At that time, Ayodhyā was alive with excitement. Along the royal road, waves of joyous people filled the streets, their voices rising together in a sound like the roar of the ocean. The city itself was resplendent: its thoroughfares had been swept and sprinkled with water, and everywhere garlands from the forests and banners fluttered from the tall houses, making Ayodhyā appear even more splendid than before. The people crowded the streets—men, women, and children all together—each one longing for Rāma’s consecration as eagerly as they awaited the sunrise. Dressed in their finest clothes, their faces radiant with anticipation, they looked forward to witnessing the great festival that would mark Rāma’s installation as crown prince. Through the dense crowds along the royal road, the royal priest made his way slowly, parting the sea of people as he proceeded toward the palace. Ascending the palace, which gleamed like a peak of white clouds, he approached King Daśaratha, just as the wise Bṛhaspati would approach Indra himself. When the king saw the priest arrive, he rose from his throne, greeted him with respect, and, after seeking his counsel, informed him that all preparations had been accomplished. Seeing the priest—who was equal in stature to the king—the assembled ministers and elders rose together from their seats to honor him. Then, with the permission of his revered guru, the king left the company of men and entered the inner chambers, moving like a lion entering his mountain cave. Inside the palace, crowded with women adorned in splendid attire and shining like Indra’s own mansion, the king entered, his presence radiant like the moon rising into a star-filled sky. When the royal priest had departed, Rāma, having bathed and steady in mind, together with his wide-eyed wife Sītā, approached the deity Nārāyaṇa. Holding the vessel of oblation in his hands, Rāma performed the sacred rites, offering clarified butter to the great deity into the blazing fire. Afterward, he ate the remainder of the oblation, seeking his own welfare, and sat in meditation upon Nārāyaṇa, seated on a mat of sacred grass. As the night waned and only one watch remained, Rāma awoke and had his house thoroughly adorned in accordance with proper custom. He listened to the pleasant words of bards, genealogists, and panegyrists as he sat for early morning worship, reciting prayers with deep concentration. He praised and bowed his head to Madhusūdana, and, clothed in pure linen, had the Brāhmaṇas recite the Vedas. The auspicious and deep, sweet sounds of their chanting, accompanied by the music of instruments, filled the city of Ayodhyā. When the people of Ayodhyā heard that Rāma and Sītā had completed their fast, they rejoiced. With the night at an end and the news of Rāma’s consecration spreading, the townspeople set about adorning the city. At temples shining like peaks of white clouds, at crossroads, along streets and shrines, and on balconies, decorations were arranged. In the merchants’ shops, filled with various goods, and in the splendid homes of householders, as well as in assembly halls and even on unmarked trees, flags and banners were raised high. Troupes of actors, dancers, and singers performed, filling the air with words and music pleasing to the mind and ear. Everywhere—in the city squares and within their homes—the people spoke of nothing but Rāma’s consecration, for the time of his anointing drew near. Even the children, playing together at their doorways, talked only of Rāma’s installation among themselves. The royal road was prepared with great care, made splendid with offerings of flowers and perfumed with incense, ready for the sacred event. To banish the darkness of night, the citizens set up lamp-bearing trees along all the side streets, filling the city with light. Having thus decorated Ayodhyā, the inhabitants, their hearts yearning for Rāma’s installation as crown prince, waited in eager anticipation. Gathered together in groups in the squares and assembly halls, the people praised their beloved lord. “Ah,” they said, “the great-souled king, the joy of the Ikṣvāku line, knowing himself to be aged, will anoint Rāma as king. How blessed we are, for Rāma, wise in the ways of the world, will be our king and protector for a long time to come. Rāghava, free from arrogance, learned, righteous, and loving toward his brothers, is as affectionate to us as he is to them. Long may our righteous and faultless King Daśaratha live, by whose favor we shall see Rāma anointed.” While the citizens spoke thus, news of Rāma’s consecration spread far and wide, and people from the countryside began to arrive from all directions, eager to witness the great event. The city filled with these new arrivals, and as the crowds swelled, a mighty sound arose—like the roar of the ocean at the time of the full moon. Ayodhyā, now resembling Indra’s own celestial abode, shone brilliantly, thronged on all sides by eager country folk, resounding tumultuously like the ocean filled with its waters. At this moment, a maidservant—related by birth and long in the service of Queen Kaikeyī—by chance ascended a palace that shone with the brilliance of the moon.