As Rāma prepared to depart for the forest, the hearts of the assembled Brahmins and citizens overflowed with devotion. They declared that the resolve which had always guided them, rooted in the sacred Vedic mantras, would now follow Rāma into the wilderness, so deep was their affection and reverence for him. Though the Vedas, their greatest treasure, would remain in their homes—along with their wives, protected by virtue—their spirits and prayers accompanied Rāma on his journey. With no need for further deliberation, they affirmed that when Rāma was devoted to righteousness, nothing remained for those who stood firmly on the path of dharma but to support him. Bowing their heads, their hair white as swans, their conduct humble and dusted by the earth, they beseeched Rāma to return. Many sacrifices performed by the Brahmins awaited completion, their fulfillment resting upon his eventual return. All beings—moving and unmoving—were devoted, and they implored Rāma to show devotion to those who were devoted to him. Even the trees, unable to follow, seemed to cry out as their roots were torn and they were swept away by the wind. The birds, motionless in their trees, fixed and silent, also beseeched Rāma, the compassionate protector of all beings. As the Brahmins cried out for his return, darkness descended, seeming to block Raghava’s path. Sumantra, the charioteer, released the weary horses from the chariot, turned them quickly, and led them—bodies soaked with water—towards the gathering darkness. Thus began the forty-sixth chapter. Rāghava, having settled on the pleasant bank of the Tamasā river, looked at Sītā and spoke to Saumitri, his brother Lakṣmaṇa. “This is our first night, Saumitri, sent into the forest. May your dwelling here be auspicious, and let your heart not be troubled.” He pointed out how the forests around them lay empty, as if they were weeping, with animals and birds withdrawn into their shelters. Rāma reflected on how the city of Ayodhyā, his father’s royal capital, would surely grieve for those who had departed, its men and women mourning their absence. The people, deeply devoted to the king for his many virtues, would also mourn Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, Śatrughna, and Bharata. Rāma expressed concern for his father and noble mother, hoping they would not become blind from weeping for him and his companions. Yet, he took comfort in Bharata’s righteousness, knowing his brother would console their parents with words joined to duty, wealth, and desire. Reflecting again and again on Bharata’s compassion, Rāma felt his grief for his father and mother ease. He praised Lakṣmaṇa, who had fulfilled his duty by following him, and urged him to assist in protecting Vaidehī, Sītā. Rāma decided to sleep that night by the water, finding pleasure in the spot despite the many kinds of forest dwellings available. Having spoken thus, he addressed Sumantra: “Be ever vigilant with the horses, O gentle one.” Sumantra, restraining the horses as the sun set, gave them abundant fodder and remained close by. After performing auspicious evening worship and seeing that night had come, the charioteer prepared Rāma’s bed together with Saumitri. Rāma lay down on the bank of the Tamasā, covered with leaves, accompanied by Sītā and Saumitri. When Rāma, weary, lay down with his wife and fell asleep, Lakṣmaṇa began to recount Rāma’s many virtues to Sumantra. Saumitri stayed awake through the night, and as the sun rose, he spoke to the charioteer of Rāma’s virtues on the riverbank. On the distant bank of the Tamasā, crowded with herds of cattle, Rāma spent the night with his companions. As dawn broke, the illustrious Rāma, seeing his companions, spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, who bore auspicious marks. “O Saumitri, see now those citizens, who, disregarding their own households, have attached themselves beneath the trees, caring only for us. Just as these townspeople observe their vow in not turning back from us, so too, they would sooner give up their lives than abandon their resolve.” Rāma suggested that while the devoted citizens slept, they should swiftly ascend the chariot and travel the path without fear. He wished to free the townspeople from the sorrow caused by their own actions, but not to make them suffer further by his own. Lakṣmaṇa, standing like righteousness itself, agreed: “I agree, wise one; let us quickly ascend the chariot.” Rāma then instructed Sumantra: “Quickly yoke the chariot; I will go to the forest. Drive swiftly from here, O Sumantra.” The charioteer hastened, yoked the chariot with excellent horses, and with joined palms, reported to Rāma: “Here is your chariot, mighty-armed prince, best among warriors, yoked and ready. Ascend quickly, with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa. May all be well with you.” Mounting the chariot with his attendants, Raghava crossed the swift-flowing, swirling Tamasa river together with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa. Having crossed, the illustrious, mighty-armed one reached a great, safe road, free from thorns—a path that was fearful only to those who harbored fear—thus continuing his journey into the forest, guided by dharma and accompanied by the love and prayers of his people.