As Rama prepared to depart, Trijaṭa, a humble man burdened with poverty and many children, came before him and spoke earnestly. “Prince, mighty one, I am poor and have many children,” he said, his voice filled with hope. “I always live by tilling the forest; please consider me.” Rama, with a gentle smile and a touch of humor, replied, “Not even a single one of a thousand cows has been given by me; as much as you encircle with your staff, that much you shall receive.” Eager to seize the opportunity, Trijaṭa quickly wrapped his cloth around his waist, grasped his staff, and hurled it with all his strength. The staff soared through the air, crossing over the Sarayu river, and landed amidst a great herd of cows, near the oxen. Rama, righteous and compassionate, embraced Trijaṭa on the riverbank and led the cows toward Trijaṭa’s hermitage. Then Rama spoke gently to the descendant of Garga, consoling him, “You should not be angry; this was only a jest of mine. Indeed, this is your power, which is insurmountable. Wishing to know it, I urged you for this very reason. Now, choose any other boon you desire. I declare truthfully, you shall not be restrained by me. Whatever wealth of mine you wish, let it be properly given to you, so that I may gain both merit and fame.” The great sage Trijaṭa, together with his wife, joyfully accepted the herd of cows. In gratitude, he offered Rama blessings that increased the prince’s fame, strength, and happiness. Rama, whose manliness was complete, then distributed the wealth he had righteously acquired among his friends, prompted by words of proper honor. Whether a twice-born friend, a servant, or a poor beggar—none were left unsatisfied, each receiving gifts and honors befitting their station. Now, listen to the thirty-third sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Having bestowed much wealth upon the brāhmaṇas, Rama and Lakṣmaṇa, together with Vaidehī Sītā, set out to see their father. Their weapons were carried by two attendants, and Sītā, adorned with garlands and ornaments, shone brightly at their side. As they walked, the people of Ayodhyā climbed onto palaces, mansions, and the tops of towers, eager to catch a glimpse of the illustrious Rama. The streets were so crowded that passage was impossible, so from the rooftops, the sorrowful citizens watched as Rāghava passed by. Seeing Rama on foot, accompanied only by his brother and Sītā, the people’s hearts were overcome by grief, and they spoke many words among themselves. “He whom once a great fourfold army followed—now only Lakṣmaṇa follows him, together with Sītā. He, who knew the taste of sovereignty and was a great source of pleasures, would never speak falsely, out of reverence for dharma. She whom even beings moving in the sky could not see before—today, the people on the royal road behold Sītā. Sītā, 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 by some spirit; for a king should not banish his beloved son. How could there be exile even for a son lacking virtues? What then of one whose conduct alone has won over the world?” They praised Rama’s virtues: compassion, kindness, learning, good character, self-restraint, and tranquility—these six adorned Rāghava, the foremost among men. The people’s distress was great, like creatures suffering in summer from the drying up of ponds. All the world was afflicted by Rama’s suffering, just as a tree bearing flowers and fruit is harmed by injury to its root. Rama was indeed the root of mankind, the essence of righteousness, radiant in glory; the flowers, fruits, leaves, and branches were the other people. Moved by his plight, the people declared, “Therefore, like Lakṣmaṇa, let us quickly follow Rāghava, together with our wives and relatives, wherever he goes. Abandoning gardens, fields, and homes, united in joy and sorrow, let us follow Rama, the righteous one. Let the treasures stored in the sea, the ruined courtyards, the gathered wealth and grain, all lose their value completely. Covered in dust, abandoned by the gods, overrun by mice darting about and filled with their holes. Devoid of water and smoke, lacking proper cleaning, with lost taxes, sacrifices, mantras, offerings, and recitations. Broken as if by a harsh season, with shattered vessels, abandoned by us—let Kaikeyī take possession of these houses. Let the forest become the city, wherever Rāghava goes; and the city abandoned by us become the forest.” They envisioned the animals fleeing the forests in fear of the people, and the land of grass, meat, fruit, and wild beasts and birds being left behind for Kaikeyī and her kin, while they themselves would live happily in the forest with Rama. Rama heard these words, spoken by many people, but his mind remained unshaken. With a stride like an intoxicated elephant, the righteous one approached his mother’s palace, shining like the peak of Mount Kailāsa.