In the city of Ayodhya, Rama, renowned for his virtues, was cherished by all its people, as beloved as the full moon shining in the night sky. Yet, even as the citizens implored him to stay, Rama—descendant of Kakutstha—remained steadfast in upholding his father’s word and prepared to depart for the forest. As he set out, Rama gazed upon the people of Ayodhya with deep affection, as though he wished to drink in their sight and hold them forever in his heart. With a voice gentle and tender, he spoke to them as a loving father would to his own children. “The love and great respect you bear for me,” he said, “let that, for my sake, be especially shown to Bharata. He, noble in conduct and the joy of Kaikeyi, will do what is dear and beneficial for you all.” Rama reassured them further, “Though young, Bharata is wise, gentle, and heroic. He will be a worthy lord, removing your fears. He possesses royal qualities and has been chosen as heir-apparent. Therefore, as I and the elders instruct, you must obey him as your lord. Just as the king should not grieve for me while I am in the forest, so too, out of regard for me, you must strive for Bharata’s happiness.” The more King Dasaratha adhered to righteousness, the more the people yearned for Rama as their sovereign. As Rama prepared to leave, his eyes filled with tears, and together with Saumitri—Lakshmana—he seemed to draw the townspeople to himself by the force of his virtues, as if they were all bound to him. At that moment, the elders among the twice-born—those advanced in knowledge, age, and vigor, their heads trembling with age—called out from afar, “O swift horses carrying Rama, turn back! Do not go further, for it is best for you and your master. All creatures, especially horses, heed words—so, having heard us, you must turn back. Your lord, pure, righteous, heroic, and firm in his vow, should be brought back to the city by you, not carried away to the forest.” Hearing the anguished cries of the elders, Rama was moved. He quickly descended from the chariot. Then, with Sita and Lakshmana, he began to walk on foot, placing his steps close together, intent on the path to the forest. Out of compassion, Rama, ever devoted to righteousness, could not bear to leave the Brahmins behind while riding in the chariot. Seeing Rama depart, the Brahmins—troubled and deeply afflicted—spoke to him: “All Brahminhood follows you, for you are devoted to us. Even these sacred fires, borne on our shoulders, accompany you. See these umbrellas, arisen from Vājapeya sacrifices, following behind us like clouds after the rains. For you, scorched by the sun and lacking an umbrella, we will shade you with our Vājapeya umbrellas. The resolve that always guided us by Vedic mantras now follows you into the forest, dear one. The Vedas, our greatest treasure, 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 follow the path of dharma?” With heads bowed, hair white as swans, and their conduct humble, dusted by the earth, they pleaded, “We beseech you to return. Many sacrifices performed by Brahmins here await completion; their fulfillment depends on your return, dear one. All beings here, both moving and unmoving, are devoted to you; when they beseech you, show devotion to the devoted. Unable to follow you, their roots torn and driven by the wind, the trees seem to cry out as they are lifted by the breeze. Birds, motionless and fixed in their trees, also beseech you, the compassionate one.” As the Brahmins cried out for Rama’s return, darkness seemed to descend, blocking Raghava’s path. Then Sumantra, too, released the weary horses from the chariot, turned them quickly, and led them—bodies soaked with water—near the darkness. When night fell, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana settled on the pleasant bank of the Tamasā river. Rama looked at Sita and spoke to Saumitri, “This is our first night in the forest, Saumitri. May your forest dwelling be auspicious, and do not let your heart be troubled. See how the forests lie empty all around, as if they are weeping, with the animals and birds withdrawn into their shelters.” He continued, his heart heavy, “Today, the city of Ayodhya, my father’s royal capital, will surely grieve for us who have departed, with its men and women—there is no doubt. The people, deeply devoted to the king for his many virtues, will also mourn you, me, and likewise Shatrughna and Bharata. I grieve for my father and my noble mother; may they not become blind from weeping for us so often. Yet Bharata, ever righteous, will comfort them with words joined to duty, wealth, and desire. Reflecting again and again on Bharata’s compassion, O mighty-armed one, I do not grieve for my father or my mother.” Thus, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana passed their first night in the forest, the love and sorrow of Ayodhya echoing in their hearts.