Sītā’s heart was heavy as she gazed at Rāma, her mind troubled by memories of her past. “How can I bring myself to offer such a thing to him,” she thought, “when once the king saw me adorned in every ornament? I remember standing behind him, fanning him with a yak-tail fan, my hands graceful and my body radiant. How can I now, covered in sweat and dust, bear to face the lord of the earth?” She reflected on her own suffering and her mother’s fate: “Surely, Mother, you have reached heaven, saved by your son, after witnessing me—an innocent, sorrowful girl—tormented in the forest. If the king were to see me in this state, he would be grieved, O Rāghava, and I would be lost. Rāma, you are as dear to me as my own life; there is nothing I would hide from you.” With a heart full of truth and devotion, Sītā touched Rāma’s feet, affirming her love and sincerity. Hearing her gentle words, Rāghava’s heart was gladdened. He drew Sītā to his lap and embraced her respectfully. There, the heroes ate their meal together, and afterwards, Jānakī also ate. That night, they remained in that place. When the thousand-rayed sun rose, the Rāghavas prepared to depart. They journeyed westward, traveling a krośa until they reached the elder Puṣkara, where Rāghava stayed on the eastern side. There, a divine voice spoke to Rāma: “O Rāghava, blessings to you! This is a rare and holy place. Stand here and purify yourself, for you have a divine task ahead—divine enemies must be slain by you.” Rāma’s heart filled with joy. He turned to Lakṣmaṇa, saying, “O son of Sumitrā, the god of gods, Brahmā, has favored me here. At this place, let us establish a hermitage. I wish to undertake a vow for one month, Lakṣmaṇa, for the supreme purification of the body.” Lakṣmaṇa agreed, and Rāma completed the vow with offerings, piṇḍa, and śrāddha rites for the ancestors. He duly satisfied the ancestors at Puṣkara, with the sacred waters of Kanakā, Suprabhā, Nandā, and the eastern Sarasvatī. The five-streamed river at Puṣkara grants satisfaction to the ancestors, and Rāma performed the ancestral worship as his forefathers had done. When these rites were finished, Rāma said to Lakṣmaṇa, “Come, Lakṣmaṇa, quickly bring water from Puṣkara. After washing your feet, make your bed and rest; when the night has passed, we shall go south.” But Lakṣmaṇa, bringing water for Sītā, replied, “Rāma, I do not serve you as a servant at all times. Your wife is well-nourished and robust—tell me, what will you do with her? Will this beloved of yours follow you after death? You always protect her, and she is always well cared for. She, being cheerful, constantly troubles me, O best of the Raghus, and you too, Rāma, cause me distress—this brings harm in the next world. For your sake, I always endure hunger and thirst—there is no doubt; consider this also for the next world. No one is seen to have followed the dead—not wife, son, or wealth; so say the wise.” He continued, “Your father, Rāma, died after giving up the kingdom and sending you to the forest to fulfill Kaikeyī’s wish. Kaikeyī remains with all the wealth and relatives, but King Daśaratha alone has gone on his final journey. I do not think Sītā will go with you—tell me, Rāghava, what will you do with her?” Hearing these words, which Lakṣmaṇa had never spoken before, Rāghava stood dejected, and Sītā too was downcast. Yet Sītā did as Lakṣmaṇa had said; after bathing and eating, the two brothers, their eyes like lotus petals, rested. They passed the night there, and then prepared to depart. “Come, rise, O Saumitri, let us go south,” Rāma said. But Saumitri replied, “I will not go under any circumstances; you go with your wife, O lotus-eyed one. I will not go to another forest, nor to Ayodhyā, O Rāghava; I will remain in this forest for fourteen years. If you do not go to Ayodhyā without me, O king, you must return by this path. If I am alive at that time, I will return to my father’s city. I will practice austerity—what will you do with me? Go, gentle one, may your path be auspicious and free from obstacles; I shall see you again, returned with your wife, O lotus-eyed one.” He continued, “The kingdom of Ayodhyā, inherited from fathers and grandfathers, is ruled by the king; both Śatrughna and Bharata remain ready to serve you. But I am opposed to you, especially during your stay in the forest; day and night, O scorcher of foes, I am constantly so. I am unable to perform the task; go, gentle one, as you wish.” Rāma addressed Saumitri, “How did you leave Ayodhyā earlier together with me? I will dwell in the forest, O Rāma, for nine years and five more. But I will not live anywhere, even in heaven, separated from you; whatever fate is yours, O tiger among men, that shall be mine as well. Grant me your favor; lead me also, O descendant of Raghu. Now, halfway along the path, how will you remain, O destroyer of enemies?” Thus, in the holy land of Puṣkara, the hearts of Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā were tested, and their devotion, love, and sense of duty shone forth amidst the challenges of exile.