Lakshmana, standing before Rama, spoke with firm resolve, “I will not go to the forest again.” Perceiving his brother’s determination, Rama gently replied, “Do not follow me, Saumitri; I will go to the forest alone. Sita shall be my companion.” Hearing these words, Lakshmana accepted Rama’s will, rose, and together—the two destroyers of foes—reached the boundary of the sacred region, the mountain of propriety. There, Rama, with deep reverence, performed eightfold prostrations, bowing before the three-eyed Lord—Shiva, the fragrance-less, the god of gods, Pinākin. Standing with palms joined, his body thrilled with devotion, Rama praised Shankara, beloved of Parvati, with a heart purified of passion and darkness, his mind serene and sattvic. In that clarity, Rama recognized the Lord as the cause of all worlds, the chief among the gods. Rama prayed: “To that Shankara, the maker of the entire world—of all that moves and does not move, who bestows pleasure and pain, and is the cause of dissolution at the end of time—I seek refuge. To him who once bore upon his head the pure, beautiful, restless waters of the Ganga, falling from the sky in great waves like a garland of swaying flowers—I seek refuge. To him whose lotus feet steadied the summit of Mount Kailasa, shaken by the ten-headed one, I seek refuge. To him who, time and again, vanquished the sons of Danu, the Vidyādharas, and serpents with all their boons, and united the great sages, I seek refuge. “To him who, at Daksha’s sacrifice, destroyed the eyes of Bhaga and Pūṣan, cast down their teeth, and paralyzed Indra’s thunderbolt-wielding hand—I seek refuge. To him whom even the sinful and those attached to sense objects, though lacking knowledge or virtue, when they seek him become enjoyers of happiness—I seek refuge. To him whose birth was unparalleled, whose brilliance equaled countless suns, who struck terror into gods and demons, and who drank the blazing Kālakūṭa poison—I seek refuge. “To that blessed Maheśa, who has granted boons to Brahmā, Indra, Rudra, the Maruts, and Six-faced Kārttikeya, who rescued Nandi from death—I seek refuge. To him worshipped by Dhūmavrata in the groves of Himavat, who revealed the Sanjīvanī secret to the great-souled Bhṛgu—I seek refuge. To him worshipped by hosts of attendants at Dakṣa’s sacrifice—by Gaṇas with faces like elephants, monkeys, and cats, by spirits and the guardians of the worlds—I seek refuge. “To him, shining white as conch, moon, and jasmine, riding the mighty bull, accompanied by the mountain’s daughters, moving through the sky adorned with storm clouds—I seek refuge. To him who protected the peaceful sage, devoted to restraint and discipline, when fierce men dragged him—because of the sage’s devotion—I seek refuge. To him who, with his left hand and the nail of his lotus-finger, cut off Brahmā’s fifth head before the gods—I seek refuge. “To him at whose feet, when worshipped with pure words and devotion, the radiant sun dispels darkness—I seek refuge. Those who do not recognize you as the supreme teacher of the gods and lord of all creation, bound by pride and false doctrines, later suffer due to their impure hearts.” As Rama thus praised him, the trident-bearing, bull-bannered Lord Shiva appeared, joyful and pleased, and addressed Rāghava: “Rama, I am pleased with you; may good befall you. You are born in a pure lineage and are worthy of the world’s worship—a god assuming human form. Because you are the protector, the gods will enjoy happiness for many ages, especially after fourteen years have passed. Those mortals who behold you when you return to Ayodhyā will find happiness on earth and dwell eternally in heaven. After accomplishing the great task of the gods, you will return to your city.” Having bowed to the god, Rāghava quickly departed. Reaching the river on Indra’s path, Rama bound up his matted hair and said to Lakshmana, “Give me my bow.” Hearing this, Lakshmana, distressed, turned to Sita and asked, “Why, O lady, has Rama abandoned me without cause? I do not know what offense I have committed that the great-armed Rama, in anger, has abandoned me. Surely, I will give up my life. I have no purpose in living; shame on me, a disgrace to my lineage, for arousing the noble one’s anger. To which worlds shall I go, condemned by the great-souled? I have not wronged Rama by deed, thought, or word. O Devi, I touch your feet—there is no other refuge for me.” Sita then spoke to Rama: “Why have you abandoned your younger brother? Let this unfairness be set aside, O child, for Lakshmana, the increaser of fortune.” Raghava replied gently, “I will not abandon Lakshmana; not even in a dream would I disregard his counsel, dearest. And, O lovely-hipped one, I have heard before of the conduct in this land; here, all people are truly intent only upon their own interests. They do not see one another, nor heed words for their own benefit; sons do not listen to fathers, nor fathers to sons. Disciples do not heed the teacher’s words, nor teachers those of the disciple; affection is bound to gain, and no one is dear to anyone.” Thus speaking, Rama reached the great river Reva. With his brother and Sita, he performed the sacred ablution. Offering water to his ancestors and to the deities, and gazing repeatedly at the sun, he stood with his mind concentrated upon the gods. Having completed the ablutions, Rama shone forth, Sita and Lakshmana at his side. Along with the daughter of the mountain and with Guha, the blessed one entered his dwelling.