It was the ninth day of the bright half of the sacred month of Caitra; the moon had entered the asterism named Abhijit, which is so dear to Ýr¶ Hari. The sun was at its meridian; the day was neither cold nor hot. It was a holy time which gave rest to the whole world. A cool, soft and fragrant breeze was blowing. The gods were feeling exhilarated and the saints were bubbling with enthusiasm. The woods were full of blossoms, the mountains were resplendent with gems and every river flowed a stream of nectar. When BrahmŒ perceived that the time of Ýr¶ RŒma’s birth had approached, all the gods came out with their aerial cars duly equipped. The bright heaven was crowded with their hosts and troops of Gandharvas chanted praises and rained down flowers placing them in their beautiful palms. The sky resounded with the beat of kettedrums. NŒgas, sages and gods offered praises and tendered their services in manifold ways. (1—4)