There is, Lord, just one boon I carve; grant it in your mercy, O Rama. May my love for your lotus feet, O Lord, never grow less in all my future births.’

So speaking, the sage Vasishtha returned home, and the all-compassionate Rama was greatly pleased with him at heart. Then, being ever gracious to his servants, he took with him Hanuman, Bharata and his other brothers (Lakshmana and Shatrughna)

and in his benignity went outside the city and ordered elephants, chariots and horses to be immediately brought. Reviewing them with kindness, he praised them all, and then distributed them among the people, giving each person the one that he wished.

The Lord, the reliever of all fatigue, himself grew weary and retired to the cool shade of a mango grove, where Bharata spread his own robe. There the Lord took his seat, with all his brothers in attendance,

While the Son of the Wind fanned him, the hair of his body bristling with delight and with eyes streaming with tears. There is no one, O Girija, so blessed as Hanuman, no one so devoted to Rama’s lotus feet! How often has the Lord with his own lips extolled his love and devotion!

At that time came Narada the sage, lute in hand, and began to hymn Rama’s fair renown, that ageless theme.

O Lotus-eyed, look upon me! In your great compassion turn to me, O destroyer of grief! Dark of hue as the dark-blue lotus, O Hari, you sip like a bee the honey of the lotus heart of Shiva, the destroyer of Cupid