She rose, radiant and adorned, with a cluster of bees resting upon her ear-ornament. Her lotus-like hand swayed gracefully, reminiscent of a troop of elephants moving across Mount Vindhya. Her armlets, powdered and reddened from their mutual contact, glowed like the twilight sky tinged with clouds of crushed jewels. As her upper garment slipped, bees hovered and buzzed about her, while her towering crown shone brilliantly, making the sky appear as though adorned with Indra’s rainbow. Nearby, her beloved’s vine-like hand waved the chowrie fan, stirring the air like a forest path disturbed by the noble movement of elephants. Her bracelets and jeweled bangles clashed together, drawing her garment aside, much like a garland of mandara flowers tossed by the wind in a grove. She herself was like a pure raincloud formed from musk mist, spreading over the earth with the vastness of the autumn sky. Her hair was adorned with clusters of red-tinted jewels, and the folds of her garment fluttered like restless dusk lotuses, signaling the close of the day’s activities. Streams of jewel-light poured from her lotus-like face as she moved with the gentle ripples of a lotus pond, her anklets ringing in melodious waves. From this wondrous presence, creation itself seemed to arise—ever-continuous, crowded with hundreds of mountains, filled with multitudes of beings, as if newly manifested. Then, after bowing to the king, the lords departed from the royal palace, like jeweled waves leaving the ocean and forming a rainbow. The vassals and ministers, skilled in the science of governance, bowed to Vasiṣṭha and the king before going to bathe. Others, such as Vāmadeva and Viśvāmitra, placed Vasiṣṭha at the front and stood ready for the sacred bath. There, King Daśaratha, having honored the assembly of sages, was dismissed by them and went to attend to his own duties, O destroyer of foes. The forest-dwellers returned to their forests, the sky-dwellers to the sky, and the city-dwellers to their cities, all intending to return in the morning. At the request of the king and Vasiṣṭha, out of affection, the sage Viśvāmitra spent the night at Vasiṣṭha’s residence. Vasiṣṭha, attended by the foremost brahmins, kings, and sages, was served by Rāma and all the sons of Daśaratha. The illustrious sage, honored by all the worlds, then went to his own hermitage, followed by a host of gods, like Brahma returning to Brahmaloka. From that place, the sage dismissed Rāma and the other sons of Daśaratha, who had bowed at his feet, sending them away. He sent away those who move in the sky, on earth, and in water—those who dwell in the praise of his virtues—and, in due order, performed the daily rites for the twice-born at his noble hermitage. Those heroic princes, radiant as the moon, returned to their homes and fulfilled all their daily duties. Vasiṣṭha, Raghava, the kings, sages, and brahmins each attended to their own affairs in the streets of their homes. They bathed in lakes adorned with lotuses, water lilies, and blue lilies, and in ponds frequented by chakravaka ducks, swans, and cranes. They gave cows, land, gold, beds, and seats as gifts to the brahmins, along with food and garments. In their palaces, adorned with gold and jewels, they worshipped the gods—Acyuta, Isa, Agni, Surya, and others. Together with their sons, grandsons, friends, servants, relatives, and companions, they then enjoyed appropriate meals. At that time, in the city, the day was pleasant, with only an eighth part of its duration left, gentle and delightful with a soft breeze. They spent the evening according to custom, along with their relatives, until the sun set. They reverently performed the evening worship, recited the Aghamarṣaṇa hymn, sang auspicious praises, and chanted charming songs. Then, as the moon—remover of the sorrow of dark-eyed women—rose, spreading dew like the celestial moon from the ocean of milk, the Raghavas slowly took their places on beds strewn with flowers and scattered with handfuls of camphor, delightful as the broad disc of the full moon. Then, except for Rāma, the others there, engaged in their usual activities, gradually passed the beautiful night as if it were but a moment. But Rāma remained awake, reflecting deeply on the sweet and noble words of Vasiṣṭha, just as an elephant savors the taste of sugarcane it has enjoyed before. He pondered: What is this so-called wandering in worldly existence? Who are these people? What are these various beings here—do they come and go, and why? What is the true nature of the mind, and how does it spread forth? Is this all merely illusion, and if so, how does it arise and how does it cease? When this has ceased, for whom would there be virtue or fault? And how has this limitation arisen in the Self itself? Rāma wondered what the venerable sage had declared about the dissolution of the mind, about mastery over the senses, and concerning the Self. By terms such as 'living being,' 'mind-stuff,' 'mind,' and 'illusion,' it is the Self alone that projects this worldly existence in these various unreal forms. When these, bound only by the threads of mind, come to an end, suffering is pacified; yet, how can these, so difficult to treat, be cured for us? He questioned how, by the strength of discernment, he might separate this chain of enjoyments, which clings like a garland of clouds, as a swan separates water from milk. Enjoyments cannot be abandoned; without giving them up, one cannot overcome misfortune—alas, what a difficult predicament has come upon us! Thus, in the quiet of the night, Rāma’s mind was filled with profound contemplation, pondering the nature of existence and the teachings of the sage, as the city rested under the gentle radiance of the moon.