With powerful arms and unwavering resolve, Rāma drew the mighty bow, and as he pulled with all his strength, the bow broke asunder in the middle. The sound that erupted was terrifying, echoing like thunder crashing from the heavens and striking awe into all who heard it. Witnessing this wondrous feat, my father, steadfast in his promise, prepared to give me to Rāma. He raised the sacred vessel of water to solemnize the gift. Yet at that moment, Rāghava did not immediately accept me, for he was unaware of his own father’s wishes—King Daśaratha, the lord of Ayodhyā. Only after my father addressed the aged Daśaratha did he formally give me to Rāma, who is ever self-aware and steadfast. My virtuous younger sister, the lovely Urmilā, was likewise given by our father as a wife for Lakṣmaṇa. Thus, at that self-choice ceremony, I was given to Rāma, and from that day, I have remained devoted to my husband, the foremost among the strong, upholding righteousness. Thus concludes the one hundred eighteenth sarga of the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa in the ancient and noble Rāmāyaṇa composed by Vālmīki. Hearing this story, the venerable Anasūyā, who was well-versed in righteousness, embraced me warmly and kissed me tenderly on the head. “O sweet-speaking Maithilī,” she said, “your words were clear, beautifully spoken, and delightful. I have heard from you the entire account of your self-choice ceremony, and I am truly pleased by your story.” She looked out upon the forest. “The glorious sun has set, and the auspicious night has arrived. At dusk, the birds that spent the day searching for food now settle down to sleep, their calls fading into the cool air. The ascetics, fresh from their ablutions and carrying water jars, gather together, their garments still wet from bathing. As the seers offer their prescribed oblations into the sacred fires, smoke rises—tinged red like a dove’s body and stirred by the wind. “All around, the trees have grown dense, though their leaves are few. Even here, in this distant place, the directions are hidden from view. Creatures of the night begin to stir everywhere, while the forest animals of the hermitage rest quietly at the sacred bathing spots. The night has fully blossomed, O Sītā, adorned with stars, and the moon, wrapped in a veil of gentle moonlight, is rising in the sky. “Now, go, dear one. I give you leave—be an attendant to Rāma. I am satisfied by your sweet words. But first, Maithilī, adorn yourself before me; let me see you radiant, shining with divine ornaments, and bring me joy, dear child.” Thus adorned, Sītā, radiant like a daughter of the gods, bowed her head reverently to Anasūyā and went towards Rāma. When Rāghava, the best among speakers, saw Sītā so beautifully adorned, his heart rejoiced at the affection shown by the ascetic woman. Sītā told Rāma everything—how Anasūyā had gifted her garments, ornaments, and garlands as a token of love. Rāma and the mighty Lakṣmaṇa were filled with joy, witnessing the rare honor bestowed upon Sītā, an honor seldom found among mortals. That night, the delighted Rāma—his face radiant like the moon—spent the auspicious hours in the company of ascetics and perfected beings, welcomed with warmth and reverence. When the night had passed, the two tigers among men, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, performed the morning fire rituals for the ascetics and took leave of the forest-dwelling hermits. The righteous ascetics, concerned for their safety, spoke to them of the dangers lurking in the forest, which was overrun by rākṣasas. “O Rāghava,” they warned, “in this great forest dwell man-eating rākṣasas of many forms, as well as wild beasts who feed on blood. These creatures attack ascetics devoted to righteousness, whether they are careless or have leftovers. Protect them, O Rāghava. This is the path of the great sages who gather fruits in the forest; by this way, it is proper for you to enter the difficult woods.” Having received blessings from those ascetic Brāhmaṇas, Rāghava, together with his wife Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, entered the forest, like the sun entering a mass of clouds. Thus ends the one hundred and nineteenth sarga in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the first great poem, consisting of twenty-four thousand verses. Now begins the Araṇya Kāṇḍa, the first sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. Encircled by kuśa grass and bark garments, and endowed with divine splendor, the hermitage shone like the blazing orb of the sun in the sky, difficult to behold. It was a refuge for all beings, its courtyard always clean, teeming with many deer and surrounded by flocks of birds. Constantly honored and attended by groups of Apsarases, it was adorned with spacious fire-altars, ladles, vessels, deerskins, and kuśa grass. The hermitage was graced with kindling sticks, water pots, fruits, and roots, and shaded by great forest trees bearing auspicious, sweet fruits. Sanctified by offerings and oblations, it resounded with the chanting of Brahman, and was encircled by various flowers and a lotus pond blooming with lotuses. Within dwelled self-restrained ascetics who subsisted on fruits and roots, clad in bark and black antelope skins, shining like the sun and fire, and accompanied by ancient sages. Noble sages of pure diet adorned the place, which resounded with the sacred chanting of Brahman. Graced by learned and highly fortunate Brāhmaṇas, the illustrious Rāghava beheld that circle of hermitages. The great-souled sages, endowed with divine knowledge, approached after stringing their mighty bows, having seen Rāma. Pleased, they greeted the illustrious Vaidehī, and, seeing the righteous Sītā shining like the rising moon, they rejoiced.