As Rama prepared to leave Ayodhya, he gazed upon the gathered people with deep affection, his eyes lingering on them as if he wished to drink in their presence one last time. Speaking with the gentle warmth of a father to his beloved children, he addressed them tenderly: “The love and great respect you have always shown me—please, for my sake, show that same devotion especially to Bharata. He, who is noble in conduct and the joy of Kaikeyi, will surely do for you what is good and dear. Though he is young, his wisdom is mature, his nature gentle, and he is endowed with heroic virtues. He will be a worthy ruler to you, one who will remove your fears. “He possesses all the royal qualities and has been chosen as heir-apparent. As I, and the elders, have instructed, you must obey his commands as your lord. Just as the king should not grieve when I have gone to the forest, so too, for my sake, you must act for Bharata’s happiness.” Yet, as Rama spoke these words, the people’s longing for him as their lord only grew, especially because King Dasaratha had always walked the path of righteousness. Rama, with his brother Lakshmana beside him, looked upon the citizens through eyes clouded with tears; it seemed as if, through his virtues, he drew their hearts ever closer, binding them to him in sorrow and love. Among the crowd, the elders—learned twice-born men, advanced in age and wisdom, their heads trembling with the weight of years—called out from afar. “O swift horses carrying Rama, turn back! You must not go further. It is for your own good and your master’s. All creatures, especially horses, heed the words spoken to them; so, having heard us, you must turn back. Your lord, pure in spirit, righteous and heroic, steadfast in his noble vow, should be brought back to the city by you, not carried away to the forest.” Hearing the anguished pleas of the elders, Rama was moved. He suddenly descended from the chariot, joined by Sita and Lakshmana, and continued on foot, his steps close together and his mind intent on the path to the forest. Out of compassion, Rama, who cherished righteousness, could not bear to leave the venerable Brahmins behind by riding ahead in the chariot. Seeing Rama depart, the Brahmins, troubled and deeply afflicted, called out to him: “All Brahminhood follows you, for you are devoted to Brahmins; even these sacred fires, carried on our shoulders, accompany you. See the umbrellas, born from Vājapeya sacrifices, following behind us like clouds after the rains. For you, scorched by the sun and without an umbrella, we will provide shade with our Vājapeya umbrellas. The resolve that has always guided us according to the Vedic mantras, now follows you into the forest, dear one. “The Vedas, our greatest wealth, will remain in our homes, as will our wives, protected by virtue. There is no further need for deliberation about your departure; when you are devoted to righteousness, what is left for us, who also walk the path of dharma? We beg you to return, with our heads bowed, our hair white as swans, our conduct humble and dusted by the earth. Many sacrifices performed by Brahmins here await completion; their fulfillment depends, dear one, on your return. “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 silent in their trees, also beseech you, compassionate as you are to all beings.” As the Brahmins cried out for Rama’s return, a darkness seemed to fall, blocking his way. Sumantra, the faithful charioteer, released the weary horses from the chariot, turned them quickly, and led them, their bodies wet with water, toward the edge of that darkness. That night, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana settled on the pleasant bank of the Tamasā river. Rama looked at Sita and then spoke to Saumitri, his brother Lakshmana: “This is our first night, Saumitri, sent into the forest. May your dwelling here 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. “Today, surely, the city of Ayodhya—my father’s royal capital—will grieve for us who have departed, with its men and women mourning. The people, so devoted to the king for his many virtues, will also mourn for you, for me, and for 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, who is righteous at heart, will comfort my father and mother with words rooted in duty, wealth, and desire. Thinking again and again of Bharata’s compassion, O mighty-armed one, I do not grieve for my father or my mother. O tiger among men, you have fulfilled your duty by following me; now you must also help protect Vaidehī, Sita. “Tonight, Saumitri, I will sleep here by the river’s edge; this pleases me, even though there are many kinds of forest dwellings.” In this way, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana passed their first night in the forest, their hearts full of longing for Ayodhya, yet steadfast in their devotion to righteousness and to one another.