Rama, his heart heavy with sorrow and the weight of his father’s desires, turned to Sumantra and spoke gently, “The lord of this land—my father—is afflicted by age and grief, burdened by longing. That is why I say this to you. Whatever the noble king commands, especially for the sake of Kaikeyi’s wishes, must be carried out without hesitation. After all, kings rule so that their will is not thwarted in any matter. “If the great king remains true to his word and is not overtaken by sorrow, then, Sumantra, you too must act accordingly. When you return, greet the king—aged, self-controlled, and noble—and speak these words from me to him, who has never known suffering. “Tell him that neither I, nor Lakshmana, nor Sita grieve. We do not lament leaving Ayodhya, nor do we sorrow at the thought of living in the forest. And when the fourteen years have passed, you shall see Lakshmana, Sita, and me returning to Ayodhya, again and again. “After you have conveyed this to the king and my mother, Sumantra, also express my words to all the other queens, including Kaikeyi. Offer my wishes for health to my mother, Kausalya, and convey my salutations, as well as those of Sita and Lakshmana. “Tell the king that Bharata should be summoned quickly. If he has already returned, he should be installed in the position the king desires for him. Embrace Bharata and anoint him as heir-apparent; then, the sorrow born from our distress will not overcome you. “Tell Bharata as well: as you conduct yourself toward the king, so should you behave toward all our mothers. Regard Kaikeyi and Sumitra equally, but especially honor Queen Kausalya, who is my mother. With affection for our father and the responsibility of the kingdom, you have the power to bring happiness to both worlds.” As Rama finished, Sumantra, though deeply distressed, listened to every word. Out of affection, he replied to Rama, “If, out of love and unwavering devotion, I speak without proper formality, please forgive me. How can I return to the city without you? It will be like a son bereft of his father, overcome by grief. “When the people see my chariot empty of Rama, even if it still bears your name, the city itself may be torn apart at the sight. Surely, Ayodhya will fall into misery upon seeing your chariot return with only the charioteer, like an army whose heroes have fallen in battle. Though you will be far away, the people, imagining you in their hearts, will surely fast and pine for you. “You saw, Rama, how the people became distressed and agitated when you left, their hearts weary with grief. The cry of sorrow that arose at your exile, when they saw me driving your chariot, will now be a hundred times greater. What can I possibly say to your mother? That I have taken her son to his uncle’s house and she should not grieve? Even if it is untrue, I could not speak such words; how could I utter this painful truth? “How will your kinsmen, bound by my command, learn that the chariot is now bereft of you? Even the noble horses will not know how to bear the news. I cannot return to Ayodhya without you, O blameless one; please permit me to accompany you to the forest. If, despite my pleas, you insist on leaving me behind, then I will enter the fire with the chariot, forsaken by you. “Whatever obstacles to ascetic life arise in the forest, O Raghava, I will dispel them with the chariot. The happiness I have known in your service, I wish to continue by serving you in the forest. Even these horses, O hero, if they serve you in the forest, will attain the highest state. I will serve you with all my heart while dwelling in the forest; I renounce Ayodhya and even the realm of the gods. “I truly cannot return to Ayodhya without you; even the city of mighty Indra is inaccessible to one who has done wrong. When your exile ends, my heart’s desire is to carry you back to the city in this very chariot. The fourteen years spent with you in the forest will pass like moments; without you, even hundreds of years would seem unbearable. Do not abandon me, who is devoted to you, on this path where the master and son have gone. I am faithful and steadfast in your service.” Thus, Sumantra pleaded again and again, humble and distressed. Rama, ever compassionate to his servant, addressed him, “I know your supreme devotion, O faithful one. But listen to the reason I send you back to the city. When you return, my younger mother Kaikeyi will be convinced that Rama has indeed gone to the forest. Satisfied by my departure, she will not suspect the righteous king of falsehood. This is my foremost wish: that my younger mother may see her son Bharata secure and flourishing in the kingdom.” In this way, Rama and Sumantra spoke with hearts full of devotion and sorrow, each bound by duty and love, as the charioteer prepared to return to Ayodhya with Rama’s message.