Dasaratha, the King of Ayodha, being childless, determined to make an asvamedh, or horse sacrifice, to obtain a son. It was necessary, in order to make an acceptable offering, that the horse destined for sacrifice be allowed to wander at will for a whole year, as a sign that the authority of its owner was acknowledged by the neighbouring princes. The people loved their king, and during his reign were very prosperous; but, owing to the want of a son, the happiness of king and subjects was incomplete. The sacrifice therefore was determined on, the holy place fixed, the horse set free, and the king, encouraged by the Brahmans, invited the neighbouring princes to attend the great preparations made. At length the rite was satisfactorily accomplished and the presiding Brahman addressing Dasaratha said:--

"Four sons. O monarch, shall be thine,
Upholders of the royal line. [**]
* * * *
Another rite will I begin,
Which shall the sons thou cravest win,
When all things shall be duly sped
And first Atharva texts be read." [*+]

The gods having graced the assembly the saint who performed the rite thus addressed them:--

"For you has Dasaratha, slain
The votive steed, a son to gain;
Stern penance rites the king has tried,
And in firm faith on you relied.
And now with undiminished care
A second rite would now prepare.
But, O ye gods, consent to grant
The longing of your suppliant." [**]

The gods, pleased with the Brahman's prayer, led by Indra, proceeded to Brahma, and presented to him their united petition, in which they mention the great work they wished Rama, as one of Dasaratha's sons, to perform:

"O Brahma, mighty by thy grace,
Ravan, who rules the giant race,
Torments us in his senseless pride
And penance-loving saints beside.
For thou, well-pleased in days of old,
Gayest the boon that makes him bold,
That gods nor demons e'er should kill
His charmed life, for so thy will.
We, honouring that high behest,
Bear all his rage, though sore distrest.
That lord of giants, fierce and fell,
Scourges the earth, and heaven and hell.
Mad with thy boon, his impious rage
Smites saint and bard, and god and sage.
The sun himself withholds his glow,
The wind, in fear, forbears to blow;
The fire restrains his wonted heat
Where stands the dreaded Ravan's feet,
And, necklaced with the wandering wave.
The sea before him fears to rave.
Kuvera's self, in sad defeat,
Is driven from his blissful seat.
We see, we feel, the giant's might,
And woe comes o'er us and affright.

To thee, O lord, thy suppliants pray
To find some cure this plague to stay." [**]

To this request Brahma makes answer--