Prose poetry.

 In prose

King Harishchandra of the Ikshvaku dynasty is celebrated as an epitome of truth and righteousness in Hindu lore. His unwavering commitment to truthfulness and dharma made him a paragon of virtue, and his trials remain an inspiring testament to the power of honesty and perseverance.

The great sage Vishwamitra once tested Harishchandra’s virtue. Through divine illusion, he appeared before the king and demanded a promise of charity. True to his word, Harishchandra granted whatever was asked of him, which included his entire kingdom. Homeless and destitute, he, along with his wife Shaivya and son Rohitashva, wandered in search of livelihood.

Forced to sell himself, his wife, and his son to different masters to pay off his debt to the sage, Harishchandra was reduced to working as a crematorium guard. His tribulations reached their peak when his son succumbed to a snake bite, and his wife, without any money for the funeral, came to him for permission to cremate their child. Bound by his duty, he demanded the required fee, as per the law of the land.

The gods, witnessing his unwavering adherence to truth and duty, intervened. Lord Vishnu, Indra, and other celestial beings appeared, restoring his son’s life and granting him back his kingdom. Harishchandra’s trials became an everlasting symbol of absolute righteousness, proving that truth ultimately triumphs.

 In  Poetry

In Ikshvaku’s line, a king so grand,

Ruled with justice, fair and planned.

Harishchandra, his noble name,

Truth and dharma, his only fame.

Vishwamitra, the sage so wise,

Decided to test his truth with guise.

A kingdom vast, a throne so high,

Yet he chose not to tell a lie.

With wife and child, he walked in pain,

Homeless, helpless, under rain.

To pay his due, he sold his fate,

To serve the gods and test his state.

The burning ground, his only place,

As keeper there, he held his grace.

A mother came with sorrowed face,

Her son had left this mortal space.

She begged the king to grant her pyre,

But law decreed a token dire.

Bound by duty, torn with strife,

He asked a fee from his own wife.

The heavens shook, the gods appeared,

His son revived, the pain was cleared.

A kingdom lost was his again,

For truth had won despite the pain.

Thus stands his tale, a beacon bright,

A king who walked the path of light.

In trials deep, he stood so tall,

And truth, he proved, surpasses all.