Rāma, the very embodiment of manliness and virtue, gathered together the great wealth he had earned through righteous means and distributed it generously among his friends. He did so, prompted by words of honor, ensuring that each person received what was fitting. No one was left wanting—whether they were a twice-born friend, a devoted servant, or a poor beggar—each was satisfied with gifts and honors appropriate to their station. Now, let us listen to the next part of this sacred tale from the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Having bestowed abundant gifts upon the brāhmaṇas, and together with Sītā, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, both descendants of the noble Raghu line, prepared to visit their father. With their weapons carried by two attendants, and Sītā adorned with garlands and shining ornaments, the trio shone with radiant splendor. As they walked through Ayodhyā, people climbed to the roofs of palaces, mansions, and towers, eager to catch a glimpse of the illustrious Rāma passing by. The streets were so crowded that passage was impossible; instead, the sorrowful citizens gazed down from above, their hearts heavy with grief as they watched Rāghava walk. Seeing Rāma on foot, accompanied by his brother and Sītā, the people, overcome with sorrow, spoke among themselves: “He who was once followed by a great fourfold army now walks with only Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā by his side. He, who has tasted sovereignty and was a source of so much joy, has never uttered a false word, always upholding dharma. And Sītā, whom even celestial beings could not behold before, is now visible to all who travel the royal road. “Sītā, accustomed to fragrant ointments and red sandalwood, will soon lose her radiance under the harshness of heat and cold. Surely today, King Daśaratha must be possessed by some spirit, for what king would banish his beloved son? How could exile be imposed even on a son lacking virtue—let alone on one whose conduct has won the world’s admiration? “Compassion, kindness, learning, good character, self-restraint, and tranquility—these six virtues adorn Rāghava, the foremost of men. Because of his suffering, we too are afflicted, like creatures of the water in summer when their ponds dry up. The whole world is distressed by the grief of this lord of men, just as a tree withers when its root is injured. He is the very root of humanity, the essence of righteousness, radiant in glory; the people are like the tree’s flowers, fruits, leaves, and branches. “Let us, like Lakṣmaṇa, quickly follow Rāghava, together with our wives and families, wherever he goes. Let us abandon our gardens, fields, and homes, united in joy and sorrow, to follow Rāma, the righteous one. Let all the treasures of the sea, our ruined courtyards, our gathered wealth and grain, become worthless to us. Let our homes be covered in dust, abandoned by the gods, overrun by mice and riddled with their holes. Without water, without smoke from offerings, uncleansed, with lost taxes, sacrifices, mantras, and recitations—let Kaikeyī take these houses, broken as if by a harsh season, with shattered vessels, abandoned by us. “Wherever Rāghava goes, let that place become our city, and let the city we leave behind become a forest. Let all the burrowing creatures, the beasts and birds of the slopes, and even elephants and lions, flee the forests in fear of us. Let them take what we leave and abandon what we inhabit—the wild lands with their grass, meat, fruit, and animals. Let Kaikeyī, her sons, and her kin possess Ayodhyā; we will live happily in the forest with Rāghava.” Rāma heard these various words of devotion and sorrow spoken by the people, but his mind remained steady, unshaken by their grief. With a stride like that of a noble, intoxicated elephant, the righteous Rāma 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 patiently among the distressed people there. With a gentle smile, he made his way to see his father, intent on carrying out his duty. But before entering, the great-souled son of Ikṣvāku paused, seeing Sumantra, who was there to announce his arrival. Out of devotion to his father’s command, having resolved firmly to enter the forest, Rāghava said to Sumantra, “Announce my arrival to the king.” Now let us hear the next chapter. Rāma, lotus-eyed, dark, incomparable, and great, said to the charioteer, “Tell my father I am here.” Sent by Rāma, Sumantra quickly entered the palace and found King Daśaratha, whose senses were troubled by grief, sighing deeply. The king appeared like the sun reddened at dusk, like a fire covered in ash, like a lake bereft of water. The charioteer gently awakened the wise, but greatly distressed king, who grieved only for Rāma. With joined palms, Sumantra first offered him a wish for victory. Then, in a voice that was fearful, faint, and gentle, he spoke.