In the quiet chambers of the palace, Sumantra, the wise charioteer, stood before the king with joined palms, offering words of praise as he had so often done. With heartfelt reverence, he invoked blessings, comparing the king to the radiant sun whose rise brings joy to the ocean itself. "May you, O lord of the earth," Sumantra intoned, "bring happiness to your people with a heart as joyful as the ocean at dawn." He likened his own role to that of Mātali, who once awakened mighty Indra, the vanquisher of demons, with words of praise. In the same way, Sumantra sought to awaken the king. Just as the Vedas and their many branches stir the self-born Brahma from his meditation, so did Sumantra gently call the king to rise. He spoke of the sun and moon together awakening the beautiful earth, and in that spirit, he urged the king to awaken and shine forth. "O great king," Sumantra urged, "rise with the auspicious rites and festive preparations complete, shining like the sun upon Mount Meru." He invoked the blessings of Soma and Sūrya, Śiva and Kubera, Varuṇa, Agni, and Indra, praying that they grant victory to the descendant of Kakutstha. "The blessed night has passed, your task is accomplished; awaken, tiger among kings, and attend to the next duty." He reminded the king that all preparations for Rāma’s consecration were complete. The townspeople, country folk, and merchants had all gathered, standing with joined palms in anticipation. Even the venerable sage Vasiṣṭha, together with the brāhmaṇas, was waiting. "Quickly command, O King, the consecration of Rāghava," Sumantra pleaded. Sumantra warned that a kingdom without its king is like cattle without a herdsman, an army without a leader, a night without the moon, or cows without a bull—rudderless and adrift. Hearing these gentle but meaningful words, the king was overcome by sorrow once more. Grief clouded his face as he looked toward Sumantra, the thought of his son weighing heavily on his heart. With eyes reddened by tears, yet still resplendent and righteous, the king spoke in a voice choked with emotion: "Indeed, with your words, you cut my heart again." Seeing the king so dejected, Sumantra respectfully withdrew a little, his hands still joined. When the king, overwhelmed by distress, could not speak further, Kaikeyī, ever skilled in counsel, addressed Sumantra. She explained, "The king, longing for Rāma’s consecration, spent the night sleepless and exhausted, and has now succumbed to sleep. Therefore, go quickly, charioteer, and bring the illustrious prince Rāma; may good befall you—there is no need for further deliberation." Sumantra, however, hesitated. "How can I go, noble lady, without hearing the king’s command?" he asked. Hearing this, the king gathered himself and spoke to Sumantra: "Sumantra, I will see Rāma; quickly bring the handsome one." Thinking that auspicious fortune was at hand, the king felt a moment of joy in his heart. At the king’s command, Sumantra departed swiftly and joyfully, his mind urged on by Kaikeyī’s words. He thought to himself, "Surely, the righteous king will summon Rāma here for the consecration." Filled with hope and happiness, Sumantra hurried out, eager to see Rāghava. Leaving the splendid inner quarters, grand as the ocean or a great lake, he approached the palace gateway, already crowded with people. Emerging from the entrance, Sumantra saw the king’s gate surrounded by citizens of wealth and standing in anticipation. The city was abuzz, and the air was thick with expectation. As the new day dawned, the fifteenth chapter of the tale unfolded. That morning, brāhmaṇas accomplished in the Vedas, together with the royal priest, assembled in the court. Ministers, chiefs of the army, and the foremost citizens all gathered joyfully for Rāghava’s consecration. The pure sun had risen; it was the auspicious day of Puṣya, with the ascendant in Cancer, and the time of Rāma’s birth had arrived. For Rāma’s consecration, the foremost brāhmaṇas had prepared golden water vessels and a splendid, auspicious seat adorned with every mark of good fortune. A chariot was covered with a shining tiger skin, and sacred water was brought from the confluence of the Gaṅgā and Yamunā, as well as from other holy rivers, lakes, wells, and ponds—waters flowing eastward, upward, across, and even those with milky currents. Water was also gathered from the oceans, along with honey, curds, ghee, parched grains, darbha grass, flowers, and milk. Eight beautiful maidens and a noble, intoxicated elephant were present for the ceremony. Water jars, covered with milk, made of gold and silver, were filled and ready—adorned with lotuses and water-lilies, shining white as the moon and decorated with jewels. The finest yak-tail fan and a white parasol, radiant as the moon’s orb, stood ready for Rāma. All the auspicious paraphernalia for the consecration was prepared: a white bull and white horses, too, were set in place. Musical instruments and bards had assembled, befitting the consecration of a prince of the Ikṣvāku line. All that was prescribed for the ceremony had been brought together at the king’s command. Yet, the king was not seen among them. The assembled wondered, "Who will inform the king for us? The sun has already risen, and we do not see the king." At that moment, Sumantra, honored by the king, spoke to them: "By the king’s order, I have gone quickly to fetch Rāma.