Repeatedly looking towards Raghunatha and summoning courage Sita prayed to the gods. Her eyes were filled with tears of love, and her whole body was in a termor.

She feasted her eyes to their fill on Rama’s beauty, but when she remembered her father’s vow, her soul was troubled. She said to herself, ‘Alas, my father has made a cruel resolve, with no thought for good or evil consequence!

His ministers are afraid and none of them gives him good counsel-the more the pity –in the great conclave of wise men! While on this side stands the bow, harder to break than adamant, on the other side we find a young prince, dark and delicate of frame!

How then, O god, can I be calm? Is a diamond ever pierced with the pointed end of a delicate sirisa flower? The judgement of the whole assembly has gone astray; now my only hope lies in you, O Shiva’s bow!

Impart your own heaviness to the assembly, and look at Raghunatha and be light yourself (in proportion to the delicate frame of Rama)’. so great was the agitation of Sita’s heart that a moment of time passed as slowly as a hundred ages.

As she looks, now at the Lord, and again at the ground, her restless eyes sparkled like Cupid’s two fishes swinging in the orb of the moon.

In her mouth her voice lay imprisoned as a bee in the lotus; it refused to stir out for fear of the night of modesty. Tears remained confined within the corner of her eyes like the gold a niggardly miser (which remains buried in a hidden nook of his house).