It was a blessing for the people that Rāma would rule the kingdom for a long time; under this noble lord of men, none would ever encounter misfortune or sorrow. With neighing horses that sounded like a bustling village, with elephants in attendance, and preceded by auspicious bards and heralds, Rāma set forth, honored by the finest musicians. As he proceeded, he was praised as Vaiśravaṇa himself might be. Rāma beheld the grand highway, crowded with elephants, chariots, horses, and throngs of people. The crossroads were filled, and the road itself gleamed, abundant with gems and rich wares, shining with purity. Rāma then mounted his chariot, surrounded by joyful friends. The chariot was adorned with banners and flags and perfumed with precious incense. As they moved, the illustrious Rāma gazed at the city, teeming with its people, the houses shining pale like clouds. He proceeded along the royal road, its center fragrant with incense and lined with heaps of sandalwood and aloe. The finest scents filled the air, and silks of linen and cotton, unpierced pearls, and exquisite crystals were laid out along the way. The splendid royal road was unobstructed, covered with various flowers and foods, both high and low. As Rāma moved along, he beheld the road as the lord of the gods might view heaven itself—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 countless blessings spoken by his friends. He honored all the people in the manner befitting his ancestors and forefathers, proceeding with humility and grace. The people called out to him, “Today, once you are consecrated, protect this path, just as your father and all the forefathers nurtured us. With Rāma as king, we will live in happiness.” They declared, “We have no need now for food or great wealth; if we see Rāma established as king, that is enough for us. Nothing will ever be dearer to us than Rāma’s consecration, whose splendor is boundless.” Hearing these and other auspicious words from friends and well-wishers, which honored him, Rāma continued along the great highway. No one could withdraw their gaze or thoughts from that foremost of men as he passed by. Indeed, whoever did not see Rāma, or whom Rāma did not see, was scorned by all and even despised by himself. That righteous one showed compassion to all classes and all ages, and so all followed him. The city’s mansions, pale as clouds and adorned with jeweled lattices, rose up as if to touch the sky. The prince entered his father’s splendid house, the foremost on earth, rivaling Indra’s own palace, shining with his own radiance. Passing through three courtyards guarded by archers and horses, the best of men then 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 to rise. There, Rāma saw his father seated with Kaikeyī, but the king’s face was dried with sorrow, dejected and full of grief. With proper conduct, Rāma first bowed at his father’s feet, then, composed, at Kaikeyī’s feet. When the king, his eyes brimming with tears, uttered “Rāma,” he was too distressed to look at his son or to speak. Seeing this unprecedented, fearsome change in the king, Rāma too was seized by fear, as if he had stepped on a serpent. He saw his father, tormented by grief and sorrow, sighing deeply, his mind disturbed and his senses joyless. The king was like the ocean, wreathed in waves yet usually unshaken, now agitated; like the sun eclipsed; like a sage who has spoken falsehood. Perceiving the king’s unfathomable grief, Rāma’s anxiety grew, like the swelling ocean at the full moon. Devoted to his father’s welfare, Rāma pondered four possibilities: “Why does the king not greet me today?” he wondered. “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?” His face sorrowful and afflicted by grief, Rāma bowed to Kaikeyī and spoke: “I hope I have not unknowingly done wrong, on account of which my father is angry with me. Tell me, and please appease him. Why is my father, always affectionate toward me, now displeased, his face sorrowful, and does not speak to me? I hope that neither physical nor mental distress troubles him, for happiness is hard to come by, and sorrow or anxiety may arise.” He continued, “I trust that nothing inauspicious has happened to Prince Bharata, who is pleasing to behold, or to the mighty Shatrughna, or to any of my mothers. If I were to displease the great king, or fail to carry out my father’s command, I would not wish to live even for a moment while the king is angered.” Thus, Rāma, revered and beloved by all, entered the palace radiant with hope, only to find his father weighed down by heavy sorrow, and anxiously sought to understand the cause of this sudden grief.