In the royal palace of Ayodhyā, a deep sorrow weighed upon King Daśaratha. His heart was heavy, his spirit broken, and those around him could sense his grief. He felt as if the kingdom itself was adrift—like cattle without a herdsman, an army without a leader, a night bereft of the moon, or cows without a bull. Such, he thought, is the fate of a realm where its king is unseen. As these thoughts troubled him, he listened to gentle yet meaningful words spoken to him, words meant to console but which only deepened his pain. Overwhelmed by sorrow, Daśaratha turned to his charioteer, Sumantra, his joy utterly gone. His eyes, reddened with weeping, shone with the righteousness for which he was renowned. Looking up, he spoke with a voice trembling with emotion, “Your words, though kindly meant, cut my heart anew.” Witnessing the king’s distress and hearing such sorrowful words, Sumantra, his hands joined in respect, quietly withdrew a little, not wishing to intrude further on the king’s grief. In that moment, as Daśaratha was rendered speechless by his anguish, Queen Kaikeyī, ever skilled in counsel, addressed Sumantra directly. She explained, “Sumantra, the king, longing for Rāma’s consecration, spent the night sleepless and exhausted, and now, at last, has succumbed to sleep. Therefore, go quickly, charioteer, and bring the illustrious prince Rāma. May good fortune attend you—there is no need for delay.” Sumantra, however, hesitated out of respect, saying, “How can I go, noble lady, without hearing the king’s command?” At this, the king, regaining some composure, spoke directly to his trusted minister: “Sumantra, I wish to see Rāma. Quickly bring the handsome one to me.” The prospect of seeing Rāma brought a flicker of hope to the king’s heart, and he rejoiced inwardly. At the king’s command, Sumantra departed swiftly, his heart lightened by the thought of good fortune. Urged on by Kaikeyī, he reflected joyfully, “Surely, the righteous king will summon Rāma here for his consecration.” With these hopeful thoughts, Sumantra, eager to see Rāghava, left the splendid inner palace—so grand it resembled the ocean or a vast lake—and made his way toward the crowded gateway. As he emerged, he saw those stationed at the king’s gate and observed many wealthy citizens already gathered and standing at the entrance, their faces bright with anticipation. Meanwhile, the dawn of a new day arrived. The fifteenth sarga (chapter) begins as the sun rose, and the learned brāhmaṇas, accomplished in the Vedas, assembled at the royal court with the chief priest. Ministers, army leaders, and the foremost citizens gathered joyfully, all in eager expectation of Rāghava’s consecration. The auspicious day of Puṣya had arrived, the sun had risen, and the time of Rāma’s birth was established with the ascendant in Cancer. For Rāma’s consecration, the foremost brāhmaṇas had prepared golden water vessels and a splendidly adorned, auspicious seat. 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 in every direction, even those with milky streams, and from all the oceans. They collected honey, curds, ghee, parched grains, darbha grass, flowers, and milk. Eight beautiful maidens and a noble, intoxicated elephant were present, while golden and silver water jars, covered with milk, stood filled and ready. These vessels, adorned with lotuses and water-lilies, shone as white as the moon’s disk, decorated with jewels. For Rāma, the finest yak-tail fan and a white parasol, radiant like the moon, were prepared. The splendid, auspicious paraphernalia for the consecration was set out, along with a white bull and white horses. All the musical instruments and bards had assembled, as was fitting for the consecration of a king from the Ikṣvāku lineage. Having gathered everything prescribed for the prince’s consecration, they waited at the king’s command. But when they did not see the king, they wondered aloud, “Who will inform the king for us? The sun has already risen, but we do not see him.” Sumantra, honored by the king, addressed them, “By the king’s order, I have gone quickly to fetch Rāma. You are all worthy of honor from the king, and especially from Rāma. On the king’s behalf, I ask about your well-being, O blessed ones. The king has awakened, but the reason for his not coming is…” With these words, the wise Sumantra made his way toward the inner palace gate. Ever devoted to the palace, Sumantra entered the house of the lord of men, praising the king’s noble lineage as he proceeded. Reaching the king’s sleeping chamber, he stood respectfully outside the inner curtain, waiting. There, he invoked blessings upon Rāghava, extolling his virtues, and prayed to Soma and Sūrya, as well as Śiva and Vaiśravaṇa. “May Varuṇa, Agni, and Indra grant you victory,” he intoned. “The blessed night has passed, and an auspicious day has arrived. Awaken, O tiger among kings, and attend to your immediate duties. The foremost Brahmins, leaders of the army, and townspeople have all gathered here. They desire to see you; awaken, O Rāghava.” Thus praised and encouraged by Sumantra, the king awoke and spoke, “Bring Rāma here, as I had instructed you. Why is my command being delayed? I am not deeply asleep; bring Rāghava here at once.” So, the palace stirred with anticipation, the people and elders waited in hope, and Sumantra prepared to fulfill the king’s command, all hearts turning toward the prince who was to be consecrated.