In this act her uplifted hands shone as if a pair of lotuses o their stems were timidly investing the moon with a wreath of victory. At this charming sight her companions broke into a song, while Sita cast the wreath of victory on Rama’s breast.

When they saw the wreath of victory on Rama’s bosom, the gods rained down flowers; and the kings all shrank into themselves like lilies at the rising of the sun.

There rounded strains of music both in the city and in the heavens; the wicked were downcast, the virtuous beamed with joy, Gods, Kinnaras, men, Nagas and great sages uttered blessings, crying, ‘Glory! Glory! Glory!’

Celestial nymphs danced and sang and handfuls of flowers fell in unending showers. Here and there the Brahmans chanted the Vedas and panegyrists recited songs of praise.

The glad news spread through earth and hell and heaven that Rama had broken the bow and won the hand of Sita. The people of the city waved festal lights round the pair. Regardless of their means they lavished gifts in profusion.

The pair of Rama and Sita shone as if Beauty and Love had met together in human form. ‘Sita, clasp your lord’s feet,’ whispered her companions, but Sita was much too afraid to touch his feet.

She remembered the fate of Gautama’s wife, Ahalya, and refrained from touching his feet with her hands; the jewel of the house of Raghu inwardly smiled when he saw her transcendent devotion.