Then, in that sacred assembly, Sītā—adorned in all her ornaments—was brought forth and placed before the sacred fire, facing Rāma. At that auspicious moment, King Janaka, filled with joy, addressed Rāma, the delight of Kausalyā: “Here is Sītā, my daughter, your partner in righteousness. Take her hand in yours, O blessed one; she is devoted to her husband, greatly fortunate, and will follow you always, as faithfully as a shadow.” Having spoken thus, the king performed the sacred rite, pouring water purified by mantras, while the gods and sages exclaimed in delight, “Well done, well done!” Divine drums resounded in the heavens and a shower of flowers rained down, sanctifying the moment when Janaka gave his daughter Sītā, blessed with mantra-water, to Rāma. Overflowing with happiness, Janaka then called to Lakshmana, “Come, good fortune to you! Urmila, whom I have prepared, is yours. Accept her hand; let not the proper time pass.” In turn, he addressed Bharata: “O joy of the Raghus, take Mandavi’s hand with your own.” And to Shatrughna, the king spoke: “O mighty-armed one, take Shrutakirti’s hand with yours. All of you are gentle souls, steadfast in noble vows. May the sons of Kakutstha be united with their wives without delay.” Obedient to Janaka’s words, the four brothers joined hands with their brides. Under the guidance of sage Vasishtha, each couple circumambulated the sacred fire, the altar, and the king. Thus, the great-souled descendants of Raghu, together with their wives and the assembled sages, performed the marriage rites as prescribed by tradition. From the sky, a splendid shower of flowers fell, accompanied by the music of divine drums, songs, and instruments. Companies of Apsaras danced and Gandharvas sang melodiously, filling the air with wonder at the wedding of the foremost Raghus. Amidst this celestial celebration, with the sound of instruments all around, the noble brothers, after circling the fire three times, led their brides away. The sons of Raghu, with their wives, proceeded to their resting place, followed by King Janaka, the sages, and all the assembled relatives, who watched with joy and reverence. Thus concludes the seventy-third sarga. Now, listen to the seventy-fourth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Bālakāṇḍa. When the night had passed, the great sage Vishvamitra, having taken leave of both kings, departed for the northern mountains. After his departure, King Dasharatha, having bid farewell to the king of Videha, swiftly set out for his own city. Before they parted, the king of Videha bestowed abundant bridal gifts: hundreds of thousands of cows, fine woolen blankets, silks, and millions of garments; elephants, horses, chariots, and foot soldiers, all splendidly adorned and of divine appearance. He gave a hundred maidens, each attended by excellent male and female servants, as well as gold, refined gold, pearls, and coral. Delighted, the king of Mithilā gave these incomparable gifts and, having honored the monarch, returned to his city of Mithilā. King Dasharatha, now accompanied by his noble sons and with all the sages at the forefront, began the journey home with his army. As the tiger among men traveled with the sages and Rāma, ominous signs appeared: terrifying birds cried out all around, and the animals of the earth began to move in circles. Witnessing these portents, Dasharatha, troubled at heart, questioned Vasishtha: “These birds are grim, and the animals are circling. What is this that makes my heart tremble and my mind uneasy?” Hearing his words, the great sage replied gently, “Hear the meaning of these signs: a dreadful danger has arisen, a divine threat foretold by the birds’ cries. Yet these circling animals are calming; let your distress be set aside.” Even as they spoke, a mighty wind arose, shaking the earth and toppling great trees. Darkness covered the sun, and all directions became indistinguishable. Ash blanketed everything, and the entire army was bewildered. Only Vasishtha, the other sages, the king, and his sons remained conscious amid the strange gloom, while the rest seemed insensible. In that terrible darkness, the king beheld a formidable figure: a mighty being with a mass of matted hair—the great Bhārgava, son of Jamadagni, destroyer of kings. He stood unassailable as Mount Kailāsa, fierce as the fire of time, blazing with a radiance none could bear to look upon. An axe was slung over his shoulder, his bow shone like a cluster of lightning, and he grasped a fierce arrow, recalling Śiva himself at the destruction of Tripura. Seeing this awe-inspiring figure, the sages led by Vasishtha, devoted to sacred recitation and sacrifice, gathered and whispered among themselves, “Will he, angered by his father’s killing, again destroy the warrior class?” Yet they reassured each other, “Having already slain the warriors, his anger and fever are spent; he does not intend to destroy them again.” With this understanding, the sages took up offerings and addressed the fearsome Bhārgava with gentle words: “Rāma, Rāma!