Rāma, the noble son of Daśaratha, gently touched Sumantra with his right hand and spoke, “Sumantra, quickly return to the palace; always be attentive before the king.” He instructed, “Turn back, for my task is done. I will leave the chariot behind and enter the great forest on foot.” Seeing himself thus dismissed, Sumantra, his heart heavy with sorrow, addressed Rāma, the tiger among men and 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, who embody asceticism, study, gentleness, and honesty, have come to such misfortune, I begin to doubt the fruits of these virtues. Yet, living in the forest with Vaidehī and your brother, O hero, you will surely fulfill your purpose, as if conquering the three worlds.” Sumantra lamented, “We are truly ruined, Rāma, deceived by her; we shall fall under the power of sinful Kaikeyī and share in her sorrow.” Grieving as if for himself, Sumantra wept for a long time as he watched Rāma depart into the distance. When his tears finally ceased, Rāma purified himself by touching water, and then addressed Sumantra with sweet words, again and again. “Among the Ikṣvākus, I see no friend equal to you. Please act so that King Daśaratha does not grieve for me. The lord of the earth, afflicted by sorrow and age, weighed down by desire—this is why I ask this of you. Whatever the great-souled king commands, for Kaikeyī’s pleasure and desire, must be done without hesitation. This is why kings rule: so their will is never hindered.” Rāma continued, “If the great king does not fall into falsehood nor is overcome by grief, then, Sumantra, you must act likewise. When you greet the king—aged, noble, and self-controlled—speak these words on my behalf, to him who has not known suffering: Neither I, nor Lakshmana, nor Maithili grieve. We do not lament leaving Ayodhya, nor dwelling in the forest. When fourteen years are completed, you will see Lakshmana, Sita, and myself returning again and again.” “After speaking thus to the king and my mother, Sumantra, convey my words to all the other queens, including Kaikeyī. Offer my wishes for health to Kausalya, and my respectful salutations, as well as those of Sita and Lakshmana. Tell the great king to summon Bharata quickly; 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 of 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 the expectation of 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, please forgive me. How can I return to that city, deprived of you, as if 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 surely fast today, thinking only of you. 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 were untrue, I would not utter such words; how could I speak this unpleasant truth?” Sumantra continued, “Those who are bound by my command—the hosts of your kinsmen—how will the noble horses tell them the chariot is bereft of you? I am unable to go to Ayodhya without you, O blameless one; please permit me to accompany you to the forest. If, despite my entreaties, you insist on abandoning me, then with the chariot I will enter the fire, forsaken by you here.” “Whatever obstacles to ascetic practice arise in the forest, O Rāghava, I will ward them off with the chariot. The happiness I have gained through service with the chariot, I hope to attain happiness through serving you in forest dwelling. And these horses, O hero, if they serve you as dwellers in the forest, will attain the highest state.” Thus, the exchange between Rāma and Sumantra was filled with sorrow, devotion, and the deepest affection, as the moment of parting drew near.