As Rāma made his way through the city, those dwelling in palaces and those gathered on the ground alike honored him with gracious words. “Surely your mother Kausalyā rejoices, O delight of mothers,” they said, their voices filled with affection. “She beholds your successful journey, your claim to the ancestral kingdom, and Sītā—foremost among noble women—shining among all noble wives.” The women of the city regarded Sītā, so dear to Rāma’s heart, as the very best among noble ladies. They marveled, “Truly the queen must have performed great austerities in the past to be so blessed.” For Sītā had attained union with Rāma just as Rohiṇī is joined with the moon. Thus, the best of men, Rāma, heard sweet words spoken by women from the palace towers as he proceeded along the royal road. Rāghava listened to the conversations of the gathered citizens, their words expressing their own joyful thoughts. “Today Rāghava attains prosperity, about to receive abundant royal favor,” they exclaimed. “All our desires will be fulfilled, for he will be our ruler. It is a blessing for the people that he will govern this kingdom for a long time. Under this lord of men, no one will see anything unpleasant or experience sorrow.” Surrounded by horses neighing like a lively village, with elephants, and led by auspicious bards and heralds, Rāma was honored by the finest musicians. He proceeded, praised as Vaiśravaṇa, lord of wealth, would be. His eyes beheld the great highway, crowded with elephants, chariots, horses, and throngs of people. The crossroads were filled, the road abundant with gems and rich wares, shining pure and splendid. Let the seventeenth chapter be heard. Rāma mounted his chariot, surrounded by joyful friends. The chariot was adorned with banners and flags and perfumed with costly incense. The illustrious Rāma gazed upon the city, teeming with people, its houses shining pale like clouds. He proceeded along the royal road, its 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. He saw that splendid, unobstructed royal road, covered with various flowers and foods, both high and low. As the lord of the gods might in heaven, Rāma beheld the royal road adorned with offerings of curd, rice, barley, and incense of aloe and sandalwood. The crossroads were always worshipped with garlands of many kinds and fragrant scents, and he heard many blessings spoken by his friends. Rāma honored all the people as was proper, proceeding as his ancestors and forefathers had done. The citizens called out, “Today, once you are consecrated, protect this path, as we were nurtured by your father and all the forefathers. With Rāma as king, we will live most happily. We have no need now for food or great wealth; if we see Rāma established in the kingdom, that is enough for us. Nothing will ever be dearer to us than the consecration of Rāma, whose splendor is boundless, as king.” Hearing these and other auspicious words from friends and well-wishers, which honored him, Rāma proceeded along the great highway. No one could withdraw their mind or eyes from that foremost man, even as he passed by. “Whoever does not see Rāma, or whom Rāma does not see, is scorned by all people—even his own self despises him,” the people thought. That righteous one showed compassion to all classes and all ages; therefore, everyone followed him. The mansions lining the way were pale as clouds, adorned with jeweled lattices, rising up as if to cover the sky. Among them stood the foremost house on earth, rivaling Indra’s palace. The prince entered this radiant residence—his father’s home—shining with splendor. Passing through three courtyards guarded by archers and horses, he crossed two more courtyards on foot. Having passed through all the courtyards, the son of Daśaratha dismissed the people and entered the pure inner chambers. When he entered his father’s presence, all the people, delighted with the prince, waited for his return, as the ocean waits for the moon’s rising. Let the eighteenth sarga be heard in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. There, Rāma saw his father seated with Kaikeyī, his face dried and sorrowful, dejected in spirit. With proper conduct, Rāma first bowed to his father’s feet; then, with full composure, he bowed to Kaikeyī’s feet. The king, his eyes filled with tears, spoke only Rāma’s name, but was too distressed to look at him or say anything more. Seeing this unprecedented, fearsome appearance of the king, Rāma too 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 ocean, wreathed in waves yet unshaken, now agitated; like the sun eclipsed; like a sage who has spoken falsehood. Perceiving his father’s grief, so deep and unfathomable, Rāma’s anxiety grew, like the ocean swelling at the time of the full moon. Devoted to his father’s welfare, Rāma pondered in his heart: “Why does the king not greet me today?” He thought of four possibilities. “At other times, even if angry, my father is pleased to see me; what distress has now arisen in him when he looks upon me?” Thus, Rāma’s heart was filled with concern and confusion as he awaited his father’s words.