With deep humility, Sumantra bowed before Rāma, declaring his unwavering devotion: “While you dwell in the forest, I will serve you with all my heart, renouncing Ayodhya itself—or even the realm of the gods. I cannot return to Ayodhya without you, for one who has committed wrong cannot enter the city of mighty Indra. When your exile is ended, my greatest wish is to bring you back to the city in this very chariot. The fourteen years in the forest, spent with you, will pass like mere moments; without you, even hundreds of years would feel burdensome. Please do not abandon me, your devoted servant, on the path where you, the master and son, have gone, steadfast in your dharma.” In many ways, Sumantra pleaded—humble and distressed. Seeing his sorrow, Rāma, ever compassionate, gently replied, “O devoted one, I know the depth of your loyalty. But listen to the reason I send you back to the city. When you return, my younger mother Kaikeyī will be assured that I have truly gone to the forest, and she will not suspect the righteous king of speaking falsehood. My foremost wish is that my mother may see her son, Bharata, inherit a flourishing kingdom, kept safe. For the happiness of both the king and myself, you, Sumantra, must return with the chariot, and speak to each person as I have instructed.” Having thus consoled his charioteer, Rāma turned to Guha with purpose and resolve. “Guha, it is not proper for me now to dwell in an inhabited forest. I must reside in a hermitage, as prescribed by the rules of exile. Therefore, taking the vow that adorns ascetics, and wishing for the welfare of my father, Sītā, and Lakshmana, I shall proceed onward. Bring the milk of the banyan tree, for after my matted locks are made, I will depart.” At once, Guha brought the milk, and with it, Rāma fashioned matted locks for both Lakshmana and himself. Now clad in bark garments, with their hair arranged as hermits, Rāma and Lakshmana shone like twin sages. Having adopted the path of the hermit, Rāma, resolute in his vow, spoke to Guha: “Be ever vigilant, Guha—protect the army, the treasury, the fortresses, and the people, for the kingdom is most difficult to guard.” Then, bidding farewell to Guha, the scion of Ikshvaku set out swiftly, undisturbed, with his wife and Lakshmana. On the riverbank, Rāma, desiring to cross the swift-flowing Ganga, addressed Lakshmana: “O tiger among men, board this boat, which is ready. Gently help Sītā, the noble lady, to embark after you.” Lakshmana, obedient to his brother’s command, helped Maithilī into the boat and then boarded himself. Then Rāma, the illustrious elder brother, ascended as well, and Guha, chief of the Nishādas, urged his kinsmen to row. Rāma, radiant and steadfast, recited sacred prayers for his own welfare, as prescribed for both Brahmins and Kshatriyas. Along with Sītā and Lakshmana, he ritually sipped water, then bowed to the river with delight. Taking leave of Sumantra, Guha, and their companions, Rāma directed the boatmen to proceed. The boat, expertly steered and struck by the oar, swiftly crossed the waters. When they reached the middle of the Bhāgīrathī, Sītā, pure and devoted, joined her palms and prayed to the river: “This is the son of Daśaratha, the great and wise king. May you, O Ganga, protect him so that he may fulfill his father’s command. After dwelling for fourteen years in the forest with his brother and me, he will return again. O blessed goddess, when I have returned safely, I will joyfully worship you for the fulfillment of all my desires. You, O Tripathagā, behold the world of Brahma and are the consort of the ocean king, manifest in this world. Therefore, I bow to you and praise you, beautiful goddess. When the tiger among men regains his kingdom and returns safely, I will offer a hundred thousand cows, garments, and fine foods to the Brahmins to please you. With a thousand jars of wine and meat-rice offerings, I will worship you, O goddess, with devotion when I return to the city. All the deities who dwell on your banks, and the sacred fords and shrines, I will worship them all. May I, joined again with my strong-armed husband and his brother, re-enter Ayodhya from the forest, O sinless one.” Thus praying, Sītā, pure of heart, quickly reached the southern bank of the Ganga. Having crossed, Rāma—the bull among men—stepped from the boat with his brother and the noble Vaidehī, ready to journey onward into the forest.