As the time of departure drew near, Rāma, ever mindful of duty and compassion, turned to Lakṣmaṇa and said, “So that our mother Kausalyā may rejoice in her offering, honor all the twice-born ones completely, Lakṣmaṇa.” Receiving his brother’s command, Lakṣmaṇa—foremost among men—personally distributed their wealth to the leading Brāhmaṇas, as if he were the very god of wealth himself. After this, Lakṣmaṇa addressed all their dependents, his voice trembling with emotion. He had provided each with generous gifts, ensuring their livelihoods would not wane in his absence. “Let neither my house nor Lakṣmaṇa’s be empty for any of you until my return,” Rāma assured them. He spoke thus to all those who relied on him, their hearts heavy with distress at his impending exile. Then, turning to the treasurer, Rāma instructed, “Bring forth my wealth.” The dependents brought out his treasure, and before their eyes appeared a truly impressive heap. Rāma, that tiger among men, together with Lakṣmaṇa, distributed this wealth among Brāhmaṇas, the young and the old, and all who were in need. Among those present was a tawny-haired Brāhmaṇa named Trijaṭa, of the Garga lineage. He lived by tilling the forest, always working with plough and spade. His young wife, gathering their children, spoke earnestly to him, for to her, as to all virtuous women, her husband was like a deity: “Set aside your plough and spade, and do as I say. Go present yourself to righteous Rāma—perhaps you will receive something.” Radiant like Bhrigu and Angiras, Trijaṭa made his way unhindered through the enclosures of the assembly, reaching up to the fifth, where none stopped him. Approaching Rāma, Trijaṭa spoke humbly, “Prince, mighty one, I am poor and have many children. I support myself only by tilling the forest. Please consider my plight.” Rāma, with a touch of gentle humor, replied, “Not even a single one of a thousand cows has yet been given by me. As many cows as you can encircle with your staff, that many shall be yours.” Eagerly, Trijaṭa wrapped his cloth tightly around his waist, seized his staff, and hurled it with all his strength. The staff flew from his hand, soared across the Sarayu river, and landed amidst a great herd of cows near the oxen. Rāma, righteous and compassionate, embraced Trijaṭa on the riverbank and led the herd of cows toward the Brāhmaṇa’s hermitage. Then Rāma spoke kindly to Trijaṭa, “Do not be angry; my words were only in jest. Truly, your power is remarkable and insurmountable. Wishing to witness it, I urged you in this way. Now, choose any other boon you desire. I speak truthfully: you shall not be denied. Whatever wealth of mine you wish, let it be given to you, so that I may gain both merit and fame.” Overjoyed, Trijaṭa, together with his wife, accepted the herd of cows and, in return, offered heartfelt blessings to Rāma, increasing his fame, strength, and happiness. Rāma, his manliness complete, continued distributing the wealth he had righteously acquired, giving generously among his friends, always guided by words of proper honor. Whether the recipient was a twice-born friend, a servant, or a poor beggar, no one left unsatisfied; each received gifts and honors as was fitting. Having thus honored the Brāhmaṇas and given away much wealth, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, accompanied by Sītā, prepared to see their father. Sītā, adorned with garlands and ornaments, shone with the two sons of Raghu, while their weapons were carried by attendants. As they walked through the city, people climbed to the rooftops of palaces, mansions, and towers, eager for a glimpse of the illustrious Rāma. The streets were so crowded that passage was impossible, so the sorrowful citizens gazed down from above as Rāghava passed. Seeing him on foot with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, the people’s hearts were overcome with grief, and they spoke among themselves in lamentation. “He whom once a mighty fourfold army followed is now accompanied only by Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā. He who knew the taste of sovereignty and all pleasures would never speak falsely, for his reverence for dharma is unwavering. Sītā, whom even the beings of the sky had never seen, is today visible to all upon the royal road. She, accustomed to fragrant ointments and red sandalwood, will soon lose her color under the heat and cold of the seasons.” “Surely today, King Daśaratha speaks as if possessed, for what king would banish his beloved son? How could there be exile even for a son lacking virtue—what then of one whose conduct alone has won the world? Compassion, kindness, learning, good character, self-restraint, and tranquility—these six virtues adorn Rāghava, foremost among men.” “Because of his suffering, the people are greatly distressed, like creatures in a drying pond during summer’s heat. The whole world is afflicted by the suffering of this lord, just as a tree is harmed when its root is injured. He is the root of mankind, the very essence of righteousness and radiant glory; the people are the flowers, fruits, leaves, and branches.” “Therefore, like Lakṣmaṇa, let us quickly follow Rāghava, together with our wives and relatives, wherever he goes.” Thus, with hearts full of sorrow and devotion, the people of Ayodhyā watched their beloved Rāma, Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa depart, their love and reverence unshaken even in the face of exile.