Lava and Kusha Sing the Ramayana - Sons Meet Father

The singing was extraordinary.

Rama had commanded a great sacrifice—the Ashwamedha—and performers had come from everywhere. But these two boys were different. Their song was his own story.

Rama: "Where did you learn this?"

Rama interrupted the performance.

The twins looked up—identical faces, eyes that seemed somehow familiar.

Lava and Kusha: "From our teacher, Sage Valmiki. He composed it. He called it the Ramayana."

Lava and Kusha: "The story of Rama. The story of you."

Rama: "Who are you?"

Lava and Kusha: "We are Lava and Kusha. We live in the forest with our mother and the sage."

Rama's heart froze. The forest. Valmiki's ashram. The same ashram where—

Rama: "Your mother. What is her name?"

Lava and Kusha: "Sita. Daughter of Janaka. Wife of— Wife of the king who abandoned her while she carried us."

The court went silent.

Lava and Kusha: "You didn't know? You sent her away pregnant. She gave birth to us in exile. We grew up hearing both stories—the great Rama of the epic, and the terrible Rama who chose gossip over his wife."

Rama: "I had reasons—"

Lava and Kusha: "We've heard your reasons. They're in the song. Our teacher made sure to include them. The pressure of kingship. The weight of public opinion. The sacrifice of personal love for political stability."

Rama: "Do you understand them?"

Lava and Kusha: "We understand them. We don't forgive them."

Rama sat down. The great king of Ayodhya, brought low by the judgment of two children he had never met.

Rama: "I would like to meet your mother."

Lava and Kusha: "Would you? She said you would. She said, 'When they sing before him, he'll want me back. Not because he loves me—because the guilt will be too much.'"

Rama: "She was always wise."

Lava and Kusha: "Wiser than you deserved. She'll come. She said that too. 'If he calls, I'll come. Not for him—for them. So they can see their father. So they can understand what they came from.'"

Rama: "Will she return to the palace?"

Lava and Kusha: "That depends on what you offer. Another fire trial? More proof of purity for people who will never believe anyway? Or will you simply trust her, finally, the way you should have trusted her all along?"

Rama had no answer.

The sons he had never known. The wife he had exiled. The story of his life, sung back to him by the children his choices had denied him.

Rama: "I'll call for her. Tomorrow. At the sacrifice. I'll acknowledge you as my sons, her as my wife, and—"

Lava and Kusha: "And then what? Words are easy. Songs are easy. Living with someone you betrayed—that's hard. Are you ready for hard?"

Rama: "I have to try."

Lava and Kusha: "Yes. You do. We'll finish the song now. The part where Rama rescues Sita from Lanka. The part where he seemed like a hero."

Lava and Kusha: "Before he became something else,"

the second added.

They sang. Rama listened.

His own story, judged by his own sons, ending in a question:

Could a man become again what he had once been?

Or was some damage permanent?

The song didn't answer.

Songs never did.

Only life answered.

And life was waiting to see what Rama would choose.