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The twenty-eighth festival was then celebrated with great enthusiasm. Rama, having donned his armor, lifted his bow and let out a mighty roar. The peacocks, mistaking the sound for the roar of thunderclouds, danced with joy, spreading their feathers in a wide circle. The sun, like a blazing wheel, shone brightly, and the sky seemed to be filled with golden dust. The gods in the heavens cried out, "Well done! Well done!" and many celestial beings danced, showering flowers.
Then Rama, with a mighty effort, drew back the bow, which had been made by the celestial smith, Atni, and which resonated with a sound that filled the entire universe. It was as if the bow was a wheel, spinning and turning. All the people, their senses overwhelmed, their minds filled with fear, felt as if they were caught in a whirlwind. Sita, her eyes shining brighter than a lotus petal stirred by the wind, gazed at Rama, her gaze like the arrow of Cupid. Her body trembled with excitement, and she wore a beautiful garland. With a shy smile, she approached Rama.
Standing beside Sita, Rama shone with such beauty that anyone who tried to compare him to anything else would be considered lacking in taste. He was truly incomparable. Having removed the bowstring, Rama sat down with Sita, his demeanor filled with humility. Sita, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement, felt a strange sense of wonder as she looked at Rama's face.
At that moment, Lakshmana, with a mighty roar, drew back his bow, Sagara-avarta, which sounded like a raging sea. The celestial beings, seeing Lakshmana aiming his arrow, cried out, "Oh, no! Oh, no!" and showered him with flowers. Rama, having drawn his bow, which was as strong as the celestial smith's hammer, and which resonated with a mighty sound, stood beside Sita, his demeanor filled with humility.