As the night unfolded its quiet darkness, Rama sat in deep sorrow, his heart weighed down by the consequences of exile. He spoke of the fate awaiting his family, his voice trembling with grief. “When the king is lost,” he said, “Kausalya will perish afterwards; and then my mother too will meet her end. Having failed to fulfill his cherished wish, having not installed me in the kingdom, my father will perish. When my father has passed away and that time has come, all those whose desires are fulfilled will perform the funeral rites for the king.” Rama’s mind wandered through the city of Ayodhya, picturing its lovely crossroads, well-divided roads, grand mansions and palaces, adorned by the finest courtesans. He imagined the city crowded with chariots, horses, and elephants, resounding with the music of instruments, filled with every auspicious thing, and teeming with joyful, prosperous people. He saw gardens and parks, abundant gatherings and festivals, and the people moving about happily in his father’s royal city. With longing, Rama wished aloud: “If only King Dasharatha might live, and after our return from the forest, we might see that great-souled, virtuous man again. If, together with the truthful and unharmed one, we might enter Ayodhya again after the forest exile is ended.” As he lamented, afflicted with sorrow, the night slowly passed. Guha, Rama’s devoted friend, was deeply moved by Rama’s grief. Overwhelmed, he shed tears, his heart aching like an elephant tormented by pain. With the arrival of dawn, the story continued. The morning sun rose, and the illustrious Rama spoke to his brother Saumitri, Lakshmana of auspicious marks. “The time of sunrise has come, the blessed night has gone. Look, dear one, the dark-plumed cuckoo is calling. And the cries of peacocks are heard resounding in the forest. Gentle one, let us cross the swift-flowing Jahnavi, which goes to the ocean.” Lakshmana, ever attentive, summoned Guha and the charioteer, and stood before his brother. Guha, upon hearing Rama’s command, quickly called his attendants and said, “Bring here a well-equipped, sturdy, and swift boat, fitted with oars and ready for crossing.” Guha’s attendants soon brought a beautiful boat and reported to him. Guha, with joined palms, spoke reverently to Rama: “Here is the boat, O lord; what more shall I do for you? 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 their swords, the two Raghavas, with Sita, made their way toward the Ganga. The charioteer, Sumantra, approached Rama, who knew righteousness, with humility and joined palms. “What shall I do?” he asked. Rama gently touched Sumantra with his right hand and said, “Sumantra, quickly return again; be ever attentive before the king. Turn back, for my task is done. Leaving the chariot, I will go to the great forest on foot.” Sumantra, sorrowful at being dismissed, spoke to Rama, the tiger among men, 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. 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 grieved as if for himself, weeping for a long time as he saw Rama far away. When his tears had ceased, Rama purified himself with water and 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. 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.” Rama continued, reassuring Sumantra: “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. When the fourteen years are completed, you will soon see Lakshmana, myself, and Sita returning again and again.” Thus, the story flows from sorrow and longing to resolve and hope, as Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita prepare to cross the Ganga and enter their exile, trusting in dharma and the promise of return.