I reverence Shankara, the very root of the tree of righteousness, the full moon that brings joy to the ocean of wisdom, the sun that opens the lotus of dispassion, who dispels the thick darkness of sin and relieves of every distress, the heaven-born wind to scatter the massed clouds of delusion, the progency of Brahma and the destroyer of sin, the beloved of Lord Rama the king.

I worship him whose body is dark and beautiful like a rain-bearing cloud teeming with abundant delights; the yellow-apparelled and handsome; who carries a bow and arrows in his hands and has a beautiful, shining and well-equipped quiver fastened to his waist; with a pair of large lotus eyes and a tuft of matted locks on his head; the most glorious Rama, the delighter of all, travelling in the company of Sita and Lakshmana.

O Uma, Rama’s perfections are profound; the learned and the sage develop dispassion (when they appreciate them), but fools, who are hostile to Hari and have no love for righteousness, reap only delusion.

I have sung to the best of my ability the incomparable and charming devotion of the citizens and Bharata. Hear now the all-holy exploits of the Lord which he wrought in the forest, to the delight of gods and men and sages.

One day Rama plucked some lovely flowers and with his own hands wove them together into ornaments of several kinds, with which he reverently decked Sita, as he sat on a beautiful crystal rock.

The foolish son of the king of the gods took the form of a crow and wickedly thought to test Raghunatha’s might, like an ant so utterly dull-witted as to try to sound the depths of the ocean.

In its wretched stupidity the foolish crow (who was actuated by a certain motive) bit Sita in the foot with its beak and flew away. When the blood began to flow, Raghunatha saw it and fitted a read shaft to his bow.