शत्रुघ्नस्य अयोध्यागमनं पुनःप्रस्थानं च

Śatrughna had gone to his lodging after hearing the song of Rāma, and as that tiger among men lay there, sleep would not come to him; he lay pondering that matchless song of Rāma with its many meanings, Rāma's sorrows, Sītā's abandonment, the brothers' service, all turning over in his mind. Listening to its sweet sound, keeping time with the strings, for the singing seems to have gone on into the night, the great-souled Śatrughna found that the night passed quickly. When it had dawned and he had performed his morning rites, he said to the bull among sages with joined palms, "Lord, I wish to see Rāghava, the delight of the Raghus. With your leave I would like to go on, with these companions who are firm in their vows." As Śatrughna, destroyer of foes, spoke, Vālmīki embraced him, blessed him and sent the Rāghava on his way. The sage said nothing about the song, keeping his secret, and Śatrughna did not ask, holding himself to what he had told his soldiers.

Saluting the best of sages, he mounted a shining chariot and went swiftly to Ayodhyā, eager to see Rāghava after twelve years apart. The glorious delight of Ikṣvāku's line entered the lovely city, and the mighty-armed prince went in to where Rāma of great splendour was. He saw Rāma among his ministers, his face like the full moon, like thousand-eyed Indra among the immortals; the image conveys Rāma's royal grandeur, surrounded by counsellors as Indra is by the gods. Saluting the great-souled Rāma, who seemed to blaze with splendour, Śatrughna joined his palms and spoke to him, whose valour was true; even after twelve years, and a king himself, he stood before his elder with joined palms. The poet draws the moment of meeting briefly but with feeling. And the reader, knowing that Śatrughna had just come from the hermitage where Rāma's sons lived, and that he said nothing of it to Rāma, keeping the sage's secret, sees the scene with a double feeling.

"Great king," Śatrughna said, "I have done all that you commanded. That wicked Lavaṇa is slain, and his city has been settled." His report as a servant was brief and clear; he said nothing of his own valour. Then he opened his heart. "These twelve years have passed without you, delight of the Raghus, and I cannot bear to live apart from you any longer, O king. So be gracious to me, Kākutstha of boundless valour; I will not live far away for long, like a calf without its mother." The image of a motherless calf is deeply moving: Rāma was like a mother to him. Śatrughna was ready to give up the comforts of kingship to live near Rāma, a devotion like Bharata's. Gaining a kingdom had meant only separation for him, which is why he had earlier regarded his consecration as a punishment. His plea not to live far away any more shows the tension between a king's duty and a brother's love.

As Śatrughna spoke, Rāma embraced him and said, "Do not despair, hero; this is not how a kṣatriya behaves. Kings do not lose heart when they live far from home, Rāghava, for subjects must be protected according to a kṣatriya's dharma." With his affection Rāma reminded him of his duty: a king's first task is to protect his people, not his own happiness. "Come to Ayodhyā from time to time to see me, hero, best of men, and then go back to your own city. You are dearer to me than life itself, there is no doubt of it; but a kingdom must be looked after. So stay with me for seven nights, Kākutstha, and then go back to Madhurā with your servants, army and mounts." In Rāma's words love and duty are balanced: he did not leave Śatrughna disappointed, but partly granted his wish with a seven-night stay, and his permission to come from time to time kept the door of affection open. Rāma himself had given up Sītā for the sake of duty, so his counsel came from experience; and "dearer than life" consoled his brother's heart. This is the essence of a king's duty: the king is the servant of his people, not of his own comfort.

Hearing Rāma's words, righteous and welcome to his heart, since they let him stay seven nights, Śatrughna still said only "So be it," in a sad voice, troubled at the thought of parting again. As Rāghava had ordered, the great archer Kākutstha stayed there for seven nights and then made ready to go. He took leave of the great-souled Rāma, true in valour, and of Bharata and Lakṣmaṇa, and mounted his great chariot. The great-souled Lakṣmaṇa and Bharata followed him a long way on foot, and then Śatrughna went quickly to his city, Madhurā. That the elder brothers walked so far beside him is an ideal of brotherly love: even at a younger brother's departure the elders showed him honour. Seven days with Rāma was a short time, but enough to nourish their love, and Śatrughna, obedient, went back to his duty as Rāma had taught him. This sarga closes Śatrughna's story; in the next the narrative turns to the death of a brahmin's son during Rāma's reign.