Brave men, their swords and bows gleaming, stepped forward with hopeful hearts as Rāma’s procession began. The air soon filled with the sounds of drums and conches, and the praises of bards rose high. From every palace window, women adorned in their finest stood, their voices joining in lion-like roars, echoing along the road as they hailed the heroes below. As Rāma, the destroyer of foes, made his way, showers of flowers rained down upon him from the hands of these women. His flawless form delighted all who saw him. Those in the lofty palaces and those gathered on the ground honored him with words of heartfelt praise: “Surely your mother Kausalyā rejoices today, O delight of mothers,” they declared, “for she sees you embarking on this auspicious journey, about to inherit the ancestral kingdom, with Sītā, foremost among noble women, by your side.” The women gazed at Sītā, beloved to Rāma’s heart, regarding her as the best among noble ladies. They marveled, “Surely the queen must have performed great austerities in the past to be so blessed.” For Sītā’s union with Rāma was like that of Rohiṇī with the moon, a perfect harmony. As Rāma walked the royal road, he heard sweet words spoken from the palace towers, the voices of women blessing him as he passed. The streets were alive with the conversations of the gathered citizens, each expressing their joy and hopes. “Today Rāghava attains prosperity,” they said, “about to receive the full favor of the kingdom. With him as our ruler, all our desires will be fulfilled.” Their hearts brimmed with happiness: “It is our blessing that he will govern for many years. Under this lord of men, none shall know sorrow or unpleasantness.” Rāma’s procession was grand indeed—horses neighed like a village come alive, elephants marched in stately lines, and auspicious bards and heralds led the way. The finest musicians honored him, and the people praised him as they would the god of wealth, Vaiśravaṇa. Rāma beheld the great highway, crowded with elephants, chariots, horses, and throngs of people. The crossroads overflowed with gems and wares, everything shining pure and splendid. Now let the seventeenth chapter be heard. Rāma mounted his chariot, surrounded by joyful friends. The chariot itself was adorned with banners and flags, and perfumed with the richest incense. As he gazed upon the city, he saw houses shining pale as clouds, teeming with people. He proceeded along the royal road, its very center scented with incense and lined with heaps of sandalwood and aloe. The air was filled with the finest fragrances, silks of linen and cotton, unpierced pearls, and exquisite crystals. The royal road was a splendid sight—unobstructed, covered with flowers and offerings of food, both high and low. It was as if the lord of the gods himself walked in heaven, for the road was adorned with curd, rice, barley, and incense of aloe and sandalwood. The crossroads were always worshipped with garlands of many kinds and fragrant scents, and as Rāma passed, he heard many blessings spoken by his friends. He honored all the people as was proper, proceeding just as his ancestors and forefathers had done before him. The people called out, “Today, once you are consecrated, protect this path, just as your father and forefathers once nurtured us. With you as king, we shall live in happiness.” They declared, “We have no need for food or wealth—if we see Rāma established as king, that is enough. Nothing will ever be dearer to us than this consecration.” Hearing such auspicious words, Rāma continued along the great highway. No one could turn their eyes or minds from him as he passed. “Whoever does not see Rāma, or whom Rāma does not see, is scorned by all, and even his own heart despises him,” the people said. For Rāma, righteous and compassionate to all classes and ages, was beloved by all; thus, they followed him eagerly. The city’s mansions rose pale as clouds, adorned with jeweled lattices, reaching as if to cover the sky. Rāma entered his father’s house, the foremost on earth, rivaling Indra’s own palace, shining with splendor. Passing through three courtyards guarded by archers and horses, he crossed two more on foot. Having passed through all, he dismissed the people and entered the pure inner chambers. When he entered his father’s presence, all the people waited outside, their hearts delighted, longing for his return as the ocean waits for the rising moon. Now let the eighteenth sarga be heard. There, Rāma saw his father seated with Kaikeyī. The king’s face was dried and sorrowful, his whole bearing dejected. Rāma, ever dutiful, first bowed to his father’s feet, then, composed, to Kaikeyī’s. The king, his eyes filled with tears, could barely utter “Rāma”; he was too distressed to look at his son or to speak. Seeing this strange and fearsome change in his father, Rāma was seized by fear, as if he had stepped on a serpent. He saw the great king tormented by grief and sorrow, sighing deeply, his mind disturbed and troubled, his senses joyless—like the mighty ocean, usually unshaken, now agitated; like the sun in eclipse; like a sage who has spoken falsehood.