Then, the venerable sage Trijaṭa, accompanied by his wife, joyfully accepted the herd of cows bestowed upon him. In return, he offered his heartfelt blessings to Rāma, wishing him ever-increasing fame, strength, and happiness. Rāma, whose manliness was complete, took the great wealth he had rightfully gained and, moved by the spirit of proper honor, distributed it generously among his friends. Whether they were twice-born brāhmaṇas, loyal servants, or humble beggars, no one was left unsatisfied—each received gifts and honors as befitted their station. Now, listen to the next chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Having bestowed much wealth upon the brāhmaṇas, and with Sītā by his side, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, both scions of the Raghu dynasty, set out to see their father. Their weapons were carried by two attendants, and Sītā, adorned with garlands and ornaments, shone brilliantly as they made their way forward. As they passed through the city, people climbed onto the roofs of palaces, mansions, and tall towers, eager to catch a glimpse of the illustrious Rāma. The streets were so crowded with citizens that they could not be traversed, so the sorrowful people stood atop their homes, watching Rāghava as he walked by. Seeing him on foot, accompanied only by his brother and Sītā, the people, their hearts heavy with grief, spoke among themselves. They remembered how once a great fourfold army would follow Rāma, but now only Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā walked with him. He who had known the pleasures and responsibilities of sovereignty, who was steadfast in truth and reverence for dharma, was now departing on foot. Sītā, who had once been hidden even from the gaze of celestial beings, was now seen by the people on the royal road. They lamented that she, accustomed to fragrant ointments and red sandalwood, would soon lose her color enduring the hardships of heat and cold. Many wondered aloud, “Surely today, King Daśaratha speaks as if possessed by some spirit, for what king would banish his beloved son? How could exile befall even a son lacking virtues—what then of Rāma, whose conduct alone has won the world?” They praised Rāghava’s compassion, kindness, learning, good character, self-restraint, and tranquility—six virtues that adorned him as the foremost among men. The suffering of Rāma afflicted the people deeply, as creatures of the water suffer when the ponds dry up in summer. All the world was distressed by the sorrow of their lord, just as a tree is harmed when its root is injured, for Rāma was the root of mankind, the very essence of righteousness, radiant in glory. The people were his branches, flowers, fruits, and leaves. Moved by this, many declared, “Let us follow Rāghava, as Lakṣmaṇa does, together with our wives and relatives, wherever he may go. Let us leave behind our gardens, fields, and homes, united in joy and sorrow, and follow Rāma, the righteous one. Let all treasures stored in the sea, our ruined courtyards, our gathered wealth and grain, lose their value entirely. Let our homes be covered in dust, abandoned by the gods, overrun by mice, devoid of water and smoke, with lost taxes, sacrifices, mantras, offerings, and recitations. Let them be broken and abandoned by us—let Kaikeyī take possession of these houses. Wherever Rāghava goes, let the forest become our city, and let this city, deserted by us, become the forest. Let all the burrowing animals, the beasts and birds of the slopes, and even elephants and lions, flee the forests in fear of our coming. Let them inhabit what we leave behind, and we will dwell in the land of grass, fruit, and wild creatures. Let Kaikeyī, with her sons and kin, take all that remains; we will live happily in the forest with Rāghava.” Rāma heard all these many words, spoken by the people out of love and sorrow, but his mind was unwavering. With a stride like an intoxicated elephant, he 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. Though Rāma himself was not afflicted, he waited for the distressed people, and with a gentle smile, he went to see his father, intent on fulfilling his father’s command according to dharma. At that moment, however, Rāma, the great-souled son of Ikṣvāku, paused for a moment before going to the sorrowful king, seeing Sumantra, who was there to announce his arrival. Out of devotion to his father’s command, and having firmly resolved to enter the forest, Rāghava said to Sumantra, “Announce my arrival to the king.” Now, listen to the thirty-fourth chapter. Rāma, lotus-eyed, dark, incomparable and great, said to the charioteer, “Tell my father I am here.” At Rāma’s request, the charioteer quickly entered and beheld King Daśaratha, whose senses were troubled by grief and who sighed deeply. The charioteer saw the lord of the earth like a sun reddened, like fire covered in ash, like a lake without water. Awakening the wise king, whose mind was greatly disturbed, Sumantra, with joined palms, spoke gently as the king grieved only for Rāma.