As Rama sat in sorrow, his thoughts turned to the fate of his family and kingdom. He wondered aloud how the great King Dasharatha could endure, deprived of the sight of his eldest, beloved, and noble son. Rama foresaw that when the king was lost, Kausalya, his gentle mother, would soon follow him in grief—and then his own mother, Sumitra, would also succumb to sorrow. The prince lamented that his father, having failed to fulfill his cherished wish of installing Rama as king, would not survive such disappointment. Rama imagined the time when his father would pass away, and those whose desires had been fulfilled would gather to perform the king’s funeral rites. He pictured the city of Ayodhya, with its beautiful crossroads, well-divided grand avenues, magnificent mansions and palaces, adorned by the finest courtesans. Chariots, horses, and elephants would crowd the streets, the sounds of musical instruments would fill the air, and the city would overflow with auspiciousness and prosperous, joyful people. Gardens and parks would flourish, gatherings and festivals would abound, and the people would move about happily in his father’s royal city. Yet Rama’s heart yearned that King Dasharatha might live, so that after their exile in the forest, they could return and once again behold that great-souled, virtuous ruler. He wished that he, together with the truthful and unharmed Lakshmana and Sita, might re-enter Ayodhya once the forest exile was ended. That night, the noble prince, afflicted with sorrow and lamenting, remained there, and the hours slowly passed. As Rama, ever devoted to the welfare of his people, spoke these words from the heart, Guha, his loyal friend, was overwhelmed with grief. Out of deep affection, Guha shed tears, his pain like that of an ailing elephant tormented by suffering. Thus concluded the fifty-first sarga of the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, in the Ayodhya Kanda. When the night had passed and morning arrived, the illustrious Rama addressed Saumitri, his brother Lakshmana, who bore auspicious marks. He said, “The time of sunrise has come, the blessed night has gone. Look, dear one, the dark-plumed cuckoo is calling.” The cries of peacocks echoed through the forest, and Rama suggested, “Let us cross the swift-flowing Jahnavi, which journeys to the ocean.” Hearing Rama’s words, Saumitri, the delight of his friends, summoned Guha and the charioteer, Sumantra, and stood before Rama. Guha, accepting Rama’s command, quickly called his attendants and instructed them, “Bring here a well-equipped, sturdy, and swift boat, fitted with oars and ready for crossing.” Guha’s great company of attendants brought a beautiful boat and reported to their chief. With joined palms, Guha spoke to Rama, “Here is the boat, O lord; what more shall I do for you?” He added, “This boat, O tiger among men, equal to the chariots of the gods, is ready to carry you across the river that flows to the ocean; ascend it, O steadfast one!” Rama, radiant in might, replied, “My wish has been fulfilled by you; let us quickly embark.” Then, fastening their quivers and girding on their swords, the two Raghavas—Rama and Lakshmana—along with Sita, made their way toward the Ganga. The charioteer Sumantra approached Rama, who knew righteousness, and with humility and joined palms, asked, “What shall I do?” The son of Dasharatha touched Sumantra with his excellent right hand and said, “Sumantra, quickly return again; be ever attentive before the king.” He instructed, “Turn back, for my task is done. Leaving the chariot, I will go to the great forest on foot.” Seeing himself dismissed, the sorrowful Sumantra spoke to Rama, the tiger among men and descendant of Ikshvaku: “No one in this world has ever done what you are doing—dwelling in the forest with your wife and brother, as if you were an ordinary man. I do not believe there is any fruit in asceticism, or in study, or even in gentleness and honesty, if you have come to such misfortune. Yet, dwelling in the forest with Vaidehi and your brother, O hero, you will attain your goal, as if conquering the three worlds. We are truly ruined, Rama, we who have been deceived by her; we shall fall under the power of the sinful Kaikeyi and share in her sorrow.” Thus lamenting, Sumantra wept for a long time, grieving as if for himself, when he saw Rama departing far away. After his tears had ceased, Rama, having touched water in purification, spoke sweet words to the pure charioteer again and again: “Among the Ikshvakus I see no friend equal to you; act so that King Dasharatha does not grieve for me. The lord of the earth, his mind afflicted by sorrow and old age, weighed down by the burden of desire—therefore I say this to you. Whatever that great-souled king commands, for the sake of Kaikeyi’s pleasure and desire, must be done without hesitation. For this reason, kings rule their kingdoms: so that their will is not hindered in any of their undertakings. If the great king does not fall into falsehood, nor is he overcome by sorrow, then, Sumantra, act in that same way.” Rama instructed, “Having greeted the king—who is aged, noble, and has mastered his senses—speak these words on my behalf, to him who has not known suffering: Neither do I grieve, nor does Lakshmana, nor Maithili; nor do we lament that we have left Ayodhya, or that we will dwell in the forest.