As Rāma prepared to enter the forest, Sumantra, the charioteer, gazed at him with deep reverence and sorrow. He spoke with trembling voice, “O hero, dwelling in the forest with Vaidehī and your brother, you will surely achieve your purpose, as if you have conquered the three worlds.” But then, grief overtook Sumantra, and he lamented, “We are truly ruined, Rāma. We who have been deceived by her—now we must fall under the power of sinful Kaikeyī and share in her sorrow.” Tormented by loss, Sumantra wept for a long time, grieving as though his own life had been shattered, his eyes following Rāma as he faded into the distance. When his tears finally ceased, Rāma, having purified himself with water, approached the pure-hearted charioteer and spoke to him in gentle, comforting words. “Among all the Ikṣvākus, I see no friend equal to you, Sumantra. Please act so that King Daśaratha does not grieve for me. Our lord, the king, is afflicted by sorrow and burdened by age and desire—that is why I ask this of you. Whatever the great-souled king commands, for the sake of Kaikeyī’s happiness, must be carried out without hesitation. Kings rule so that their will is never hindered in any undertaking. If the great king does not fall into falsehood, nor is he overcome by sorrow, then you, too, must act in the same way, Sumantra. After greeting the king—aged, noble, and self-controlled—speak these words on my behalf to him, who has never known suffering. Tell him that neither I, nor Lakṣmaṇa, nor Maithilī, grieve or lament for leaving Ayodhyā, nor for dwelling in the forest. When the fourteen years are fulfilled, you will see Lakṣmaṇa, Sītā, and myself returning again and again. After you have spoken thus to the king and my mother, Sumantra, please also convey my words repeatedly to the other queens, including Kaikeyī. Offer my wishes for health to Kausalyā, and give her my respectful salutations, as well as those from Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa. Also, tell the great king to summon Bharata quickly; and if Bharata has already arrived, let him be established in the position the king desires. Embrace Bharata and anoint him as heir-apparent, so that the sorrow from our distress does not overcome you. Bharata should also be told: as you conduct yourself toward the king, so too should you behave toward all the mothers, without distinction. Just as you honor Kaikeyī and Sumitrā equally, so especially honor Queen Kausalyā, who is my mother. With affection for my father and the expectation of royal succession, Bharata can bring happiness to both worlds.” Hearing Rāma’s words urging him to return, Sumantra, though distressed by sorrow, listened with devotion and spoke to Rāma, the scion of Kakutstha. “If, out of affection and unwavering devotion, I speak without proper formality, please forgive my words. 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 though it still bears your name, the city itself may be torn apart at the sight of the empty chariot. Surely, Ayodhyā will fall into misery, seeing this chariot with only the charioteer, like an army whose heroes have fallen in battle. Though you reside far away, the people, holding you in their hearts, will surely fast today, thinking of you. You have seen, Rāma, how the people have become distressed and agitated during your exile, their hearts weary with grief for you. The cry of distress released by the citizens at my return, seeing me seated in the chariot, would be a hundred times greater. What can 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 could not utter such words; nor could I speak this painful truth. Those bound by my command, your kinsmen—how will the noble horses tell them the chariot is bereft of you? I cannot return to Ayodhyā without you, O blameless one; you should permit me to accompany you to the forest. If, despite my pleas, you insist on abandoning me, then I will enter the fire with the chariot, 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 known through serving you with the chariot, I hope to find again by serving you in the forest. And these horses, O hero, if they serve you in the forest, will attain the highest state. I will serve you with all my being while dwelling in the forest; Ayodhyā or even the realm of the gods, I renounce entirely. Truly, I cannot enter Ayodhyā without you; even the royal city of mighty Indra is inaccessible to one who has committed evil deeds. When the period of forest dwelling is complete, my heart’s desire is to carry you back to the city with this very chariot. Fourteen years spent with you in the forest will pass like moments; otherwise, a hundred years would seem different. You should not abandon me, your devoted servant, who stands faithful and steadfast on the path where master and son have gone.” Thus, Sumantra poured out his heart, clinging to Rāma with unwavering devotion, longing to serve him always, whether in the city or the forest.