After Rama had journeyed swiftly for some distance, he turned to his charioteer and instructed him, “Turn the chariot back for a while, so that the citizens may not know which path I am taking. Do this with utmost care.” The charioteer listened respectfully and did as Rama asked, turning the chariot about and then returning to report to Rama that all was as he wished. Then, Rama and Lakshmana, the noble scions of the Raghu lineage, together with Sita, boarded the yoked chariot once more. The charioteer urged the horses onward, guiding them along the way toward the hermitage. Rama, mighty son of Dasaratha, set out for the forest with the charioteer, facing the chariot northwards. Auspicious omens appeared, blessing the beginning of their journey. As night passed and a new day dawned, the citizens of Ayodhya, bereft of Rama, stood motionless in the grip of grief, their hearts broken and their spirits heavy. Overcome by tears born of sorrow, they gazed again and again along the path, longing for a glimpse of Rama, but he was nowhere to be seen. Their faces were marked by anguish, and deprived of the wise prince, the compassionate and learned among them began to lament aloud. They cried, “Fie upon that sleep which robs us of our senses! Today we cannot see Rama, broad-chested and mighty-armed. How has Rama, steadfast and true to his word, abandoned his devoted people and gone away as an ascetic? He who always protected us as a father guards his sons—how has that foremost of the Raghu line left us for the forest?” Their grief deepened as they spoke among themselves, “Let us end our lives 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, gentle one? How can we bear to say, ‘Raghava was led away by us’?” They mourned, “Surely our city will be forlorn when it sees us return without Raghava; it will become joyless, filled only with women, children, and the aged. Having departed with that heroic, noble soul, and now bereft of him, how shall we again behold that city?” Raising their arms in despair, the people uttered many such words, lamenting like cows bereft of their calves. As they tried to follow the path further, they soon became overwhelmed by confusion and despair, losing their way and their hope. Retracing the path of the chariot, the thoughtful among them turned back, saying, “What is this? What shall we do, struck down by fate?” With weary hearts, all returned by the same route to Ayodhya, the city now filled with trouble and sorrow. Upon beholding their beloved city, their minds agitated by loss, tears streamed from their grief-stricken eyes. “This city, bereft of Rama, does not shine,” they thought, “like a river whose serpents have been snatched away by Garuda from its pool. It is like the sky without the moon, like the ocean drained of water.” The city seemed joyless and bewildering to them. Entering their splendid mansions, the people—afflicted by sorrow and overwhelmed by grief—could not even recognize their own family or neighbors. They gazed about, their joy completely vanished. Thus distressed and deeply afflicted, their eyes brimming with tears and overwhelmed by a wish to die, the citizens of Ayodhya returned from following Rama. They seemed as if their very spirits had departed, their minds lost in sorrow. Each returned to their own home, surrounded by children and spouses, and all wept, their faces veiled by tears. There was no joy anywhere—no laughter, no gladness. Merchants did not display their wares; goods held no allure, and householders did not even prepare meals. Even when someone recovered lost wealth, there were no celebrations; nor did a mother rejoice on receiving her firstborn son. In every house, women wept and reproached their husbands who had returned, their words sharp and full of anguish, as they were tormented by grief. “What use are houses, or wives, or wealth?” they asked. “What use are sons or pleasures for those who do not see Raghava?” They praised Lakshmana, saying, “Only one true man remains in the world—Lakshmana, who, together with Sita, follows Kakutstha Rama, serving him in the forest. Blessed are those rivers, those lotus-filled lakes and ponds, in whose pure waters Kakutstha will bathe. The delightful forests, the great rivers, the vast marshlands, and the mountains with their peaks will all bring beauty to Kakutstha.” They imagined, “Any forest or mountain that Rama approaches will honor him as a beloved guest. With crowns of varied flowers and abundant offerings, the finest blossoms and fruits will appear, even out of season. The mountains will pour forth pure waters, revealing wondrous, colorful waterfalls. The trees on the mountain peaks will delight Raghava. Wherever Rama is, there is no fear, nor can there be defeat—for he is a hero, mighty-armed, the son of Dasaratha. Before he goes far, let us follow Raghava.” Thus, the city of Ayodhya was plunged into sorrow, its people lost and longing, their hearts and minds fixed upon Rama as he journeyed into the forest.