As the darkness of night settled upon the forest, Rama’s heart was heavy with sorrow. He spoke to Lakshmana of his deep concern for his mother, Kausalya. “Kaikeyi, driven by malice, is capable of any wrong,” he said, “perhaps even giving my mother over to Bharata, who knows righteousness.” Rama’s thoughts turned inward, reflecting on fate and the suffering of mothers separated from their sons. “Surely, in some past life, women must have committed some deed to earn such pain. Now, that suffering has come upon my mother.” He lamented bitterly, “Kausalya raised me with such care and endured so much, only to be deprived of me now, when she should have received comfort and joy from her son. Shame on me for causing her this sorrow.” His voice choked with grief, Rama continued, “Let no woman ever have a son like me, Saumitri, who brings endless grief to his mother.” Rama’s sadness deepened as he compared himself to a mere pet bird. “I think, Lakshmana, the pet starling is dearer to her than I am, for she listens to its words as she counts the toes of her enemy’s parrot.” Despairing, he added, “What use am I to my mother, O subduer of foes, if I cannot help her in her grief?” He pictured Kausalya, overwhelmed by sorrow, as if she were drowning in an ocean of grief. Rama then spoke of his own strength. “Alone, I could conquer Ayodhya and even the earth with my arrows, Lakshmana, but what is the use of valor now? It means nothing.” He explained his restraint, “Fearing unrighteousness and the consequences in the world beyond, O sinless one, that is why I do not anoint myself as king today.” Having poured out these and other sorrowful words in the lonely forest, Rama, his face streaming with tears, fell silent as night deepened. Lakshmana, seeing his brother so subdued—like a fire whose flames had died, like a sea whose waves were stilled—offered words of comfort. “Surely today, O best of warriors, Ayodhya is without radiance, now that you are gone—like the night without the moon.” Lakshmana gently reproached Rama, “It is not fitting for you to grieve in this way, Rama. Your sorrow casts down Sita and me as well, O best of men. Neither Sita nor I could live even a moment without you, just as fish cannot live out of 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.” With Sita seated nearby, the two righteous brothers lay down together on a bed of leaves beneath a great banyan tree. Lakshmana’s wise and heartfelt words brought solace to Rama, who embraced his life in the forest with new resolve. The noble Raghava devoted himself wholly to righteousness, practicing supreme austerity for a long time. In that lonely forest, the two mighty scions of the Raghu line felt neither fear nor anxiety, just as lions roaming the mountain slopes. Now, listen to the next chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. After spending the night safely beneath the great tree, the spotless sun rose, and Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita departed from that place. They journeyed toward where the sacred Bhagirathi Ganga meets the Yamuna, entering a vast and dense forest. Along the way, the illustrious trio beheld many lands and delightful sights, marveling at things they had never seen before. As the day waned, Rama spoke to Lakshmana, “Look, Saumitri, near Prayaga, a column of smoke rises. I believe 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.” With hearts uplifted, Rama and Lakshmana continued, and as the day drew to a close, they reached the sage’s dwelling at the holy confluence. As Rama entered the ashram, his presence startled the deer and birds, and after walking for a while, he approached the great sage Bharadvaja. Standing at a respectful distance, Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita gazed upon the sage, who was surrounded by his devoted disciples. The sage appeared steadfast in his vows, focused, and radiant with the vision gained through his austerities. Seeing the sacred fire offering, Rama, together with Saumitri and Sita, greeted the sage with reverence, their palms joined in respect. Rama then introduced himself, “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. Saumitra, my dear younger brother, has followed me, sent into exile by our father; this brother, firm in his vows, has come with me to the forest. O revered one, instructed by our father, we shall enter the forest of austerity; there, we shall practice only righteousness, subsisting on roots and fruits.” Hearing these words, the wise and righteous sage Bharadvaja welcomed them with honor. He brought a cow, offerings, and water, and gave them various kinds of forest food, roots, and fruits, preparing a dwelling for them. Surrounded by deer, birds, and sages from all sides, the sage honored Rama’s arrival. After receiving the offerings and seating Rama, Bharadvaja spoke words full of righteousness. “O descendant of Kakutstha, after a long time I see you come here. I have heard of your exile, which is without cause.” Thus, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana found refuge and welcome in the hermitage of the great sage, beginning the next chapter of their journey with dignity and peace.