Sumantra, Rama’s devoted charioteer, stood before Rama with a heart full of sorrow. He spoke earnestly, “You have seen, O Rama, how your absence during exile has plunged the people into distress and agitation—their hearts are weary with grief for you. If the citizens, already so distraught at your exile, were to see me return to Ayodhya alone in the chariot, their cries of anguish would multiply a hundredfold.” Sumantra’s voice trembled as he continued, “What shall I tell your mother? Should I say, ‘Your son has been taken by me to his uncle’s house—do not grieve’? Even if that would comfort her, I cannot speak such untruths, nor could I bear to utter the painful truth. And what of your kinsmen, bound by my command? How will the noble horses explain to them that the chariot returns bereft of you?” He bowed his head, unable to contain his grief. “I cannot bear to return to Ayodhya without you, O blameless one. Grant me your permission to accompany you into the forest. If, despite all my pleas, you insist on leaving me behind, then I will enter the fire with this chariot, forsaken by you here.” Sumantra’s devotion shone through his words. “Whatever obstacles to your ascetic life arise in the forest, O Rāghava, I will ward them off with the chariot. The happiness I have found in serving you with this chariot, I hope to find again by serving you in your forest dwelling. And these horses, O hero, if they too serve you as dwellers in the forest, will surely attain the highest state.” He pressed his hands together in supplication. “I will serve you with all my heart while dwelling in the forest. Ayodhya, or even the realm of the gods, I renounce entirely. Truly, I cannot return to Ayodhya without you; for one who has committed such a deed, even the royal city of mighty Indra is inaccessible. When your period of forest dwelling is complete, my dearest wish is to carry you back to the city with this very chariot. Fourteen years spent with you in the forest would pass like moments; otherwise, hundreds of years would seem endless.” With tears in his eyes, Sumantra pleaded, “You should not abandon me, your devoted servant, on this path where master and son have gone, faithful and steadfast in service.” Thus, Sumantra, humble and distressed, pleaded in many ways with Rama. Seeing his charioteer’s devotion, Rama, ever compassionate, addressed him kindly, “I know your supreme devotion to me, O faithful one. But listen to the reason I ask you to return to the city. When you reach Ayodhya, my younger mother Kaikeyī will be assured that Rama has truly gone to the forest. That queen, satisfied when I have departed, will not suspect the righteous king of being a liar. This is my foremost wish: that my younger mother may secure a flourishing kingdom for her son Bharata, kept safe.” Rama’s words were gentle but firm. “For the sake of my happiness and that of the king, Sumantra, return to the city with the chariot. As you have been instructed, speak to each person according to what is appropriate.” Having thus consoled Sumantra, Rama then turned to Guha, the chief of the Nishadas, and spoke with purpose. “Guha, it is not proper for me now to dwell in the inhabited forest. I must reside in the hermitage, for such is the rule prescribed for one in exile. Therefore, embracing the vow that adorns ascetics, I, wishing for the welfare of my father, Sita, and Lakshmana, will proceed.” He added, “Once my matted locks are made, I will depart. Bring me the milk of the banyan tree.” Guha quickly brought the milk, and with it, Rama fashioned matted locks for himself and for Lakshmana. Clad in garments of bark and with their hair arranged in circles, the brothers Rama and Lakshmana shone like twin sages. Having adopted the path of the hermits with Lakshmana, Rama, resolute in his vow, spoke again to Guha, “Be ever vigilant, Guha, regarding the army, the treasury, the fortresses, and the people, for the kingdom is most difficult to protect.” Then, taking leave of Guha, the scion of Ikshvaku departed swiftly and undisturbed, accompanied by Sita and Lakshmana. On the bank of the river, Rama, desiring to cross the swift-flowing Ganga, turned to Lakshmana and said, “O tiger among men, board this boat, which is ready, and gently help Sita, the noble lady, to embark after you.” Lakshmana, ever obedient, first helped Sita, Maithili, to board, and then ascended himself. Then Rama, the illustrious elder brother, stepped onto the boat, while Guha, chief of the Nishadas, urged his kinsmen to action. Rama, radiant and full of splendor, boarded the boat and recited sacred prayers for his welfare, as prescribed for both Brahmins and Kshatriyas. He and Sita and Lakshmana then ritually sipped water according to the scriptures and bowed reverently to the river. Taking leave of Sumantra, Guha, and their forces, Rama boarded the boat and instructed the boatmen to proceed. The boat, expertly guided by the helmsman and propelled by a fine oar, moved swiftly across the water. When they reached the middle of the Bhagirathi, Sita, faultless and noble, joined her palms and prayed to the river, “This is the son of Dasharatha, the great and wise king; may he, protected by you, O Ganga, fulfill his father’s command.