As Sumantra, the charioteer, watched Rāma recede into the distance, a deep sorrow overcame him. He wept bitterly, mourning as if the loss were his own, and for a long while, his grief knew no bounds. When his tears finally subsided, Rāma, having purified himself with water, approached Sumantra with gentle kindness. Again and again, he spoke to the loyal charioteer in sweet and comforting tones. “Among all the Ikṣvākus,” Rāma said, “I see no friend who equals you. Please, do all you can so that King Daśaratha does not grieve for me. The king, lord of the earth, is already afflicted by sorrow and age, weighed down by his desires. That is why I ask this of you. Whatever the great-souled king commands—especially for the sake of Kaikeyī’s happiness and wishes—must be done without hesitation. This is the reason kings rule: so that their will is not hindered in any matter. If the king does not fall into falsehood or become overwhelmed by grief, you too, Sumantra, should act in the same manner. When you greet the king—who is aged, noble, and self-controlled—convey these words on my behalf to him, who has not known such suffering before. Tell him that neither I, nor Lakṣmaṇa, nor Maithili grieve or lament our departure from Ayodhyā, nor do we sorrow over our coming life in the forest. When the fourteen years are completed, you will see Lakṣmaṇa, Sītā, and myself return to Ayodhyā again and again. After speaking to the king and my mother, Sumantra, please convey my words to all the other queens, including Kaikeyī. Offer my wishes for health to Kausalyā, and give her my respectful salutations, as well as those of Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, just as we have spoken them. Tell the king also 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; then the sorrow born from our distress will not overcome you. To Bharata, say this: as you conduct yourself towards the king, so should you behave towards all the mothers, without distinction. Just as you honor Kaikeyī and Sumitrā equally, so too should you especially honor Queen Kausalyā, who is my mother. With affection for our father and hope for the royal succession, you are able to bring happiness to both worlds.” When Rāma had spoken thus, urging Sumantra to return, the charioteer, though overwhelmed with sorrow, listened carefully to every word. Out of great affection, he replied to Rāma of the Kakutstha line, “If, out of love and unwavering devotion, I speak without proper formality, I beg you to forgive me. How can I return to that city, deprived of you, like a son grieving for the loss of his father? When the people see my chariot without Rāma—though 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. Even though you reside far away, the people, imagining you present in their hearts, 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 that arose from the citizens at my exile, upon seeing me seated in the chariot, would become a hundred times greater now. 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 could not utter such words; how could I speak this unpleasant truth? Those who obey my command, 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 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 serving you with the chariot, I hope to attain by serving you in your forest dwelling. And these horses, O hero, if they serve you 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. Truly, 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 would 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 pleaded again and again in many ways, humble and distressed. Seeing his servant’s devotion, Rāma, ever compassionate, addressed him kindly, “I know your supreme devotion to me, O one loyal to your master. But listen also to the reason I send you from here back to the city.