रामस्य सीतालक्ष्मणाभ्यां सह दण्डकारण्यप्रवेशः

In the previous sarga Sītā had told the whole story of her bridegroom-choice. In this last sarga the story is finished, evening is described, Sītā is adorned, the night is spent at the hermitage, and at dawn Rāma takes leave of the ascetics and enters the Daṇḍaka forest — and with that the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa itself comes to a close. Having heard that long story, Anasūyā, who knew righteousness, took Maithilī in her arms and kissed her head. "What you have told me is clear in every syllable and word, remarkable and sweet," she said, praising three qualities of the telling — clearness, variety and sweetness; "I have heard it all, just how the bridegroom-choice took place. I delight in your story, sweet-spoken girl; but the glorious sun has set, bringing on the auspicious night." Joy ends not by choice but because time moves on.

Then Anasūyā painted the evening itself, showing the hermitage at dusk in six verses. "The birds that were scattered all day in search of food have settled in their nests, and their sound is heard as they go to sleep. Here come the sages together, wet from bathing, their bark garments soaked, carrying their water-pots raised. The sage has made the fire-offering as the rule requires, and the smoke, driven up by the wind, shows grey-red like a pigeon's neck. The trees, though pale in colour, have grown dense all round, and in the distance, beyond the reach of the senses, the quarters give no light. Creatures of the night are roaming everywhere, while the deer of the ascetic grove lie down near the altars" — the fierce abroad and the gentle at rest in the same hour. "Night has come, Sītā, adorned with stars, and the moon, wrapped in his own moonlight, has risen in the sky." The image of moonlight as the moon's cloak is especially lovely. This description is more than ornament: because Anasūyā herself describes the dusk, it prepares for her giving leave — rather than saying "the time is past, go now", she suggests it through the scene, and that is the poet's gentleness. The six verses follow one order: birds, then sages, then the smoke of the offering, then trees and quarters, then deer and night creatures, and last the moon in the sky — the eye rising step by step from the nest to the heavens.

"Go now, I give you leave, and attend on Rāma," said Anasūyā; "your sweet telling has pleased me too." A guest does not leave of her own accord but when given leave, and so the rule of respect for elders was kept. "But first adorn yourself here before my eyes, Maithilī; give me the joy, my child, of seeing you shining in these heavenly ornaments." Wanting to see her gift worn is the mark of a mother's love. Then Sītā, like a daughter of the gods, adorned herself, bowed her head at Anasūyā's feet, and went towards Rāma.

Rāghava, best of speakers, saw Sītā adorned like this and rejoiced at the ascetic woman's gift of love. Then Maithilī told Rāma all about the gift — the garments, the ornaments and the garlands — for what a wife receives should be told to her husband. Rāma and the great warrior Lakṣmaṇa were delighted to see such honour paid to Maithilī, honour very hard to come by among men, for this gift was born of the power of austerity, not of the world. Then Raghu's son, honoured by all the ascetics, spent that holy night contentedly, a night whose face was like the moon. It was the most peaceful night of the exile, for in the next kāṇḍa the fighting with the rākṣasas begins. Rāma's joy lay not in the things themselves but in the ascetic's love; in the forest, ornaments were not for display but a way of carrying an elder's blessing.

When that night had passed, the two tigers among men bathed and took leave of the forest-dwelling ascetics, who had already made their fire-offerings. Those forest-dwelling ascetics, who walked in righteousness, told them that the paths of that forest were overrun by rākṣasas: "Man-eating rākṣasas of many shapes live in this great wilderness, Rāghava, and blood-drinking beasts of prey. In this great forest they devour any ascetic or Vedic student who is unclean or off his guard; hold them back, Rāghava. This is the path the great seers take when gathering fruit in the forest; by this path you can enter the difficult forest." The ascetics made two requests, protection and guidance, and the first is the seed of the Araṇya Kāṇḍa, for Rāma's vow to destroy the rākṣasas begins there. "Unclean or off his guard" names the ascetics' moments of weakness, when they are most exposed to attack.

The last verse is in a longer metre. Told this by the brahmin ascetics with folded hands, and blessed by them for a safe journey, Rāghava, scorcher of foes, entered the forest with his wife and with Lakṣmaṇa, like the sun entering a mass of cloud. The image has two sides: the sun entering the clouds seems hidden for a moment, but its brightness is not lost; so Rāma, entering the Daṇḍaka forest, passes from the world's sight but not from his splendour. With this verse the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa ends, and the first sarga of the Araṇya Kāṇḍa takes up the story without a break, with the self-possessed Rāma entering the great Daṇḍaka forest.