Rāma, who had tasted the sweetness of sovereignty and was the source of countless pleasures, would never utter a false word, so deeply was he devoted to dharma. Sītā, whose beauty was once hidden even from the celestial beings who roam the skies, now walked the royal road, visible to all its people. She, accustomed to fragrant ointments and red sandalwood, would soon lose her radiant color, exposed to the harshness of heat and cold in the changing seasons. Today, it seemed as though King Daśaratha spoke under some strange influence, for how could a king banish his beloved son? Even if a son lacked virtue, exile would be unthinkable—but what of Rāma, whose conduct alone had won the world’s heart? Compassion, kindness, learning, good character, self-restraint, and tranquility—these six virtues adorned Rāghava, the foremost among men. Because of his suffering, the people were deeply distressed, like creatures in drying ponds during summer. The whole world felt afflicted by the sorrow of this lord, just as a tree with flowers and fruit is harmed when its root is injured. Rāma was indeed the root of mankind, the essence of righteousness, radiant in glory; the flowers, fruits, leaves, and branches were all the other people. Therefore, the people spoke: let us, like Lakṣmaṇa, quickly follow Rāghava, together with our wives and relatives, wherever he goes. Let us abandon gardens, fields, and homes, united in joy and sorrow, and follow Rāma, the righteous one. Let the treasures stored in the sea, ruined courtyards, gathered wealth and grain, all lose their value completely. Let these homes be 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 and abandoned by us—let Kaikeyī take possession of these houses. Let the forest become the city wherever Rāghava goes, and the city we leave behind become the forest. Let all the burrowing animals, beasts, birds, elephants, and lions flee the forests in fear of our presence. Let them take up what we leave behind and abandon what we inhabit—the land of grass, meat, fruit, and wild beasts and birds. Let Kaikeyī, with her sons and relatives, take possession; we will live happily in the forest with Rāghava. Rāma listened to these heartfelt words spoken by many people, but his mind remained unwavering. Then, the righteous one, whose stride was like that of 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. Though Rāma himself was not afflicted, he waited for the people there who were distressed. With a gentle smile, he went to see his father, intent on fulfilling his father’s command according to duty. But before entering, the great-souled son of Ikṣvāku paused for a moment, seeing Sumantra, who was there to announce him to his father. Out of devotion to his father’s command, having firmly resolved to enter the forest, Rāghava said to Sumantra, “Announce my arrival to the king.” Let the thirty-fourth chapter be heard. Then Rāma, lotus-eyed, dark, incomparable, and great, spoke to the charioteer: “Tell my father I am here.” Sent by Rāma, the charioteer quickly entered and saw the king, whose senses were troubled by grief, sighing deeply. He saw the lord of the earth like a sun reddened, like fire covered in ash, like a lake without water. Awakening the king, wise but greatly disturbed in mind, the charioteer, with joined palms, spoke, for the king grieved only for Rāma. First, the charioteer greeted the king with a wish for victory; then, with a fearful, faint, and gentle voice, he spoke: “Here stands your son, the tiger among men, at the door, having given wealth to the Brāhmaṇas and all his dependents. May you be well! Let Rāma, steadfast in truth, see you. Having taken leave of all his friends, he now wishes to see you. He will go to the great forest—see him, O lord of the earth, adorned with all royal virtues, like the sun with its rays.” The king, truthful in speech, righteous, and as deep as the ocean, pure as the sky, replied, “Sumantra, bring here all my wives, whoever are present. Surrounded by them all, I wish to see Rāghava.” Passing through the inner chambers, Sumantra spoke to the women: “The noble king summons you; go there without delay.” Thus addressed by Sumantra on the king’s command, all the women began to proceed to that palace, having received their lord’s order. There, three and a half hundred women with coppery eyes, having taken vows, gently surrounded Kausalya and departed. When the wives had arrived, the king, observing them, spoke to the charioteer: “Sumanta, bring my son to me.