Having resolved to begin his exile, Rama turned to Sumantra, the faithful charioteer, and spoke with gentle authority. “Sumantra, having delivered my words to the king and my mother, please convey my message repeatedly to all the other queens, including Kaikeyi,” he said. “Offer my wishes for health to Kausalya, and present my respectful salutations—not only from myself, but also from Sita and Lakshmana, as we have spoken.” He continued, “Tell the great king to summon Bharata quickly; and if Bharata has already arrived, he should be established in the position favored by the king. 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 towards the king, so should you behave towards all the mothers, without distinction. Just as you regard Kaikeyi and Sumitra equally, so too should you especially honor Queen Kausalya, who is my mother. With affection for my father and expectation of royal succession, you are able to bring happiness to both worlds.” As Rama urged Sumantra to return, the charioteer, though overwhelmed by sorrow, listened to all these words and, out of affection, spoke to Rama, the descendant of Kakutstha. “If, out of affection and unwavering devotion, I speak without proper formality, you ought to forgive these words,” Sumantra pleaded. “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 Rama, even if it still bears your name, the city itself may be torn apart at the sight of the chariot without you. The city will surely 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 today surely become fasting, thinking of you. You have seen, Rama, how, during your exile, the people have become distressed and agitated, their hearts weary with grief for you. For the cry of distress released by the citizens at my exile, upon seeing me seated in the chariot, would become a hundred times greater.” Sumantra’s voice trembled as he continued, “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 is untrue, I would 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 Ayodhya 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 Raghava, I will ward them off with the chariot. The happiness I have gained through service with the chariot, I hope to attain happiness 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; Ayodhya or even the realm of the gods, I renounce entirely. Indeed, I cannot enter Ayodhya 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, repeatedly pleading in many ways, humble and distressed, Sumantra was addressed by Rama, compassionate to his servant. “I know your supreme devotion to me, O one devoted to your master,” Rama said kindly. “Listen also to the reason I send you from here to the city. When you reach the city, my younger mother Kaikeyi will be convinced that Rama has gone to the forest. For that queen, satisfied when I have gone to the forest, will not suspect the righteous king of being a liar. This is my foremost wish: that my younger mother may obtain a flourishing kingdom for her son Bharata, kept safe. For the sake of my happiness and that of the king, you, Sumantra, return to the city with the chariot; and as you have been instructed, speak to each person as appropriate.” Having spoken thus, and having repeatedly consoled the charioteer, Rama then addressed Guha with firm and purposeful words. “Guha, it is not fitting for me now to dwell in the inhabited forest; certainly, I must reside in the hermitage, for such is the rule prescribed. Therefore, embracing the vow that adorns ascetics, I, wishing for the welfare of my father, Sita, and Lakshmana, will proceed. After matted locks are made, I will depart; bring the milk of the banyan tree.” Guha quickly brought that milk for the prince. With that, Rama fashioned matted locks for Lakshmana and himself. The long-armed, tiger among men then assumed the ascetic’s appearance. Clad in bark garments and wearing circles of matted hair, the brothers Rama and Lakshmana shone like twin sages, radiant in their resolve and devotion.