Freed from all worldly impressions, with lingering desires stilled, those present in the royal assembly found themselves, for a moment, as if tossed upon the waves of a nectar-like ocean—so profound was the atmosphere. Into this sacred hush, the wondrous words of Rāmabhadra resounded, vibrant as if painted with brilliant colors, bringing abundant joy to all who heard them. These words reached the ears of the great sages seated in the hall—Vasiṣṭha, Viśvāmitra, and others—alongside wise ministers led by Jayanta and Ghṛṣṭi. Kings of renown such as Daśaratha listened, as did citizens, bards, reciters, nobles, princes, and learned brāhmaṇas versed in the Vedas. The servants and attendants heard, too, as did birds in their cages and playful deer who, struck by the moment, stood motionless. Even the horses ceased to graze, their attention drawn to the divine discourse. In the women’s quarters, led by Kausalyā, the ladies stood at their windows in silent groups, their ornaments stilled, themselves motionless, captivated by the words. In the gardens, the creepers seemed to pause their gentle sway, monkeys sat quietly in their abodes, and flocks of birds, usually so lively, fell silent. Beyond the mortal realm, Siddhas who traverse the sky, Gandharvas, Kinnaras, and the foremost sages such as Nārada, Vyāsa, and Pulaha listened. Lords of gods, Vidyādharas, and mighty serpents—all heard the noble words of Rāma as they echoed through the assembly. There stood Rāma, lotus-eyed and radiant as the full moon in the sky of the Raghu lineage, now silent after his profound speech. At that moment, as the Siddhas gathered and his words lingered in the air, a miraculous rain of flowers began to descend from the heavens, forming a canopy over the assembly. The air was filled with the humming of bees nestled in Mandara flower buds, intoxicated by their fragrance and beauty, exultant in their delight. It was as if a stream of stars, swept by the wind, had fallen to earth, or as if the radiance of celestial women’s smiles had spread across the land. The flowers fell like a gentle rain from a single cloud, or as if pearls of clarified butter had been cast down in succession. The shower was magnificent—like snowflakes, strings of pearls, moonbeams, or waves of the milky ocean—descending in a cascade of light and scent. The fragrance of lotus filaments filled the air, swirling with bees in flight, carried by a gentle breeze laced with the sweet sounds of humming and singing. Clusters of ketaka flowers whirled about, heaps of water-lilies blossomed, garlands of jasmine drifted downward, and the blue lotuses shimmered in their abodes. The courtyards and rooftops of the city’s beautiful women were soon covered, as the residents and women peered out from their windows, necks craned in wonder. In the clear blue sky, a rain of flowers fell without a single cloud, a spectacle never before seen, bringing smiles of amazement to all. This unprecedented shower, stirred by the breath of countless accomplished beings, continued for a quarter of an hour, delighting all who witnessed it. As the gentle rain of flowers ceased and the assembly settled, those present heard the conversations of the hosts of Siddhas. Among themselves, the Siddhas marveled: “For ages we have wandered the skies, but today we have heard something truly unprecedented—a nectar of speech. What was declared here by the moon of the Raghu lineage, with such detachment, is beyond even the reach of the lord of speech himself. Truly, today we have heard words of great merit from Rāma’s mouth, which delight the mind like nectar. He has spoken fittingly of the supreme state, beautiful as the nectar of tranquility, and thus, at once, we have been awakened by the descendant of Raghu.” It was now time to hear the determinations of the great sages regarding these purifying words spoken by the banner of Raghu. All the renowned sages—Nārada, Vyāsa, Pulaha, and others—arrived without obstacle, eager to assemble. “Let us settle around this sacred gathering of Daśaratha’s son,” they said, “like bees clustering around a golden lotus, leaving no gap between us.” Thus resolved, the entire divine lineage of sages descended from the sky into the assembly. The foremost among them stood at the front, the wind at their backs, mingling with revered forest-dwellers, interspersed among the cloud-dark, water-rich, and mighty Vyāsa. The gathering was adorned by leading sages such as Bhrigu, Angiras, and Pulastya, and protected by Cyavana, Uddālaka, Śīra, Śaralomā, and others. Their deerskins were thrown into gentle disarray from their mutual contact; their eyes darted with curiosity; garlands and bracelets swayed as they moved, bearing their ritual circles with ease. They shone like a cluster of stars outshining one another, like a shower of flowers, like a second sun in brilliance. Vyāsa shone forth like a network of stars in the sky, and Nārada, too, gleamed among the multitudes. Pulastya stood out like the lord of gods among deities, and Angiras shone like the sun among the gods. As this assembly of perfected sages descended from the heavens to earth, the hall of Daśaratha’s son, now filled with sages, seemed to rise up in splendor. Those who moved in the sky and those on earth mingled together, their entwined forms illuminating the ten directions. Their hands were adorned with flutes and bells, some held playful lotuses, and their hair was crested with young blades of sacred grass or crowned with jeweled diadems. Their heads bore matted locks, twisted into knots and crowned with Kapila’s hair; their arms were decorated with bracelets, some set with rubies. Clad in bark garments and loincloths, draped with silk garlands, their girdles swayed loosely, and strings of pearls moved as they walked. Thus, the assembly shone—a radiant gathering of sages, gods, and beings, all drawn together by the nectar of Rāma’s words, awaiting the discourse to come.