Overwhelmed with sorrow, the queen Manoramā, holding her young son close, called Vidalla aside in private. Tears streaming down her face and her heart heavy with grief, she confided in him, “My father has been slain in battle, and this child is my only son. King Yudhājit is powerful and relentless—tell me, what should I do now?” Vidalla replied with urgency, “We cannot remain here any longer. Let us flee at once to the forest near Varanasi. There, your maternal uncle, the renowned and powerful Subahu, dwells. He will surely grant us protection. With your mind set on seeing Yudhājit, you must leave this city without delay. Mount the chariot and depart—there is no doubt this is the only way.” Heeding Vidalla’s counsel, Manoramā approached Lilavati and said, “O fair-eyed one, today I am going to see my father.” With these words, she mounted the chariot, accompanied by her loyal maid and Vidalla, and left the city behind. Haunted by fear and weighed down by grief for her slain father, Manoramā pressed on. Along the way, she caught sight of King Yudhājit and her father, now lifeless on the battlefield. With trembling hands and a heart full of dread, she hastily performed the funeral rites. In just two days, she reached the banks of the sacred Bhagirathi. But calamity struck again. There, ruthless robbers of the Nishada tribe attacked, seizing all their wealth and even their chariot. Weeping, yet adorned in beautiful garments, Manoramā gathered her son in her arms and, supported by her faithful maid, continued along the banks of the Jahnavi. Driven by fear, she quickly boarded a boat, crossed the holy Bhagirathi river, and journeyed on to Mount Trikuta. Hurrying through the forest, her heart pounding, she finally reached the hermitage of the sage Bharadvāja. There, in the presence of the ascetics, her fears began to subside. The venerable sage Bharadvāja approached her and asked gently, “Who are you, noble lady? Whose wife are you, and how did you come to this forest with such difficulty? Speak the truth, O pure-smiling one. Are you a goddess or a human, dwelling here with your young son? O lotus-eyed one, why do you appear as if deprived of your kingdom?” Overcome by sorrow, Manoramā could not speak. Instead, she wept silently and signaled to Vidalla to reply. Vidalla then spoke respectfully, “This is Manoramā, the lawful wife of King Dhruvasandhi of the illustrious Solar dynasty, who was slain by a lion. This boy is their son, Sudarśana. Her father, supremely righteous, died in battle for the sake of his grandson. Terrified by Yudhājit, she has sought refuge in this lonely forest with her young son. O revered sage, you alone are her protector. It is said that protecting the afflicted brings merit greater than sacrifice; especially when one rescues the fearful and destitute, the reward is supreme.” The sage Bharadvāja replied with compassion, “Live here without fear, O auspicious one. Care for your son, O virtuous lady; you need not fear any threat from enemies. Tend to your beloved son—he will become king one day. Here, neither sorrow nor suffering shall befall you.” Thus comforted by the sage’s words, Manoramā regained her composure. Dwelling in the hut provided by the sage, she lived free from grief. There, together with her maidservants and Vidalla, Manoramā cared for her son Sudarśana, finding solace in their humble life. Meanwhile, back in Ayodhyā, Yudhājit, mighty in battle, returned from war and inquired urgently about Manoramā, intent on eliminating Sudarśana. He sent servants repeatedly to discover her whereabouts. Then, on an auspicious day, he seated his own grandson on the throne. With ministers and the sage Vasiṣṭha, and with sacred Atharvan mantras, the new king was consecrated with jars of pure water. The city of Ayodhyā erupted in celebration. The sounds of drums, conches, and musical instruments filled the air. Priests chanted the Vedas, bards sang praises, and the people rejoiced with shouts of victory and auspicious cries. The city, vibrant and prosperous, seemed renewed under the new king. Yet, among the righteous citizens, there was silent sorrow. Remaining in their homes, they grieved and wondered, “Where has Sudarśana, the prince, gone today? Where is the supremely virtuous Manoramā, together with her son? Her father was slain in battle by an enemy greedy for the kingdom.” Thus, afflicted by sorrow and under the rule of Shatrujit, these just men remained, pondering the fate of the rightful heirs. Having installed his grandson and entrusted the kingdom to his ministers, Yudhājit returned to his own city. But upon hearing that Sudarśana was staying at the hermitage of the sages, Yudhājit’s wrath flared anew. He quickly set out for Mount Chitrakūṭa, intent on killing the boy. Placing the valiant king of the Niṣādas at the head of his army, he advanced swiftly toward Durdarśa, the lord of Śṛṅgaverapura. When Manoramā heard of Yudhājit’s approach, her heart was seized with terror for her young son. Overwhelmed by intense grief, tears filled her eyes as she turned to the sage and pleaded, “What shall I do now? Where shall I go, with Yudhājit upon us? My father was slain by his hand, and he has made his grandson king. Now, he comes here with his forces, intent on killing my son.” Thus, Manoramā’s tale unfolded—marked by fear, flight, and faith—her hope resting in the protection of the noble sage and the uncertain future of her son, Sudarśana.