Upon reaching the banks of the majestic Gaṅgā, Guha, the chief of the Nishādas, addressed Rāma with reverence, saying, “O tiger among men, here is a boat, as splendid as the chariots of the gods, ready to carry you across this river that flows to the ocean. Ascend it, O steadfast one!” Rāma, radiant in his might, replied warmly, “Guha, you have fulfilled my wish; let us quickly embark.” With resolve, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa fastened their quivers and girded their swords. Accompanied by Sītā, the two Rāghavas made their way toward the river. As they prepared to depart, Sumantra, their faithful charioteer, approached Rāma, who upheld righteousness, and with humility and joined palms, asked, “What shall I do?” Rāma, the son of Daśaratha, gently touched Sumantra with his right hand and spoke, “Sumantra, return quickly to Ayodhya. Be ever attentive before the king.” He continued, “Turn back, for my task is done. Leaving the chariot, I will proceed to the great forest on foot.” Hearing himself dismissed, Sumantra was overcome with sorrow and spoke to Rāma, the descendant of Ikṣvāku, “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. If you have come to such misfortune, I do not believe there is any fruit in asceticism, or in study, or even in gentleness and honesty. Yet, dwelling in the forest with Vaidehī and your brother, O hero, you will attain your goal, as if conquering the three worlds. We are truly ruined, Rāma, deceived by Kaikeyī; we shall fall under her power and share her sorrow.” Sumantra lamented deeply, his grief as intense as if it were his own, and wept for a long time, seeing Rāma departing. When his tears had ceased, Rāma, having purified himself by touching water, spoke sweet words to the pure-hearted charioteer, comforting him again and again. “Among the Ikṣvākus, I see no friend equal to you. Act so that King Daśaratha does not grieve for me. The lord of the earth, afflicted by sorrow and old age, weighed down by desire—therefore I say this to you. Whatever the great-souled king commands, for the sake of Kaikeyī’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.” Rāma continued, “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 Lakṣmaṇa, 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 Lakṣmaṇa, myself, and Sītā returning again and again. Having spoken thus to the king and my mother, Sumantra, also convey my words repeatedly to the other queens, including Kaikeyī. Convey my wishes for health to Kausalya, and offer her my respectful salutations, as well as those of Sītā, myself, and Lakṣmaṇa, as spoken by us.” He instructed further, “Tell the great king to summon Bharata quickly; and if Bharata has already arrived, he should be established in the position favored by the king. Embrace Bharata and anoint him as heir-apparent; then the sorrow born from our distress will not overcome you. Bharata should also be told: as you conduct yourself towards the king, so should you behave towards all the mothers, without distinction. Just as you regard Kaikeyī and Sumitra equally, so too should you especially honor Queen Kausalya, who is my mother. With affection for my father and expectation of the royal succession, you are able to bring happiness to both worlds.” Though distressed by sorrow, Sumantra listened to all these words and, out of affection, spoke to Rāma, “If, out of affection and unwavering devotion, I speak without proper formality, you ought to forgive these words. How can I return to that city, deprived of you, as if it were a son overwhelmed by grief at separation from his father? When the people see my chariot without Rāma, even if it still bears your name, the city itself may be torn apart at the sight of the chariot without you. The city will surely fall into misery upon seeing this empty chariot, with only the charioteer remaining, like an army whose heroes have been slain in battle. Though you reside far away, the people, imagining you present in their minds, will today surely become fasting, thinking of you.” Sumantra continued, “You have seen, Rāma, how, during your exile, the people have become distressed and agitated, their hearts weary with grief for you. The cry of distress released by the citizens at my exile, upon seeing me seated in the chariot, would become a hundred times greater. What could I possibly say to your mother? That her son has been taken by me to his uncle’s house—do not grieve? Even if it is untrue, I would not utter such words; how could I speak this unpleasant truth? Those who are bound by my command, the hosts of your kinsmen—how will the noble horses tell them that the chariot is bereft of you? I am unable to go to Ayodhya without you, O blameless one; you should permit me to accompany you to the forest.” Thus, with hearts heavy and words full of affection and duty, Rāma and Sumantra exchanged their farewells at the threshold of the forest, each bearing the weight of love, sorrow, and steadfast resolve.