With gentle words, Queen Sumitrā sought to comfort Kausalyā, Rama’s mother, whose heart was heavy with sorrow. “O noble lady,” she said, “you shall see your son again, returned from the forest. Cast away your grief and delusion—I speak only the truth. Once more, you will behold Rama, your blameless son, bowing at your feet in reverence, his head lowered like the risen moon shining at night. “When you witness him re-enter Ayodhyā, anointed and radiant, tears of joy will swiftly flow from your eyes. Let no sorrow or pain trouble you, for nothing inauspicious awaits Rama. Soon you shall see your beloved son with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa by his side. “O sinless one, it is you who must now offer comfort to all these people. Why do you allow distress to dwell in your heart? You are not meant for sorrow, O lady, whose son is Rāghava, for there is no one greater than Rama, steadfast in righteousness. “Very soon, seeing your son surrounded by friends and bowing in respect, you will shed tears of joy, as rain clouds release their waters. Rama, the bestower of boons, will return to Ayodhyā and gently press your feet with his soft, plump hands. Beholding your heroic son, accompanied by friends and paying you homage, you will sprinkle him with tears of happiness, just as clouds drench the mountain peaks.” Having spoken thus, Queen Sumitrā, ever skilled and blameless in her speech, fell silent, leaving Kausalyā comforted. Hearing these words from Lakṣmaṇa’s mother, Kausalyā felt her grief dissolve, vanishing from her body like an autumn cloud losing its water. Thus concludes the forty-fourth sarga of the Ayodhya Kanda in the glorious Ramayana, the first poem composed by the sage Valmiki. Let the forty-fifth sarga now be heard. As Rama prepared to leave for the forest, the people of Ayodhyā, devoted to him and aware of his true valor, followed him with unwavering hearts. Though King Dasaratha, their friend and protector, had already turned back, compelled by duty, the citizens did not abandon Rama’s chariot but continued to follow him. Among all the men of Ayodhyā, Rama—renowned for his virtues—was as dear to them as the full moon is to the night sky. Despite the citizens’ pleas, Rama, the noble Kakutstha, upheld his father’s word and set out for the forest. Looking upon the people with deep affection, as if to drink them in with his eyes, Rama addressed them tenderly, as a father would his own children. “The love and respect you bear for me—let that, for my sake, be shown to Bharata. He, the delight of Kaikeyi and noble in conduct, will surely do what is dear and beneficial for you. “Though young, Bharata is wise, gentle, and heroic. He will be a fitting lord for you, removing all your fears. Endowed with royal qualities and chosen as heir-apparent, you must, as I and the elders have instructed, obey his commands. Just as the king should not grieve for me when I am gone, so too, out of regard for me, you must act for Bharata’s happiness.” The more King Dasaratha adhered to righteousness, the more the people longed for Rama as their lord. With tears clouding their eyes, Rama and Saumitri seemed to draw the townspeople to themselves by their virtues, as if bound by invisible ties. Then, the elders among the twice-born—advanced in knowledge, age, and vigor, their heads trembling with age—called out from afar: “O swift horses carrying Rama, turn back! Go no further. It is for your own good and your master’s. All creatures, especially horses, heed speech; so hear our plea and return. Your lord, pure, righteous, and steadfast, should be brought back to the city by you, not carried away to the forest.” Hearing the anguished words of the elders, Rama suddenly descended from the chariot. With Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, he continued on foot, his steps close together, intent on the forest path. Compassionate as ever, Rama could not bear to leave the Brahmins behind by chariot. Seeing Rama depart, the Brahmins, deeply troubled, spoke to him: “All Brahminhood follows you, for you are ever devoted to us. Even these sacred fires, borne on our shoulders, accompany you now. Behold the umbrellas, arisen from Vājapeya sacrifices, following behind us like clouds after the rains. “For you, scorched by the sun and lacking an umbrella, we shall provide shade with our Vājapeya umbrellas. The resolve that has always guided us by Vedic mantras now follows you into the forest, beloved Rama. The Vedas, which dwell in our hearts and are our greatest wealth, will remain in our homes, as will our wives, protected by virtue. “There is no need for further deliberation about your departure; when you are devoted to righteousness, what remains for us, who walk the path of dharma? We beseech you to return, our heads bowed, hair white as swans, our conduct humble and dusted by the earth.” Thus, the hearts of Ayodhyā’s people and Brahmins poured forth their love and longing, even as Rama, steadfast in virtue, continued his journey to the forest.