In Ayodhya's heart, where Sarayu flows,
A temple rises, bathed in golden glow.
Sri Rama's spirit, etched in stone,
A king's return, a righteous throne.
From exile's dusk to dawn's embrace, A temple rises, bathed in golden glow.
Sri Rama's spirit, etched in stone,
A king's return, a righteous throne.
Dharma's path he walked, with steady pace.
Through trials faced, and battles won,
His deeds a beacon, ever spun.
For justice he stood, for truth he fought,
His gentle hand, with wisdom fraught.
From forest depths to royal hall,
His reign a tapestry, for one and all.
Now consecrated, stone to soul,
His legacy unfolds, a story whole.
In every heart where Rama dwells, A flame of dharma brightly tells. In every deed of kindness shown, In every word that heals and mends alone, The echo of his righteous call, Unites the land, inspires us all.
In every heart where Rama dwells, A flame of dharma brightly tells. In every deed of kindness shown, In every word that heals and mends alone, The echo of his righteous call, Unites the land, inspires us all.
