Playing in the garden they saw someone,
Innocent as a dove, his face shining like the sun,
In whatever he may do, they found something special,
Gazing at him walk by, people knew he was exceptional.
He was the son of Dashratha,
The eldest of them all,
But somehow the light within shone forth,
And each problem he succeeded to forestall.
All knew he would be the chosen heir,
But as is said, “Life isn’t always fair.”
Then came in Manthara, Kaikeyi’s maidservant;
Enraged by the news of the crowning in torment.
Kaikeyi asked for a boon; one no one had foreseen,
“Make Bharat king, I want you to decree.
As for Ram comes a 14-year-exile,
Introducing a complete change in his profile.”
Forward walked Ram, his face expressionless;
But towards his mother he was respectful.
Obeying her orders with full contentedness,
He went into exile with not one question.
With him went Sita, and his brother Lakshman,
And there he set foot outside the fort.
Outside to carry them waited charioteers and carmen;
And villagers in dismay ridiculing the court.
Then one day came a saint looking for alms,
Who in true identity was Ravana in disguise.
He knew that Sita would have no qualms,
In giving away and not defy.
In giving away, Sita crossed the line,
The Lakshman rekha; with powers divine.
Ravana seized her hand; she backed away,
But it was all in vain at the end of the day.
He pushed her into his chariot, and rode to his kingdom,
Lanka, the fabled land of wisdom;
And there he held her hostage for long,
For he had been awaiting Ram’s presence all along.
He knew Ram would come to free his beloved wife,
But it would lead to conflict and strife.
He waited patiently for the one most valorous,
Or so-called, as Ravana would say, thinking he was more glorious.
Then one day, with the Vanara-Sena,
Came Ram, along with his brother Lakshmana.
Supported by Vibhishana, plotting the strategy to kill,
The demon-king, with a growl shrill.
He readied his arrows, and shot straight upward,
Straight into Ravana’s navel.
It seemed preposterous to most,
But the arrow hit hard, and made him unstable.
Ravana was slain, and victory was theirs,
And as is said, “Good triumphs over evil.”
The news was joyous, the celebrations began,
Not only in Ayodhya, but also in the forelands.
People lit paths with earthen lamps,
Welcoming them to their motherland.
And that’s how emerged the idea of the glory,
Of the festival of prosperity, the auspicious Diwali.
