A humble man who lived by tilling the forest approached Rāma and pleaded, “Please consider me.” Hearing this, Rāma replied with a gentle humor, “I have never given away even a single one of a thousand cows; whatever you can encircle with your staff, that much shall be yours.” Eagerly, the man tied his cloth tightly around his waist, seized his staff, and, summoning all his strength, hurled it far. The staff soared through the air, crossed over the Sarayu river, and landed amidst a great herd of cows, right near the oxen. Rāma, the righteous one, embraced him warmly on the riverbank and then led the cows to the hermitage of the sage Trijaṭa. Speaking kindly to that descendant of Garga, Rāma consoled him, “Do not be angry; it was only a jest. Truly, your power is insurmountable. I wished to see it for myself, and that is why I encouraged you. Now, choose any other boon you wish.” With sincerity, Rāma continued, “I promise, I will not restrain you. Whatever of my wealth you desire, let it be given to you properly, so that I may gain both merit and fame.” The great sage Trijaṭa, overjoyed, accepted the herd of cows along with his wife, and in return, offered blessings that increased Rāma’s fame, strength, and happiness. Rāma, whose manliness was without peer, distributed the wealth he had righteously acquired among his friends, guided by words of honor and propriety. Whether it was a twice-born friend, a servant, or a poor beggar, no one was left unsatisfied; each received gifts and honors as befitted them. Now, listen to the thirty-third sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Having given generous wealth to the brāhmaṇas, Rāma, together with Vaidehī Sītā and his brother, prepared to visit their father. Their weapons were carried by two attendants, and Sītā, adorned with garlands and ornaments, shone with radiant beauty beside them. As they proceeded, people climbed atop palaces, mansions, and towers, eager to catch a glimpse of the illustrious Rāma as he passed by. The streets were so crowded with mournful citizens that passage was impossible, so the sorrowful watched from rooftops as Rāghava walked below. Seeing Rāma on foot with his brother and Sītā, the people, hearts heavy with grief, spoke among themselves: “He whom once a mighty fourfold army followed—now only Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā walk with him. He, who once knew the pleasures of sovereignty and never spoke falsely, out of reverence for dharma, is now exiled. She whom even the beings of the sky could not behold—today, Sītā is visible to the people on the royal road. Sītā, accustomed to fragrant ointments and red sandalwood, will soon lose her luster under the sun and cold of the forest. “Surely today, King Daśaratha acts as if possessed, for what king would banish his beloved son? How could there be exile even for a son lacking virtues—what then of one whose conduct has won over 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 of the waters suffering in the summer when ponds dry up. The whole world is afflicted by the pain of this lord, just as a tree suffers when its root is injured. He is the root of mankind, the very essence of righteousness, radiant in glory; the flowers, fruits, leaves, and branches are the people. “Therefore, like Lakṣmaṇa, let us follow Rāghava, with our wives and relatives, wherever he goes. Let us abandon our gardens, fields, and homes, united in joy and sorrow, to follow the righteous Rāma. Let the treasures of the sea, ruined courtyards, gathered wealth and grain—all these lose their value completely. Let our homes be covered in dust, abandoned by the gods, overrun by darting mice and riddled with their holes. Let them be devoid of water and smoke, unclean, with lost taxes, sacrifices, mantras, offerings, and recitations. Let our houses be broken as if by a harsh season, vessels shattered, abandoned by us—let Kaikeyī take possession of these. “Wherever Rāghava goes, let that forest become our city, and let the city we abandon become the forest. Let all the burrowing animals, beasts and birds, even elephants and lions, flee the forests in fear of our coming. Let them take what we leave behind and abandon what we inhabit—the lands of grass, meat, fruit, and wild creatures. Let Kaikeyī, with her sons and relatives, take Ayodhyā; we will all live happily in the forest with Rāghava.” Rāma heard these heartfelt words spoken by many, but his mind remained unshaken. That righteous one, whose stride was as majestic as an intoxicated elephant, approached his mother’s palace, shining like the peak of Mount Kailāsa. Entering the royal residence, where disciplined heroes dwelled, he saw Sumantra standing nearby, looking dejected.