As dawn broke, Rama turned to Lakshmana and spoke with gentle concern, “O Saumitri, look at these citizens. They have forsaken their own homes and comforts, choosing instead to remain beneath the trees, thinking only of us.” He observed their unwavering devotion, remarking that just as they had resolved not to turn back from following him, so too would they rather give up their lives than abandon their vow. Rama, wishing to spare them further suffering, suggested, “While they are still asleep, let us quickly ascend the chariot and depart, so that we may travel the path without fear.” He did not wish for the devoted citizens of Ikshvaku’s city to continue sleeping beneath the trees, nor did he want them to endure more sorrow because of his actions. “It is for us princes to free them from the grief caused by their own affection, not to deepen their pain,” he said. Lakshmana, standing beside Rama like the very embodiment of righteousness, agreed, “You are wise, brother. Let us swiftly ascend the chariot.” Rama then called to Sumantra, the charioteer, “Quickly yoke the chariot. I must go to the forest. Drive swiftly, O Sumantra.” Responding with haste, Sumantra yoked the chariot with excellent horses and, with joined palms, reported, “Here is your chariot, mighty-armed prince and best among warriors, ready and yoked. Ascend quickly with Sita and Lakshmana. May all be well with you.” Rama, accompanied by Sita and Lakshmana, mounted the chariot. With his attendants, he crossed the swift-flowing Tamasa river. After crossing, the illustrious and mighty-armed Rama found a great and safe road, free from thorns—fearful only to those who fear. Desiring to mislead the citizens, Rama instructed Sumantra, “Turn the chariot northward, O charioteer, and proceed.” He added, “After driving swiftly for a while, turn the chariot back again, so that the townspeople may not discern our path. Do this with care.” Sumantra, attentive to Rama’s words, did as instructed, returning and reporting the chariot’s readiness. Then, Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita mounted the yoked chariot once more, and Sumantra urged the horses toward the hermitage. With auspicious omens marking their journey, the mighty Dasarathi set out for the forest, the chariot now facing north. As the night passed, the citizens of Ayodhya, bereft of Rama, awoke to heartbreak. Motionless with grief, their hearts shattered, they gazed again and again, tears flowing, hoping for a glimpse of Rama, but in vain. Their faces were stricken, and those compassionate and learned among them spoke words of lamentation: “Fie upon this sleep that steals away the mind! Today we cannot see Rama, broad-chested and mighty-armed. How has Rama, ever true to his word, abandoned his devoted people and departed as an ascetic? He who protected us like a father protects his sons—how has that foremost of the Raghu lineage left us for the forest?” Despairing, they cried, “Let us meet our end here or undertake the great departure; what purpose is there in living, deprived of Rama? There are dry woods in abundance; let us kindle a funeral pyre and enter it, or else—what shall we say to the mighty-armed, sweet-spoken one? How can we bear to say, ‘Raghava was led away by us’?” They mourned the city’s fate: “Surely Ayodhya will be forlorn, seeing us return without Raghava. It will become joyless, filled only with women, children, and the aged. Having departed with that noble-souled hero and now bereft of him, how shall we again behold our city?” Raising their arms in distress, they lamented like cows bereft of their calves. Following the path, they journeyed a little further, only to be overwhelmed by despair, losing their way. Tracking the chariot’s trail, they turned back, bewildered and struck down by fate. With weary hearts, they returned to Ayodhya, the city now troubled and sorrowful. Upon entering the city, their minds agitated by loss, tears flowed from their grief-stricken eyes. Ayodhya, bereft of Rama, did not shine; it was like a river whose serpents had been snatched away by Garuda, like the sky without the moon, or the ocean without water. The city was joyless, its people bewildered. Entering their splendid mansions, afflicted by sorrow and overwhelmed by grief, they could not recognize their own family or others. Their joy had utterly vanished. Thus, deeply distressed and their eyes filled with tears, overwhelmed by sorrow and the wish to die, the citizens returned from following Rama. It was as if their spirits had departed, their minds lost. Each returned to their home, surrounded by children and spouses, shedding tears, their faces veiled by weeping. No one rejoiced, no one was gladdened. Merchants did not display their wares, goods no longer appeared attractive, and householders did not cook meals. The city of Ayodhya was plunged into a deep and sorrowful silence, mourning the absence of Rama.