Rama, reflecting on the turn of fate, spoke with gentle sorrow to Lakshmana. “Truly, Bharata, son of Kaikeyi, is fortunate with his wife; he alone will enjoy the prosperous kingdom of Kosala as its sovereign. With our father now aged, and I dwelling in the forest, Bharata will become the sole face of the entire kingdom. Yet, whoever abandons wealth and righteousness to follow desire quickly falls into misfortune, as King Dasharatha has done. I believe, gentle one, that Kaikeyi’s actions have brought about the end of Dasharatha, my exile, and the kingdom for Bharata. I only hope that Kaikeyi, intoxicated by her newfound fortune, does not harass Kausalya and Sumitra because of me. Let not Queen Sumitra, because of my fate, dwell in sorrow; you, Lakshmana, should return to Ayodhya at the proper time. I alone will go to Dandaka with Sita; for the mother left without support, you must be her protector, Lakshmana. Kaikeyi, acting out of malice, may commit wrongful deeds; she might even hand over my mother to Bharata, though he knows righteousness. Surely, in some other birth, women separated from their sons must have done something to deserve such pain; even so, this suffering has now come upon my mother. Kausalya, who raised me for so long and with such hardship, is now deprived of me at the very time she should have received her reward—shame on me. Let no woman ever give birth to a son like me, O Saumitri, who brings endless grief to his mother. I think, Lakshmana, that the pet starling is dearer to her than I am; she listens to its words as she counts the toes of her enemy’s parrot. What use am I, O subduer of foes, to my mother, who is so unfortunate and whom I, her son, cannot help as she grieves? My mother Kausalya, deprived of me, lies overwhelmed by the greatest sorrow, fallen into an ocean of grief. Alone, I could conquer Ayodhya, and even the earth, with my arrows in anger, Lakshmana, but truly, valor is pointless. Fearing unrighteousness and the world beyond, O sinless one, that is why I do not anoint myself today.” Having spoken these and other sorrowful words in the lonely forest, Rama, his face streaked with tears, fell silent as night descended. Seeing Rama thus, who had ceased his lamentation and was like a fire whose flames are gone, like a sea whose waves are stilled, Lakshmana sought to comfort him. “Surely today, O best of warriors, the city of Ayodhya is without radiance, with you gone, like the night bereft of the moon. This is not fitting, Rama, that you grieve in this way; you cast down Sita and me as well, O best of men. Neither Sita nor I, O Raghava, could live even for a moment without you, just as fish cannot live when taken from water. Truly, I do not wish to see my father, nor Shatrughna, nor the ascetic Sumitra, nor even heaven itself, if it is without you.” Then, seeing Sita seated comfortably not far away, the two righteous brothers lay down on a bed of leaves beneath the banyan tree. Hearing Lakshmana’s excellent and abundant words, Rama embraced life in the forest with dignity and resolve. The noble Raghava devoted himself fully to righteousness, practicing supreme austerity for a long time. In that lonely forest, those two mighty scions of the Raghu line felt neither fear nor anxiety, just like lions roaming the mountain slopes. Listen now to the next chapter in the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda. After spending the night safely beneath that great tree, when the spotless sun had risen, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana departed from that place. They journeyed toward the spot where the sacred Bhagirathi Ganga meets the Yamuna, entering a vast and dense forest. Along the way, they beheld many lands and delightful sights, marveling at things they had never seen before. As they traveled safely, seeing many kinds of trees, and as the day was drawing to a close, Rama spoke to Lakshmana: “Look, Saumitri, near Prayaga, there rises a column of smoke—I think it is the sacred fire of a sage, the sign of the divine Agni. Surely, we have reached the confluence of the Ganga and Yamuna, for I hear the sound of water striking against water. Here are logs split by forest dwellers, and in the ashram of Bharadvaja, many kinds of trees can be seen.” The two archers went on happily as the day waned and reached the sage’s dwelling at the confluence of the Ganga and Yamuna. Arriving at the ashram, Rama startled the deer and birds as he walked for a while, then approached the sage Bharadvaja. Together with Sita, the two heroes, wishing to see the sage, stood at a respectful distance. Entering, they saw the great-souled Bharadvaja surrounded by his disciples, steadfast in his vows, focused, and endowed with vision gained through austerity. Seeing the sacred fire offering of the sage, Rama, along with Lakshmana and Sita, respectfully greeted him with joined palms. Then Rama, elder brother of Lakshmana, introduced himself to the sage: “Revered one, we are the sons of Dasharatha—Rama and Lakshmana. This is my wife, Vaidehī, the virtuous daughter of Janaka; she, blameless, has accompanied me into the lonely forest of asceticism.