Queen Kausalya, her heart heavy with longing, spoke in sorrowful anticipation to those around her. She wondered aloud, “When will the day come when the thousands who dwell along the royal road will shower parched grain upon my two sons—the mighty subduers of enemies—as they enter the city? When will I see my beloved sons, adorned in splendid earrings, swords raised high, entering Ayodhyā like twin-peaked mountains, radiant and strong?” Her voice trembled with hope and yearning. “When will the joyous maidens, their hair adorned with flowers, and the twice-born, bearing fruits, circle the city and perform auspicious rites to welcome them home? When will that righteous one, matured in wisdom and age, return to us, shining like a rain cloud, bringing delight to all as a good season does?” But even as she hoped, grief overcame her. “Without doubt, O hero, I believe that in some past time, because of a miserly woman, mothers’ breasts were cut off when they wished to suckle their children. I have been made, by Kaikeyi, like a loving cow deprived of her calf by a lion—helpless, my child torn from me by force. How can I, who have but one son endowed with all virtues and learned in every scripture, endure life without him? I find no strength left in my life here, as I do not see my beloved son and the mighty Lakshmana. Today, a great and terrible fire, born of grief for my son, consumes me, just as the radiant sun scorches the earth with its rays in the heat of summer.” As Kausalya’s lamentations filled the chamber, Sumitra, noble and steadfast in righteousness, approached and spoke words of comfort. “O noble lady,” she began gently, “your son is adorned with all good qualities and stands foremost among men; what use is there in such lamentation and pitiful weeping? Your son, mighty as he is, has departed willingly, giving up the kingdom to fulfill a noble deed for his great-souled father who is true to his word.” Sumitra’s voice was steady and soothing. “Rama, established in righteousness and supreme among men, walks the path practiced by the virtuous—a path that always yields fruit after death. He is not to be grieved for. Lakshmana, ever sinless, conducts himself with the highest virtue; compassionate to all beings, such a great soul will surely attain success. And though accustomed to comfort, Vaidehi follows your righteous son, knowing well the hardships of forest life.” She continued, “He who upholds the banner of fame in the world, devoted to righteousness and truth—why should your son not attain what is good? Clearly, even the sun’s rays should not scorch Rama’s pure and supreme body. At all times, the gentle and pleasant wind from the forests will serve Raghava, moderate in heat and cold. At night, the cool and soothing moon will embrace the sinless Rama like a father, dispelling the heat as he rests.” Sumitra reminded Kausalya of Rama’s greatness: “To him, the mighty Brahma gave divine weapons after seeing the lord of the Dānavas, son of Timidhvaja, slain in battle. That hero, tiger among men, relying on his own strength, will dwell in the forest without fear, just as he would in his own house. Enemies who come within range of his arrows meet their destruction; how then can the earth not remain under his rule?” With confidence, she assured, “With the fortune, valor, and noble nature that belong to Rama, once his forest exile ends, he will swiftly regain his own kingdom. As the sun is to the sun, fire to fire, lord to lord, so is he supreme in splendor, glory, and forbearance. He is the foremost among gods and beings; O noble lady, what faults could there be in him, whether in the forest or in the city?” Sumitra’s words grew ever more hopeful. “Rama, the best of men, together with the earth, with Sītā, and with prosperity, will soon be anointed with these three. The people of Ayodhyā, seeing him depart, were struck by the force of grief and shed tears born of sorrow. But what could be unattainable for him, the unconquered hero clad in bark and grass, as fortune follows Sītā who accompanies him? What could be unattainable for him whose foremost skill is with the bow, who bears arrows and sword, with Lakshmana going ahead?” She leaned close, her voice gentle but firm. “You will see him again, returned from the forest, O lady; abandon grief and delusion—I speak the truth to you. O blameless one, you will again see your son, bowing at your feet with his head, like the risen moon. Seeing him re-enter, anointed and resplendent, you will quickly shed tears of joy from your eyes. Let there be no sorrow or pain, O lady; nothing inauspicious is seen for Rama. Soon you will see your son with Sītā and Lakshmana.” “O sinless one,” Sumitra urged, “you must comfort all these people; why do you now harbor this distress in your heart? You are not worthy of sorrow, O lady, whose son is Raghava; for there is no one greater than Rama, steadfast in the righteous path. Seeing your son, accompanied by friends, bowing in respect, you will soon shed tears of joy, like a rain cloud releasing its waters. Your son, the bestower of boons, will soon return to Ayodhyā and gently press your feet with his soft, plump hands. Seeing your heroic son, accompanied by friends, bowing and paying homage, you will sprinkle him with tears of joy, like a line of clouds upon a mountain.” Having thus spoken, comforting Kausalya with many wise and gentle words, Queen Sumitra, skilled and blameless in her speech, fell silent, her presence a balm to the grieving mother’s heart.