The hero Rāma, his heart uplifted, turned to his brother Lakṣmaṇa and spoke with joy, “O son of Sumitrā, truly, I am blessed by Brahmā, the god of gods.” Inspired by this divine favor, Rāma declared his intention: “Here, let us establish a hermitage, Lakṣmaṇa. I wish to undertake a vow for one month, seeking supreme purification of the body.” Lakṣmaṇa agreed, and so the vow was observed in full, with offerings of piṇḍa and other gifts, and with the śrāddha rites performed for the ancestors. At Puṣkara, Rāma duly satisfied the forefathers, making offerings at the sacred waters—Kanakā, Suprabhā, Nandā, and the eastern Sarasvatī. The five-streamed river at Puṣkara, known to grant satisfaction to the ancestors, received his reverent worship, just as his forefathers had done before him. Having fulfilled these duties, Rāma addressed Lakṣmaṇa: “Come, Lakṣmaṇa, quickly bring water from Puṣkara. After washing your feet, make your bed upon the bedding. When the night has passed, we will set out for the southern direction.” Lakṣmaṇa, however, brought water for Sītā and spoke with a troubled heart: “Rāma, I do not serve you as a servant at all times. Your wife here is well-nourished and robust—tell me, what do you intend for her? Will this beloved of yours follow you after death? You always protect her, and she is always well cared for. Yet she, cheerful as she is, 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 thirst and hunger, without doubt; consider this also for the next world. No one is seen to follow the dead—not wife, not son, not wealth; so say the wise.” Lakṣmaṇa continued, “Your father, Rāma, died after giving up the kingdom and sending you to the forest, to fulfill Kaikeyī’s desire. Kaikeyī remains, along with the wealth and all the relatives; but King Daśaratha alone has gone on his final journey. I think Sītā will certainly not go with you; tell me, Rāghava, what will you do with her?” Hearing these words, which Lakṣmaṇa had never spoken before, Rāma stood silent and dejected, and Sītā too, her lovely face clouded with sorrow. Then Sītā quietly did all that Lakṣmaṇa had said; after bathing and eating, the two brothers, heroes with lotus-like eyes, rested. The night passed there, and at dawn their minds turned to departure. Rāma called, “Come, rise, O Saumitri, let us go to the southern direction.” But Lakṣmaṇa 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 return to Ayodhyā without me, O king, you must come back by this path. If I am alive at that time, I will return again 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.” Lakṣmaṇa continued, “The kingdom of Ayodhyā, inherited from our fathers and grandfathers, is ruled by the king; both Śatrughna and Bharata remain ready to carry out your command. 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.” Thus speaking, the descendant of Raghu addressed Saumitri. He added, “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?” Yet Lakṣmaṇa insisted: “I will not go to the forest again.” Seeing his brother’s resolve, Rāma spoke gently, “Do not follow me, Saumitri; I will go to the forest alone. My second companion is Sītā.” Thus Rāma spoke, and Lakṣmaṇa replied in turn. At last, Lakṣmaṇa rose, accepting Rāma’s words. The two brothers, destroyers of foes, reached the boundary of the sacred region, the mountain of propriety. There, Rāma, bowing with eightfold prostration, saluted the three-eyed Lord—fragrance-less, god of gods, Pinākin. Standing with palms joined, his body thrilled with devotion, Rāma praised Śaṅkara, beloved of Pārvatī. Attaining a pure, sattvic state, with all passion and darkness dispelled, Rāma understood the Lord, the cause of the worlds, the chief of the gods. He prayed, “He who is the maker of this entire world, of all that moves and does not move, who gives pleasure and pain to all, who is the cause of dissolution at the end of time—unto that Śaṅkara, giver of refuge, I seek refuge. He who once bore upon his head the pure, beautiful, restless waters of the Gaṅgā, falling from the sky, turbulent with great waves, as if a garland of swaying flowers—unto that Śaṅkara, giver of refuge, I seek refuge. He whose lotus feet held steady the summit of Mount Kailāsa, shaken by the ten-headed one, resembling the peak of Kailāsa—unto that Śaṅkara, giver of refuge, I seek refuge. He who, again and again in battle, defeated the sons of Danu, the hosts of Vidyādharas and serpents with all their boons, and united the great sages, eaters of fruits and roots—unto that Śaṅkara, giver of refuge, I seek refuge.