Sumantra, the devoted charioteer, was overwhelmed with grief as he watched Rāma, now far from Ayodhyā, departing into exile. Tears streamed down his face while he lamented, “We are truly ruined, Rāma. Deceived by Kaikeyī, we shall fall under the sway of her sinful designs and share in her sorrow.” His heart ached as if the loss were his own, and he wept for a long time, unable to contain his sorrow. When his tears had finally subsided, Rāma, having purified himself with water, turned to Sumantra and spoke to him gently and with kindness, again and again. “Among all the Ikṣvākus, I know of no friend who equals you. Please act in such a way that King Daśaratha does not grieve for me. The king, lord of the earth, is afflicted by sorrow and old age, weighed down by the burden of desire—this is why I ask this of you. Whatever our great king commands, for the sake of Kaikeyī’s pleasure and wishes, must be carried out without hesitation. This is why kings rule, so that their will is not thwarted in any of their undertakings. If the great king remains true, not falling into falsehood or being overcome by grief, then, Sumantra, you must act accordingly. “When you return, greet the king—aged, noble, and self-controlled—and speak these words on my behalf to him, who until now has not known suffering: Neither I, nor Lakṣmaṇa, nor Sītā grieve or lament that we have left Ayodhyā or that we are to dwell in the forest. When the fourteen years are completed, you will soon see Lakṣmaṇa, Sītā, and me returning again and again. “After speaking thus to the king and my mother, Sumantra, 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 of Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, and myself, just as we have spoken them. Also, tell the great king to summon Bharata quickly; and if Bharata has already arrived, he should be established in the position the king favors. 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 toward the king, so should you behave toward all the mothers, without distinction. Honor Queen Kausalyā, my mother, especially, just as you regard Kaikeyī and Sumitrā equally. With affection for our father and expectation of the royal succession, you are able to bring happiness to both worlds.” Listening to all these words, Sumantra, though overcome with sorrow, was urged by Rāma to return. Out of love, he spoke to Rāma, the scion of the Kakutstha line, “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 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. Surely the city will 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 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 your exile, upon seeing me seated in the chariot, would become a hundred times greater. “What could I possibly say to your mother? That your son has been taken by me to his uncle’s house—do not grieve? Even if it were untrue, I could 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 Ayodhyā without you, O blameless one; you should permit me to accompany you to the forest. If, despite my entreaties, you insist on abandoning me, then, forsaken by you here, I will enter the fire with the chariot. “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 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. I will serve you with my head while dwelling in the forest; Ayodhyā or even the realm of the gods, I renounce entirely. Indeed, I cannot enter Ayodhyā without you; the royal city of mighty Indra is inaccessible to one who has committed evil deeds. “When the period of forest dwelling is completed, my heart’s desire is to carry you back to the city with this very chariot. The fourteen years spent with you in the forest will pass like moments; otherwise, hundreds of years would seem different. You should not abandon me, who stands devoted as a servant, on the path where the master and son have gone, faithful and steadfast in service.” Thus, Sumantra, humble and distressed, pleaded with Rāma in many ways. Compassionate to his servant, Rāma then addressed Sumantra, who stood before him with unwavering devotion.