After one more night on the road, the travellers come to Mithila, the city of King Janaka. “Splendid!” say the sages. At the king’s great yajna there are sages everywhere, and hundreds of carts. “Every place is full,” says Rama. So Vishvamitra finds a quiet camp by fresh water.

King Janaka hurries out to meet the sage. With joined palms, he asks, “Who are these two boys with bows and swords, who walk like young lions? Their hair is still as black as a crow’s wing.” “They are King Dasharatha’s sons,” says the sage. “They have come to see the great bow.”

The sage tells the king, “These boys saved my yajna from the demons.” Then the king’s priest tells of the sage’s great deeds. Janaka wants to listen all day, but the sun is going down. So the sage and the boys go back to their camp for the night.

In the morning, Janaka sends for them. “What can I do for you?” he asks. “Please show these boys your wonderful bow,” says the sage. “Long ago,” says Janaka, “the great god Shiva gave this bow to the gods, and they gave it to a king of my family to keep.”

“Later, I was ploughing a field to make it ready for a yajna. Up from the furrow came a baby girl! I named her Sita. She was not born like other babies. She came from the earth, and I raised her as my own dear daughter.”

“When Sita grew up, many kings came to ask for her. But I had said that only bravery could win her. So the kings came to test the great bow. Not one of them could even move it, or hold it!”

“The kings were angry. For a whole year they camped around Mithila, and our food ran low. At last the gods sent me an army, and the kings went away. Now I will show the bow to Rama and Lakshmana. If Rama can string it, I will give him my daughter Sita.”

“Let Rama see the bow,” says the sage. Janaka sends his ministers to fetch it. Out they come with a huge iron chest on eight wheels. Inside lies the bow, hung with garlands. Five thousand tall, strong men pull it, and even they can hardly move it!

“No god or demon could ever string this bow,” says Janaka. “How could any man?” At the sage’s word, Rama opens the lid of the chest. “May I hold it?” he asks. “I will try to lift it and aim with it.” The sage and the king both say yes.

Rama takes the bow by its middle, as if he is playing. Thousands of people are watching. Easily, he lifts it and strings it. He pulls the string back to his ear — and CRACK! The great bow breaks in two!

The sound is like thunder crashing down. The earth shakes, as if a mountain is bursting apart. Everyone falls down in a faint — everyone but the sage, the king, Rama and Lakshmana!

When the people wake up, Janaka joins his palms. “I have seen Rama’s strength with my own eyes,” he says. “I never hoped for this! My promise has come true. Sita, who is dearer to me than my life, will marry Rama.”

“Let my ministers ride fast to Ayodhya,” says Janaka, “and bring King Dasharatha here.” “So be it,” says the sage. Off go the messengers in their chariots. They ride for three nights, until their horses are worn out, and they reach Ayodhya.

The tired messengers see old King Dasharatha, shining like a god, and their worry goes away. “King Janaka will give his daughter Sita to your son Rama,” they say. “Please come quickly, and see your sons.” “We leave tomorrow!” says the happy king. That night, the messengers stay in Ayodhya.

At dawn, King Dasharatha sets out with Rama’s other brothers, Bharata and Shatrughna. Vasishta, the family’s wise priest, and other sages walk in front. Behind them come riches for the wedding, soldiers and chariots. For four days they travel, and at last they reach Janaka’s land.

King Janaka comes out to meet them, full of joy. “Welcome!” he says. “And welcome to the wise Vasishta and all these holy sages!” “You are the bride’s father, so you decide,” says Dasharatha. “Whatever you say, we will do.”

That night, the sages of both cities are happy together. Then Rama comes, with Lakshmana beside him and the sage in front, and he touches his father’s feet. How glad the old king is to see his two sons! King Janaka goes to sleep with his hand on his heart.

In the morning, Vasishta speaks for Rama’s family. He names its ancestors, back to Brahma, who made the worlds. Among them is King Bhagiratha, who brought the Ganga down from the sky! “A bride’s family must tell its whole line,” says Janaka, and he names his own.

“Sita for Rama, and my daughter Urmila for Lakshmana!” says Janaka. “I say it three times!” The wedding will be in two days, under a lucky star. For the wedding, Dasharatha gives thousands of cows for his four sons, each with her calf and gold on her horns. The night before the wedding, everyone rests.

In the morning, Rama and his brothers wear wedding jewels and holy threads on their wrists. Vasishta goes ahead to Janaka. “King Dasharatha and his sons are waiting for you,” he says. “Is a doorkeeper stopping you?” says Janaka. “This is your own home! My daughters are by the holy fire.”

Vasishta lights the holy fire among flowers and golden pots. Janaka brings Sita, shining in her wedding jewels, and stands her before Rama. “This is my daughter Sita,” he says. “She will stay by you like your own shadow. Take her hand in yours.”

Rama takes Sita’s hand. Flowers fall from the sky, and the gods’ drums sound. Then Lakshmana takes the hand of Sita’s sister Urmila. As the sage had asked, Bharata and Shatrughna take the hands of Mandavi and Shrutakirti, the daughters of Janaka’s brother.

Hand in hand, the four couples walk around the holy fire three times. Heavenly singers sing, and heavenly dancers dance. Then they go to their rooms, and old King Dasharatha cannot stop looking at his sons and their brides. Soon it will be time to go home to Ayodhya.