Pada 117
The groom boasts very grandly, friend—his wedding party makes even grander claims! No one in Mithila has ever seen so strange a procession. From the very beginning Brahma became his father-in-law; everyone knows the wisdom of this clan. The Vedas themselves proclaim him the ancient, unborn Purusha. His relative by marriage is “ten,” and he too is a “chariot”; his lady relative is “seven times seven.” Each one of them creates seventy disturbances apiece. The wedding guests have remained here for three months, while their wives at home spend the night counting stars, wondering when their husbands will return. Ganga is named among the women of his line and Sarayu among the forefathers—what a reversal! One is a shameless sinner, yet a mere dip in her instantly purifies the body. Every fault became an ornament the moment this family gained kinship with Sita. Mod cries “Victory!” in delight, while the gods shower flowers from heaven's wish-fulfilling tree.
Pada 118
Dear honored guest, please dine according to your taste, and forgive every error, remembering the women of Ayodhya. We have not managed to prepare any dish truly worthy of you; thinking of this, my heart is embarrassed. Hearing the artless sincerity of our feeling, let your own gentle nature awaken again and again with delight. If any article seems displeasing, let me know as soon as you recognize it, and merely set a morsel aside. I am ashamed to speak even these few words—why are you famed as the supremely compassionate one? Do not be shy; follow the custom of your own household, O wise son who gives such happiness to the saints. Mod presents this humble entreaty; Sita's beloved shines as he listens from behind the screen.