Rāma, standing firm in his resolve, turned to Sumantra and spoke with gentle assurance: “Neither I, nor Lakṣmaṇa, nor Maithilī grieve, nor do we lament leaving Ayodhyā behind, or the prospect of dwelling in the forest. When the fourteen years of exile are complete, you will surely see Lakṣmaṇa, Sītā, and myself returning to you again and again. Please, Sumantra, convey these words of mine to the king and my mother, and repeat them to all the other queens as well, including Kaikeyī. “Offer my wishes for health to Kausalyā, and convey my respectful salutations, as well as those of Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, just as we have spoken. 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; then the sorrow born from our misfortune will not overpower you. “Tell Bharata also: as you behave towards the king, so you should conduct yourself towards all the mothers, making no distinction. Just as you regard Kaikeyī and Sumitrā equally, so too must you especially honor Queen Kausalyā, who is my mother. With affection for our father and with the expectation of royal succession, you have the power to bring happiness to both worlds.” Having listened to these heartfelt instructions, Sumantra, though overcome with sorrow, out of deep affection addressed Rāma, the scion of the Kakutstha lineage: “If, out of devotion and love, I speak without the proper formality, I beg your forgiveness for my words. How can I return to that city, deprived of you, like a son grieving for his absent father? When the people see my chariot without Rāma, even though it still bears your name, the city itself might be torn apart at the sight. Surely, the city will fall into misery when they see this empty chariot, with only the charioteer remaining, like an army whose heroes have fallen in battle. “Though you reside far away, the people, holding your image 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 sorrow that arose when they saw me taking you away will become a hundred times greater when I return alone. 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; how can I speak this painful truth? “Those who obey my command, your kinsmen—how will the noble horses tell them that the chariot is bereft of you? I cannot bring myself to return to Ayodhyā without you, O blameless one; please allow me to accompany you to the forest. If, even after 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 gained from serving you with the chariot, I wish to find again 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 very head while dwelling in the forest; I renounce Ayodhyā and even the realm of the gods. “Truly, I cannot enter Ayodhyā without you; the royal city of mighty Indra is not for one who has committed evil deeds. When the period of forest dwelling is over, my heart’s desire is to bring you back to the city in this very chariot. Fourteen years spent with you in the forest will pass like moments; otherwise, even hundreds of years would seem unbearable. You should not abandon me, who stands devoted as a servant, on the path where the master and son have gone, steadfast and faithful in service.” Thus, Sumantra pleaded again and again, humble and distressed. Rāma, ever compassionate to his servant, addressed him with kindness: “I know your supreme devotion to me, O faithful one. Listen now to the reason I send you back to the city. When you return, my mother Kaikeyī will be convinced that I have indeed gone to the forest. For that queen, satisfied when I have departed, will not suspect the righteous king of being false. This is my foremost wish: that my younger mother may secure a flourishing kingdom for her son Bharata, kept safe. “For the happiness of both the king and myself, you, Sumantra, must return to the city with the chariot; and as I have instructed, speak to each person as is fitting.” Having thus spoken, and having repeatedly comforted Sumantra, Rāma then turned to Guha and addressed him with firm and purposeful words: “Guha, it is not fitting for me now to dwell in an inhabited forest; I must reside in a hermitage, for that is the prescribed rule. Therefore, embracing the vow that adorns ascetics, I, wishing for the welfare of my father, Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa, will proceed. After my matted locks are fashioned, I will depart—bring the milk of the banyan tree.” Guha quickly brought the milk for the prince, ready to assist in this sacred transition.