he observed casually that his WhatsApp feed is flooded with anti-Congress messaging, but rarely the reverse, a remark revealing much about narrative dominance in contemporary politics.

There were lighter moments too. When in the South, he joked, eat sambar rice like a South Indian. As the evening drew to a close, it was evident that this had not merely been a social interaction. It was an encounter with a witness, that, someone positioned at the intersection of economics, politics, and moral memory, quietly reminding those present that governance is sustained as much by restraint as by action.

That opening question about PV Narasimha Rao lingered. It was not simply about a reference in a book, but about whether democracy is still understood as a delicate balance of courage, humility, and institutional respect. Through Dr Montek’s words, the VK Rao episode stood not as praise, but as illustration. In that sense, the conversation framed itself. It reaffirmed that democracy lives not in proclamations, but in quiet moments when power pauses to listen, and that these moments, if remembered, still have the capacity to guide us.

Such gatherings, modest in scale and free of spectacle, serve a purpose far larger than their physical presence suggests. They are spaces where memory is not curated for applause but recalled for meaning; where experience is not compressed into slogans but allowed to unfold in nuance. These quiet conversations restore the dignity of listening and the discipline of reflection. What emerges from them is not consensus, but clarity, about how institutions once functioned, why they mattered, and what is at stake when they weaken.

They remind us that democracy is not sustained only by elections or majorities, but by habits of restraint, by respect for dissenting advice, and by individuals who understand that authority gains legitimacy when it listens before it acts. More importantly, these interactions create an intergenerational transmission of institutional values. They allow ideas to travel without distortion, grounded in context rather than ideology. When seasoned practitioners engage candidly with journalists, academics, professionals, and citizens, the outcome is not immediate policy change, but something more enduring, a shared understanding of governance as a moral practice, not merely an administrative one.

In that sense, the true value of such small gatherings lies in their cumulative effect. Each conversation becomes a quiet counterweight to erosion, of memory, of trust, of institutional confidence. They reaffirm that democratic resilience does not always announce itself loudly; often, it survives through thoughtful dialogue, mutual respect, and the willingness to remember how power was once exercised with humility. If these conversations continue, their influence will extend far beyond the room, shaping how governance is imagined, discussed, and eventually practiced. (Thank You PV Prabhakar Rao Bhaayi Saab for inviting me to the get-together)

SIMPLIFIED AND FAITHFUL RENDERING OF THE ADI KAVYA-3 ..... Valmiki Ramayana: A Treasure for All Humanity by Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 SIMPLIFIED AND FAITHFUL

RENDERING OF THE ADI KAVYA-3

Valmiki Ramayana: A Treasure for All Humanity

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

A humble presentation of Valmiki Ramayana in English is born of an inner urge to make India’s most sacred epic accessible to those who, though Indian by origin, have gradually lost touch with their mother tongues, often out of compulsion and in tune with ever changing times. Living far from their roots, many Non-Resident Indians, and their children, including my close relations, desire to know what their ancestors read, revered, and lived by. To them this simplified yet faithful rendering of the Adi Kavya, not as a mere translation, as was done by many earlier, but as a bridge between languages, generations, and continents.

The effort is not scholastic but devotional, a sincere attempt to awaken curiosity, reverence, and reflection in minds that think in English but feel in Indian rhythm. With a firm belief that, the Valmiki Ramayana is not a book to be just finished the reading, but a companion to be cherished; not an ancient legend to be admired from far away, but a living light to be carried within. If these pages help even a few readers rediscover that light, the purpose of this endeavor shall stand fulfilled.

Among the sacred compositions of ancient India, Valmiki Ramayana, Vyasa Mahabharata, and Vyasa Maha Bhagavata stand as unparalleled works in the divine Sanskrit Language, which belongs to the Indo-Iranian Branch of the Indo-European Language Family, making it a relative to English, Spanish, Russian, and even considered as the mother language. Bharata, Bhagavata and Ramayana to be precise, are not mere epics, but they are extensions of the Vedas and Vedanta, enriched with profound spiritual meanings.

Of the three, Valmiki Ramayana is the earliest and therefore honored as the Adi Kavya, the first and foremost among all poetic works. As said in Uttara Kanda, only those who truly understand and interpret Valmiki Ramayana are capable to convey its inner essence to the world. Such realization is not easily attained by all. In an era when many young minds (to that matter even significant number of elders) know little of their cultural scriptures, understanding Valmiki Ramayana opens not just a window into mythology but into the origins of human ethics and aesthetics.

There is no civilization unknown to our wise ancestors. Who were these Aryans, what virtues did they possess, and how did they live with such noble values? What principles guided their social order, their family bonds, their relationship between rulers and the ruled? How did husbands and wives, brothers, parents, and children conduct themselves? What ideals governed men and women in joy and sorrow alike? What was their understanding of God and devotion (Bhakti)? How did they worship and revere the divine?

To anyone who seeks to explore these worldly and spiritual truths, there exists no greater source of illumination than Valmiki Ramayana. In today’s fragmented world of fleeting relationships and cultural confusion, Sri Ramayana becomes not a tale of the past but a mirror reflecting the timeless balance of human duty, love, and faith. Caught in the cycle of birth and death, humanity forever seeks freedom from bondage, desiring peace, purity, and eternal bliss. For such seekers, Sri Ramayana alone reveals the gentle and luminous path toward liberation.  

Even if one reads it merely for leisure, no other book rewards so deeply. Every reading of Valmiki Ramayana leaves the heart fulfilled, with the sense that one’s time was sanctified. For those who read it with faith and devotion, it fulfills desires like a wish-yielding tree (Kalpa Vriksha). Hence, to live in happiness both here (as human beings) and hereafter (after death), the reading of Sri Ramayana is not optional, but it is essential. To read Valmiki Ramayana today is to reclaim a spiritual rhythm long lost in the noise of modern life.

In Bharata Varsha, followers of Shaiva, Vaishnava, and Shakta traditions are in numerous numbers. Though sometimes sectarian differences arise, Vaishnavas showing disinterest in Shiva or Shaivites avoiding Vishnu, there is one divine pair before whom every Aryan bows in reverence: Sri Sita and Sri Rama. What makes them universally worshipped? Why do even truth-bound kings like Harishchandra or virtuous souls like Dharmaraja not receive such adoration? The reason lies in their divine nature that they are incarnations (Avatara) of the Supreme.

Whatever name one calls God by, the essence remains one. It is this realization that unites all devotees in worship of Sri Sita-Rama. In a pluralistic world divided by names and forms, the devotion to Sita-Rama reminds us that divinity transcends religious boundaries. The very word Valmiki Ramayana signifies the divine story of Sri Rama, the human incarnation (Maya Manushavatara) of Lord Narayana or Maha (The Great) Vishnu, and of Sita Devi, the incarnation of Goddess Lakshmi. As the divine couple remain inseparable in spirit and name, so too the sage Valmiki, realizing this truth, gave his epic the title Sri Ramayana.  

Because Valmiki emphasized the greatness of Sita Devi, he himself called it ‘Sithaayas Charitam Mahat’ or ‘the great story of Sita.’ Throughout the text, her grace illuminates every page. While Rama acts outwardly as a man, Valmiki reveals at every stage both implicitly and explicitly the inner truth that, he is none other than the Supreme Being Himself. For today’s readers, it reminds us that strength and compassion, power and humility, masculine, and feminine energies must coexist to preserve balance in life.

The Valmiki Ramayana is a Maha Kavya (The Great Epic), first in its creation and first in its merit. Only Valmiki, the omniscient sage, could have conceived its depth and secrets. The epic portrays innumerable divine virtues and poetic brilliances. Its verses are sweet whether chaunted or read. Some works please the ear when recited but not when read; others read well but lack melody. Valmiki Ramayana belongs to neither single category. It is both melodious and profound. No wonder Kusha and Lava (Sri Rama’s twin sons) sang it before the world with devotion. Even in translation, the music of Valmiki Ramayana continues to echo in the heart of every sincere reader.

The Valmiki Ramayana embraces all nine Rasas (emotional essences). Among them, the Srungara Rasa (Romantic Emotion) shines brightly, especially in the descriptions of Sita and Rama’s life in Ayodhya after marriage. Valmiki’s mastery over words makes every scene alive with tenderness. He weaves laughter in the episodes of Shurpanakha, compassion in Dasharatha’s death, heroism in Lakshmana’s valor, fury in Ravana’s defiance, horror in the Maricha episode, disgust in the scenes of Kabandha and Viradha, wonder in the battles of Lanka, and tranquility in Shabari’s devotion. Each reader finds in Valmiki Ramayana an echo of their own emotions, making it a timeless human document, not just a divine story.

In matters of Alankara (Poetic Ornamentation), Valmiki Ramayana excels in both sound and meaning. While Shabda Alankaras (Figures of Sound) appear sparingly, Artha Alankaras (Figures of Sense) abound. Valmiki’s nature (For instance Raining) descriptions make one feel as though the monsoon rains are falling before our eyes or that we are walking through snow in winter. His vivid imagery makes readers his playthings, leading them wherever he wills. His Upama (similes) are so powerful that even Kalidasa seems his disciple. In a world that often prizes brevity over beauty, Valmiki’s descriptive genius reminds us that true art makes us pause, visualize, and feel.

One of Valmiki’s remarkable techniques is Utpreksha, the creative imagination. Describing a stream flowing down a hill in Lanka’s Ashoka grove, he imagines it as an angry woman descending her lover’s thigh in fury, only to calm and return like a reconciled beloved. Such poetic imagination, along with his use of Shlesha (Quips), shows his unmatched artistry. The very first Shloka of Valmiki Ramayana, ‘Ma Nishada Pratistham Tvamagamahsāsvati Samaa; Yat Kraunchamithunaadekam Avadhi Kaamamohitam’ bears double meanings: one referring to the hunter’s sin and the other symbolizing divine compassion. For modern minds trained in logic and literalness or strict adherence to the precise meaning of words, Valmiki’s layered imagination reawakens the joy of metaphor and mystery.

This first Shloka, born of Valmiki’s anguish upon seeing the slain bird, became the seed of Ramayana itself, the Nandi Shloka (Invocatory Verse). It carries a divine meaning that encapsulates the essence of all seven Kandas in miniature form. Such depth makes Valmiki Ramayana not merely literature but revelation. Perhaps every creative act, when born out of compassion and truth, becomes sacred, that is the enduring message of Valmiki’s first verse.

When Lakshmana bowed to his mother Sumitra before accompanying Rama to the forests, her words of counsel are among the finest examples of wisdom in literature. Scholars have interpreted that single Shloka in three profound ways. In the first, Sumitra tells her son, ‘You were once to Rama as the right hand is to the body, as the breath is to life. Follow him now with that same devotion. Once he was a prince living in royal comfort; now he goes to the forest in hardship. Do not see this exile as suffering, but as service. In joy or sorrow, in palace or forest, regard Rama as your father and Sita as your mother. The forest, my son, is no place of misery, it is Ayodhya itself when your mind is at peace.’

Her words still echo as timeless parenting, teaching that duty, when embraced with love, transforms adversity into grace. In the second interpretation, Sumitra reminds Lakshmana that after Rama’s departure, King Dasharatha would not live long, thus truthfully saying, ‘Know that Rama is indeed your father.’ In the third, she perceives her own end near and speaks of her detachment: ‘Why should I grieve? To serve the divine couple in the forest is a rare blessing. Go, and through devoted service attain Vaikuntha, the realm of Lord Vishnu.’ Such insight makes Sumitra one of the least spoken yet most enlightened figures in Valmiki Ramayana, a mother who knew renunciation and duty were two sides of the same coin.

Every type of poetic embellishment (Alankara) described in Sanskrit poetics finds a place in Valmiki Ramayana. His artistry is incomparable. One notable device is Chitra Alankara, ‘Word Painting.’ After Ravana abducts Sita, Rama wanders in grief, speaking even to trees, rivers, and birds. Seeing a mountain, he laments, ‘O King of Mountains, did your eyes fall upon my beloved Sita whom I lost in this lonely forest?’ The mountain’s echo replies his own words, deepening the tragedy. In a way, Valmiki anticipates modern psychology, our tendency to seek conversation with the universe when the heart is broken.

Every character in the Epic Valmiki Ramayana, speaks with inner consistency, their words mirror their nature. When Kaikeyi tells Bharata about his father’s death, her tone reflects her moral fall: ‘Your father attained the destiny of all beings.’ In contrast, Bharata conveys the same news to Rama with deep sorrow, saying, ‘He breathed his last with your name on his lips.’ The difference shows how speech reveals the soul. In our own age, words too often become masks. Valmiki teaches that words, when pure, become prayers.

When Ravana ordered his general Dhoomraksha to attack the Vanaras, he said, ‘Go, fight Rama and perish.’ Though meant as a command to kill Rama, the words foretold Dhoomraksha’s own death, a poetic irony. Similarly, Ravana’s brother Kumbhakarna, mighty but doomed, speaks with unconscious prophecy that his death will lead to Sita’s restoration and Rama’s victory. Through such ironies, Valmiki reminds us that destiny often hides in our own utterances.

Valmiki never lets a character speak words inconsistent with their essence. He repeatedly declares Rama to be divine, yet portrays him outwardly as human. When Rama says before his coronation, ‘Tomorrow the King shall crown me as prince regent’ he knows within that destiny will soon take him to exile. His words, on the surface, describe ceremony; inwardly, they reveal detachment. Rama’s life becomes a lesson in inner surrender, performing one’s role fully, yet remaining untouched by its outcome.

Those who seek the jewels hidden in Valmiki’s deep-sea, the Great Ocean, must first understand his inimitable style. He rarely narrates, recounts, or describes everything in one place any subject matter connected directly or indirectly to the main story, Sri Ramayana. He hints, he layers, he scatters meanings like seeds across Kandas. Some truths appear only by connection and comparison. Thus, reading Valmiki Ramayana is like walking a sacred jumble, each turn revealing a new insight to the attentive mind.

For instance, in Sundara Kanda, when Sita asks Hanuman about Bharata that, ‘Is Bharata, the son of Kaushalya, well? Has he sent armies to the forest’ readers might wonder how such a question fits the context. But those who read Uttara Kanda know that Bharata constantly sought news of his brothers through messengers, proving Sita’s words natural.
Even small dialogues in Valmiki Ramayana remind us that love transcends distance, true concern travels faster than any messenger.

Valmiki Ramayana is a Dhvani Kavya, a poem of suggestion. Dhvani (resonance) is its soul. Without it, a poem is lifeless. Every Shloka carries layers of implied meaning. In verses describing seasons or nature, moral and spiritual echoes resound. In every Sarga, Valmiki begins and ends with summary verses, ensuring continuity. When rituals, omens, or repeated events appear, earlier Shlokas are often restated, what critics call repetition is in fact poetic precision. For modern readers accustomed to directness, Valmiki’s suggestive art teaches how silence and nuance often speak louder than loud rhetoric. In an age preoccupied with novelty, Valmiki Ramayana teaches that repetition, when sacred, deepens memory and meditation.

Elders interpret the inner meaning of Ramayana characteristically as: ‘the Supreme Being is the only Purusha (Cosmic Male), and all souls are feminine, symbolized by Sita. As long as the soul remains devoted to God, it knows no suffering. When distracted by illusion, for instance in the case of the golden deer, it falls into bondage symbolized by Lanka. Ravana and Kumbhakarna represent ego and attachment. The demons are the senses. Hanuman is wisdom. The reunion of Sita and Rama is the soul’s return to God. Such allegory reminds us that Valmiki Ramayana is not merely a story to be told but a truth to be lived. Each of us is Sita yearning for reunion with the divine Rama within.

When Ravana calls Rama ‘a mere mortal’ he seals his fate; for if he had accepted Rama’s divinity, he would have escaped death. Valmiki likens Rama’s incarnation to an artiste so immersed in his role that he forgets himself. Thus, Ravana perishes by misperception, and Rama triumphs by perfect awareness. How often in life do we, like Ravana, suffer by misreading reality and mistaking the divine for the mundane! When Jatayu dies before revealing all about Sita’s abduction, Valmiki later introduces Sampati to narrate what remained untold. Such narrative weaving shows the poet’s craftsmanship. Rama’s alternating tones, divine in one moment, human the next, illustrate Valmiki’s subtle art. True literature, like life, breathes between divinity and humanity and never only one. Explaining the poetic grandeur of Valmiki Ramayana could fill volumes. Even Kalidasa and Bhavabhuti drew their genius from it.

Their poetic creepers were nourished by Valmiki’s nectar. The philosopher Ramanujacharya read it eighteen times from his guru before writing his commentary. The truly great never begin from emptiness, but they grow upon sacred roots. To call ‘Kalidasa a Great Poet (He is Of course)’ is like ‘Admiring a River and Forgetting the Ocean from which it flows.’ Valmiki is that ocean and ‘Source of all Literary Perennial Rivers.’ Just as later religions evolved by expanding one virtue of the Vedic faith, later poets elaborated one quality each from Valmiki’s vast reservoir. The modern reader, too, may take from Valmiki Ramayana one value, truth, loyalty, or compassion, and live by it; even that single virtue can illumine a lifetime.

A comparison of Kalidasa’s verses with Valmiki’s reveals ‘Disciple and Great Master.’ The celebrated line in Vikramorvashiyam mirrors Valmiki’s description of Rama’s lament for Sita, word for word, save one term. Vyasa himself translated Valmiki’s verses, it is said. What more proof of his primacy is needed? Originality is not defiance of tradition, but it is fidelity with new expression. Valmiki remains the fountainhead of inspired originality.

Whoever aspires to be a true poet must read Valmiki Ramayana repeatedly, with devotion and reflection. It is not only poetry but Dharma Shastra or a ‘True Code of Righteousness.’ It explains every Virtue: Royal, Civic, Marital, Fraternal, Familial, Submissive, and Friendly. Even the ethics of justice and advocacy are embedded in its narrative. Perhaps this is why Valmiki Ramayana endures, and it teaches through stories what laws and sermons often fail to convey. The ideals of kingship are exemplified by Rama and Dasharatha. Ancient rulers never acted without public consent. They governed not for power but for the welfare of people. Taxation without compassion was deemed sin. How relevant this remains for today’s leaders is a million-dollar question mark. Authority divorced from empathy turns governance into tyranny.

A righteous ruler must, through trusted messengers, know his people’s joys and sorrows, and abandon whatever habits displease them. Rama himself, after coronation, asked his spy Bhadran for honest public opinion. On hearing whispers of doubt, he renounced Sita, saying, ‘To preserve pure fame, I sacrifice my own happiness.’ Few in power today would surrender comfort for character. Rama’s example remains a mirror to every generation of rulers. A noble ruler must daily enquire into the welfare of his subjects. When Lakshmana delayed his return, Rama refused to hold court for four days, grieving deeply. This human empathy of Rama transforms kingship into kinship, a leadership ideal that modern democracies can still learn from.

The people, too, reciprocated Rama’s affection. They were ready to accompany him into exile, even to die with him. Despite his greatness, Rama mingled freely with the humble, true Saushilya (gentle nature). His embrace of the boatman Guha speaks volumes. Likewise, he heeded his ministers and valued dissent. True leadership, Valmiki implies, is not command but communion. Understanding Rama’s qualities reveals not only the ideals of kings but the virtues every human should cultivate, namely, truth, compassion, self-control, filial piety, monogamy, brotherly affection, devotion, worship, and daily discipline. In the end, the ideal citizen and the ideal king are one who lives by self-mastery and service.

From Sita, Kausalya, and Sumitra we learn the nobility of virtuous women. From Kaikeyi and Shurpanakha, the pitfalls of passion and pride. Ravana’s downfall stemmed from lust, deceit, lack of wise counsel, and suspicion of truth-tellers. Every fall in history, whether of empires or individuals, begins not from enemies but from ignored advice. Through the actions of Rama and his brothers, Bhatru Dharma (brotherly duty) shines, through Sugriva, Mitra Dharma (friendship), and through Hanuman, Bhrutyu Dharma (service) shines. Sita’s conversations with Anasuya reveal Sati Dharma (wifely devotion). Rama’s speech to Kausalya shows Pitru Bhakti (devotion to father). Each of these relationships teaches modern families that love without duty becomes indulgence, and duty without love becomes burden.

Sugriva’s words, ‘It is easy to gain friends but difficult to keep friendship unbroken’ capture the essence of loyalty. Hanuman’s reasoned speech in Lanka exemplifies the Dharma of advocacy, Janaka’s counsel reveals parental virtue, and Sita’s words show the nature of righteous indignation. The Valmiki Ramayana, in truth, is a University of Human Conduct. All forms of Dharma dwell within Valmiki Ramayana and those found in other scriptures are but reflections. Vyasa expanded many of its seeds into new narratives, such as in Mahabharata. Even the Bhagavad Gita, at its core, is the distilled essence of Valmiki Ramayana. If Gita is philosophy in discourse, Valmiki Ramayana is philosophy in motion, the life made luminous through example.

Valmiki Ramayana is a repository of sacred mantras. Its recitation with proper rituals fulfills desires and removes afflictions. Especially the Sundara Kanda brings success to devotees who chant it with faith. The text itself declares that Valmiki Ramayana embodies the Gayatri Mantra, each thousand verses aligned with one syllable of it, making it a total of 24000 Shlokas. Thus, to read Valmiki Ramayana is not only to learn but to pray through poetry. Because it is divine narrative, Valmiki embedded within it the potency of Bija Aksharas (seed syllables). For instance, Sundara Kanda begins and ends with the syllable TA reflecting Sita’s presence as its presiding deity. The repetition of SA and TA throughout symbolizes SITA, who, in essence, is the sacred syllable OM. For those drawn to meditation and mantra, every sound in Valmiki Ramayana vibrates with spiritual resonance.

Valmiki Ramayana is not merely equal to the Vedas, but it is the Veda itself. Its verses rearrange Vedic Syllables in new harmony, retelling divine truths in poetic form. Hence, recitation of Valmiki Ramayana became part of Vedic Ritual Duties. It reminds us that faith and art are not separate pursuits, and sacred literature unites intellect and devotion. Some say the 24,000 Shlokas of Valmiki Ramayana correspond to the 24 syllables of Gayatri. Each destroys great sins and confers spiritual merit. The text’s hidden structure mirrors the Yajurveda, which Rama himself personifies. Even in numbers and rhythm, Valmiki wove sacred geometry, where mathematics meets mysticism.

From Bala Kanda through Uttara Kanda, the epic parallels the Vedic Sequence, the Yajurveda, Rigveda, Samaveda, and Atharvaveda, and ending in Upanishadic peace. Thus, Valmiki Ramayana is not only narrative but revelation. It shows how ancient Indian thought saw no divide between story and scripture, and in fact, both were pathways to truth. The count of verses, syllables, and stanzas align with Vedic Metrics. Valmiki intentionally used Vedic Idioms, proving that his Ramayana is an echo of eternal sound (Nada Brahma).
Even today, those who chant it experience that same rhythm, connecting heartbeats to cosmic cadence.

Valmiki Ramayana also embodies Sankhya philosophy in numerical symbolism: the name Rama equals seven by syllabic value, meaning, there are seven Kandas, seven days of war, seven chief heroes, seven ritual sections signifying completeness. Seven, the sacred number of balance, represents perfection. Thus, the Valmiki Ramayana mirrors the harmony of creation itself.

The first verse of Bala Kanda numerically sums to 100, equal to the number of verses in that section, reflecting the divine precision of Valmiki’s composition. Vyasa, perhaps recognizing this harmony, named his own work Jaya (18), mirroring the 18 Parvas and 18-day war of Mahabharata. In every sacred number lies a rhythm of the cosmos. Ancient seers wrote not just with ink, but with insight. Sita and Rama’s union and separation comprise the very structure of Valmiki Ramayana. Their names together total 119 in numeric value, equal to the number of Sargas in Ayodhya Kanda. Such hidden correspondences fill the epic. Behind poetry, Valmiki built a cathedral of meaning where language and numbers worship together.

Valmiki Ramayana also explores moral paradoxes: debates over Rama’s monogamy, or his slaying of Vali, are clarified by understanding context and Dharma. Every action of Rama stems from divine purpose, never personal desire. Modern readers must approach it not with judgment but with inquiry, seeing through time-bound ethics to timeless intent. Rama’s discipline, his daily worship, penance, and truthfulness, all makes the Valmiki Ramayana not merely a legend but a living manual of divine life. Reading it today is like cleansing the mind with sacred light, reminding us that spirituality is not retreat but refinement of daily duty.

The greatness of Valmiki’s creation is inexhaustible and its mysteries are endless. Written in Sanskrit, supposed to be the language of gods, it reveals new wonders with every reading. For NRIs and global readers, this English retelling is but an offering, a small lamp lit before the sun of Valmiki’s wisdom. Those devoted to meditation upon the divine will find this English rendering as sacred offering (Prasadam) to the Lord, meant to bridge hearts across time and language. May it help second generation Indians and seekers everywhere rediscover that Valmiki Ramayana is not just India’s heritage, but it is humanity’s inheritance.

Valmiki Ramayana is a mirror of all existence, be it poetic, moral, spiritual, and cosmic. To read it with reverence is to converse with the eternal. Valmiki did not merely compose an epic, but he composed humanity’s conscience. Whoever reads it with faith rediscovers their own higher self, their own Sita and Rama within.

Having journeyed through these brief reflections drawn from Valmiki Ramayana, the reader may please pause now, and see what lingers in the heart. The story that has been just revisited is not history, it is the heartbeat of civilization, the whisper of conscience that endures through ages. Let this book stay by everyone’s side, not merely on a shelf but in the daily life. When circumstances weigh anyone down, opening it at random and reading its verses will lend calmness and courage. When success crowns the effort, read a page again and again, and in the process, it will remind the reader to remain humble and grateful.

Valmiki Ramayana is that rare companion which consoles in sorrow, steadies in strength, and sanctifies in joy. Carrying it in spirit wherever one goes, it guides their thoughts, refine emotions, and deepen their humanity. Then, the purpose of this English rendering for them, their children, and generations yet to come, will be complete, not to replace the original, but to keep its fragrance alive in hearts that beat across oceans and cultures. (PHOTOGRAPHS COURTESY RAMA BHAKTA JOGESH)