After vanquishing the celestial foes and enthroning the righteous Vibhīṣaṇa upon the regal seat of Laṅkā, the son of Daśaratha, Śrī Rāma, set forth toward Ayodhyā with Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, and the noble hosts that had shared his trials. The Pushpaka chariot, adorned with rubies and garlands of diamonds and shining with the radiance of a second sun, bore the scion of the Solar Race across the boundless ocean until he reached his ancestral realm.
Bharata, with kindred standing beside him, welcomed the prince with folded hands and eyes shimmering with devotion. At the sanctified hour, the sages Vasiṣṭha and Vāmadeva performed his coronation; and Rāma, in gratitude, bestowed rich honours upon Sugrīva, Vibhīṣaṇa, and other allies before bidding them farewell with due reverence. His just governance endured through countless years, securing peace and order throughout the kingdom. Rāma partook in rightful pleasures, sacrifices, charities, sacred rites, and offerings, thereby earning imperishable renown.
The essence of Rāmarājya lies in the harmonious balance of these virtues. As taught by sage Mārkaṇḍeya, the righteous pleasures are eight in number: a serene home, restful sleep, fine garments, ornaments, the companionship of a devoted wife, fragrant flowers, unguents of sandalwood, and betel blended with healing herbs. Rāmarājya rests upon the righteous progression of pleasure, sacrifice, ritual, and the safeguarding of order—never failing in any measure during Rāma’s universal rule, and thus remembered through the ages. “O Dharmarāja,” said the sage, “have you grasped the tale of Rāma?
Through adversity in the wilderness, through the harm wrought by foes, he endured all and attained victory. You too, passing through the trials of forest and sorrow, shall rule with peace, order, and prosperity, and enjoy every rightful comfort.” Dharmarāja, filled with reverence for Rāma’s endurance and Sītā’s impeccable virtue, then prayed to the sage to recount the tale of a chaste woman who by her purity earned divine favour. Mārkaṇḍeya replied, “You must listen to the sacred life of Savitrī, whose steadfastness answers your very question.”
For the king’s inner wish was to strengthen the heart of Draupadī; and the sage, discerning his intent, selected from ancient lore those histories most fitting for the moment—this brilliance in instruction inscribing the teaching in memory, never to fade but to stand as guidance for future rule. There once reigned Aśvapati, sovereign of the Madra kingdom. For eighteen years, he undertook austerities in honour of the goddess Savitrī, seeking the boon of a child. The goddess appeared and granted him leave to state his desire; he asked for a son. She replied, “A daughter shall be born to you; yet through her grace you shall one day gain a hundred sons.”
The king accepted the divine decree. In time, a daughter was born, named Savitrī after the goddess herself, and was raised with the utmost care. As she grew, her eyes blossomed like lotus petals, her complexion shone with golden radiance, and her grace, delicate as a creeping vine, surpassed even the beauties of celestial realms. The king pondered a worthy match for her, equal to her beauty and virtues. Savitrī, hearing of Satyavrata—son of Dyumatsena of the Salva line—admired his righteousness and resolved in her heart to choose him, though she hid her thought from all out of modesty.
One day, the divine sage Nārada visited the court of Aśvapati. While the king received him with honours, Savitrī entered with her companions and saluted the sage. Her beauty shone like the very embodiment of grace and prosperity. Seeing her now come of age, Nārada advised the king that the time had arrived to find her a worthy husband. Aśvapati, turning to his daughter, allowed her to choose according to her heart. Overcoming her shyness, she named Satyavanta, son of the Salva monarch, as the one pleasing to her mind.
The king informed her of the prince’s present misfortunes: Dyumatsena, deprived of sight, had lost his kingdom and lived in the forest. Savitrī remained unshaken, declaring that such circumstances did not alter her resolve. The king then asked Nārada to describe the youth. The sage replied, “O king, he is truthful, and his very name is justified by his deeds. In brilliance he rivals the sun, in wisdom Bṛhaspati, in valour Indra, in endurance the earth, in radiance the moon, and in grace the celestial physicians. His virtues are immeasurable. Yet one shadow rests upon his fate: he shall die one year from the day of his marriage.” Aśvapati urged his daughter to reconsider; but Savitrī answered calmly that her mind, word, and body had already been given to Satyavanta, and no other would she even contemplate. Nārada, perceiving the firmness of her virtue, declared her a treasure beyond measure and foretold that her merit would extend the life of her chosen spouse.
On an auspicious day, Aśvapati journeyed with his daughter and retinue to Dharmāraṇya, where Dyumatsena dwelt in exile. With due honours he offered Savitrī as bride to Satyavanta, praising the harmony of their virtues and the grace of their match. Dyumatsena expressed doubt that a princess of such delicacy could endure forest life. But Aśvapati assured him that wealth and poverty are transient and that courage lies in rising above both.
Thus the marriage was solemnised at the hour set by the sages. The bride cast aside her royal ornaments, donning simple garments suited for hermitage life, and devoted herself to the service of her husband and in-laws. Her humility, care, and gentleness filled the household with joy exceeding even the comforts once enjoyed in their lost kingdom.
Yet Savitrī alone remembered the prophecy. As the final four days of the fated year approached, she undertook stern austerities—fasting and worship of the goddess whose name she bore. Dyumatsena marvelled at her discipline and asked the reason; she answered only that the austerities would bring blessings to the entire family, and the truth would become known in time. Thus, the final day drew near, when fate, virtue, merit, and divine decree would meet upon a delicate edge, awaiting the unfolding of destiny.
