No one who takes my various apologies into account should blame me on hearing this story. Those who raise objections even then are more stupid and dull of wit than I.

I am no poet and have no pretensions to cleverness, but I sing the excellence of Rama according to the measure of my understanding. How unfathomable are his actions, how shallow my poor world-entangled intellect!

Tell me, of what account is a flock of cotton in the storm-wind before whose blast Mount Meru flies through the air? When I think of Rama’s infinite majesty, I hesitate, afraid to tell this story.

For Sarasvati, Shesha, Shiva and Brahma, the Vedas, the Puranas and the Agamas, all are unceasingly singing his perfection, yet can but say, ‘Not thus, not thus’.

Though all know the power of Rama to be thus unutterable, yet none can refrain from attempting to expound it. The Vedas have justified it thus: the effect of such worship has been said to be of various kinds.

God, who is one, desireless, formless, nameless and unborn, who is Truth, Consciousness and Bliss, who is Spirit Supreme, all-pervading, universal, has become incarnate and performed many deeds.

That he has done only for the good of his devotees; for he is supremely gracious and compassionate to the suppliant. He bestows his affectionate favour on his own, and in his mercy even refrains from anger (against those whom he loves).