In the royal court, the mood was heavy with concern. Those gathered spoke among themselves, reflecting on the nature of fortune and misfortune. They recognized these as mere constructs of the mind—fabrications born of imagination. When such delusions take hold, sorrow arises and sings loudly within the heart. One voice lamented, “Alas, I am ruined, I am helpless!” Despite such cries of despair, it was astonishing that detachment did not come to that person. The cause of their distress was none other than Rama, the lion of the Raghu lineage, who, though a destroyer of enemies, remained deeply absorbed in contemplation. This absorption brought unease to those around him. They confessed their uncertainty: “O mighty-armed one, O lotus-eyed, we do not know what to do for someone whose mind is thus; you alone are our refuge.” Rama regarded everyone—king, brahmin, teacher—without distinction, dismissing them with the indifference of a beast unconcerned. He saw the vast manifestation of the world and declared, “This is not real, nor am I,” and remained established in that conviction. Rama had no attachment—not to his body, nor to himself, nor to friends, nor to his kingdom, nor even to his mother. He placed no trust in fortune or misfortune, nor in anything external or internal. He was free from attachment, hope, desire, and support; freed from delusion, and because of this, those around him felt afflicted. He had resolved within himself: “What use is wealth, what use are mothers, what use is a kingdom, what use is desire?” He stood ready, prepared even to give up his life. In pleasures, in life, in kingdom, in friend, in father, in mother—he was utterly distressed, like a chataka bird suffering in drought. For one of such nature, even endowed with all riches, the net of worldly existence appeared as poison. They wondered, “Who on this earth could possess such a great spirit, able to establish him in ordinary worldly conduct?” Seeing this affliction spreading like branches, they called for someone full of compassion to rescue him. They knew that one who casts off delusion from the mind, a person of great intellect, could lead those who suffer to goodness, just as the sun brings light to the earth and dispels darkness. Thus, they resolved, “If this is so, then bring here swiftly the wise descendant of Raghu, as deer bring a deer.” They understood that Rama’s delusion was not born of misfortune or attachment—it was the great awakening born of discrimination and dispassion. “Let Rama come here at once,” they said, “and we will dispel his delusion as the wind scatters a cloud from a mountain.” When this delusion is cleansed by proper means, Rama will find rest in that supreme state, just as the wise do. Having attained truth, joyful wisdom, and repose, he will become robust and radiant, like one who has imbibed nectar. He will conduct himself with a mind fully satisfied, honoring his natural and uninterrupted course of worldly duties. He will become a great soul, knowing the entirety of the world, untouched by pleasure and pain, and equal toward clod, stone, and gold. When the chief sage had spoken thus, the king, his mind fulfilled, sent another series of messengers to bring Rama. After some time, Rama rose from his seat at home to go to his father, like the sun rising from a mountain. Accompanied by a few attendants and his brothers, he arrived at his father’s auspicious court, as if reaching heaven, the abode of the lord of gods. From a distance, Rama saw Dasharatha surrounded by the royal assembly, like Indra encircled by a host of gods. The king was attended on both sides by Vasistha and Vishvamitra, protected by a council of ministers expert in all scriptural meanings. Graceful women stood nearby, holding charming fly-whisks, like embodied quarters of the sky. Vasistha, Vishvamitra, Dasharatha, and their companions saw Raghava approaching from afar, resembling Guha. Rama walked with the pride of steadfastness, cool as the Himalayas, endowed with universal service and a deep voice. He was gentle, of balanced appearance, noble in humility and strength, possessing a lovely and tranquil form—a vessel for the welfare of others. At the dawn of youth, Rama was adorned by the harmony of effort and calm, untroubled and effortless, his desires nearly fulfilled. He had considered the course of the world, moving in the realm of pure qualities, sustained by singular greatness, as if embraced by virtues. With a noble essence, the inner chamber of his mind was filled, displaying the highest through an undisturbed state. Thus, adorned with a multitude of virtues, the descendant of Raghu appeared from afar, his garments and ornaments shining pure and white. He bowed, his beautiful crest-jewel shimmering with moving rays, his head graced with the majesty of a mountain that causes the earth to tremble. First, Rama bowed to his father, then to the revered sages, then to the Brahmins, then to his relatives, and finally to the teachers distinguished by greater virtues. He accepted, with his own presence and sweet words, the succession of salutations performed by the people of the kingdom. Receiving blessings from the sages, Rama, his mind at peace, approached his father’s sacred presence, radiant as a celestial beauty. The king, seeing his son devoted to reverence at his feet, quickly embraced his head and kissed him again and again. In the same way, he embraced Shatrughna and Lakshmana, the destroyers of enemies, with deep affection, like a royal swan embracing lotuses.