With deep affection and unwavering devotion, Sumantra spoke to Rama, his words flowing freely, asking forgiveness for any lack of formality. “How can I return to Ayodhya without you?” he lamented. “It would be as if a son, overwhelmed by grief, is separated from his father. When the people see my chariot without Rama—even though it still bears your name—the city itself may be torn apart at the sight. Surely Ayodhya will fall into misery upon seeing this empty chariot, with only the charioteer remaining, like an army whose heroes have been slain in battle.” Sumantra continued, “Though you reside far away, the people, imagining you present in their hearts, will surely fast today, 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. The cry of distress released by the citizens at my 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 is untrue, I would not utter such words; how could I speak this unpleasant truth?” He pondered further, “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, Sumantra, humble and distressed, pleaded repeatedly in many ways. Seeing his servant’s devotion, Rama, compassionate and wise, addressed him gently. “I know your supreme devotion to me, O one devoted to your master. 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, 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 Sumantra, 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 the banyan milk, 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. Thereafter, having adopted the path of the hermits with Lakshmana, Rama, having taken his vow, spoke to Guha, his companion. “Be ever vigilant, Guha, regarding the army, treasury, fortresses, and the people; for the kingdom is considered most difficult to protect.” Then, having taken leave of Guha, the scion of Ikshvaku swiftly departed, undisturbed, with his wife Sita and Lakshmana. On the riverbank, desiring to cross the swift-flowing Ganga, Rama spoke to Lakshmana, “O tiger among men, board this boat which is ready, and gently help Sita, the noble lady, to embark after you.” Hearing his brother’s command and offering no objection, Lakshmana first helped Maithili to board, and then ascended himself. Then the illustrious elder brother of Lakshmana himself boarded; and the chief of the Nishadas, Guha, urged his kinsmen onward. Raghava, of great splendor, having boarded the boat, recited sacred prayers for his own welfare, as prescribed for both Brahmins and Kshatriyas. Thus, Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita began their journey deeper into the forest, their hearts steadfast in dharma, watched over by Guha and Sumantra, who carried the weight of separation and duty.