Sumitrā, noble queen and mother of Lakṣmaṇa, spoke with gentle wisdom to Kausalyā, Rāma’s mother, who was overwhelmed by grief. “O noble lady,” she said, “Rāma is the foremost among gods and beings. What fault could there be in him—whether he resides in the forest or in the city? Soon, Rāma, the best of men, will be anointed together with the earth, Sītā, and prosperity itself. These three will unite with him in glory. “But now, as he departs, the people of Ayodhyā are struck by sorrow’s force, their eyes brimming with tears of grief. Yet, what could possibly be unattainable for Rāma, the unconquered hero, even clad in simple bark and grass? Fortune follows Sītā, who goes with him. And what could be out of reach for him, whose foremost skill is with the bow, who carries his arrows and sword himself, and for whom Lakṣmaṇa walks ahead? “You will see him again, O lady, returned from the forest. Abandon grief and delusion—I speak the truth to you. O blameless one, you will again see your son bowing at your feet, his head lowered in reverence, shining like the risen moon. When you see him re-enter Ayodhyā, resplendent and anointed, you will shed tears of joy from your eyes. “Let there be no sorrow or pain, O lady. Nothing inauspicious is seen for Rāma. Soon you will behold your son, together with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa. O sinless one, you must comfort all these people—why do you now harbor such distress in your heart? You are not worthy of sorrow, O lady whose son is Rāghava, for there is no one greater than Rāma, steadfast in righteousness. “Soon, seeing your son, accompanied by friends, bowing in respect, you will shed tears of joy, as rain clouds release their waters. Your son, the bestower of boons, will return to Ayodhyā and gently press your feet with his soft, plump hands. When you see your heroic son, surrounded 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, Queen Sumitrā, skilled and blameless in her speech, fell silent, her words offering comfort to Kausalyā. Hearing these words from Lakṣmaṇa’s mother, Kausalyā’s grief vanished at once, like an autumn rain cloud that has spent its water. Thus concluded the forty-fourth sarga of the Ayodhya Kanda in the glorious Rāmāyaṇa, the first poem composed by sage Vālmīki. Now begins the next sarga. The people of Ayodhyā, devoted to the great-souled Rāma, whose valor was true, followed him as he departed for the forest. Though King Daśaratha, their friend and protector, had already turned back out of duty, the people did not turn away; they continued to follow Rāma’s chariot, unable to let go. Among all the men dwelling in Ayodhyā, Rāma—renowned and full of virtues—was as dear as the full moon. Though the citizens pleaded with him, Kakutstha, upholding his father’s truth, set out for the forest. Looking at them with deep affection, as if drinking them in with his eyes, Rāma spoke tenderly to the people, as a father to his own children. “The love and great respect you bear for me—let that, for my sake, be especially shown to Bharata. He, of noble conduct and the joy of Kaikeyī, will properly do for you what is dear and beneficial. Though young in years, he is mature in wisdom, gentle, and endowed with heroic virtues. He will be a fitting lord for you, removing your fears. He is endowed with royal qualities and has been chosen as heir-apparent. You must, as instructed by me and the elders, obey your lord’s commands. “Just as the king should not grieve when I have gone to the forest, so too, out of regard for me, you must act for Bharata’s happiness.” Yet, the more King Daśaratha adhered to righteousness, the more the people longed for Rāma as their lord. With eyes clouded by tears, Rāma and Saumitri (Lakṣmaṇa) seemed to draw the townspeople to themselves by their virtues, as if the people were bound to them. Then, the elders among the twice-born—advanced in knowledge, age, and vigor, their heads trembling with age—spoke from afar: “O swift horses carrying Rāma, turn back! You must not go further. It is for your own good and your master’s. All creatures, especially horses, are attentive to speech; therefore, having heard our request, you must turn back. For your lord, pure in spirit, righteous, heroic, and firm in his noble vow, should be brought back to the city by you, not carried away to the forest.” Seeing those elders, distressed and uttering anguished words, Rāma suddenly descended from the chariot. With Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, he proceeded on foot, placing his steps close together, intent on reaching the forest. Rāma, ever cherishing righteous conduct, could not, out of compassion, leave the Brahmins behind by chariot. Seeing Rāma departing, the Brahmins, their minds troubled and deeply afflicted, spoke to him: “All Brahminhood follows you, for you are devoted to Brahmins. Even these sacred fires, borne on the shoulders of Brahmins, accompany you. See these umbrellas, arisen from Vājapeya sacrifices, following behind us like clouds after the end of the rains.” Thus, the people and the holy ones continued to follow Rāma, their hearts bound with love and reverence, as he journeyed towards the forest, upholding righteousness and the hopes of Ayodhyā.