After Rama had poured out his sorrow in many heartfelt words amid the lonely forest, tears streaming down his face, he fell silent as night descended. Lakshmana, seeing his brother’s grief finally ebb—Rama now like a fire whose flames had faded, or a sea stilled of its waves—offered him gentle comfort. “Surely, dearest brother,” Lakshmana said, “today the city of Ayodhya has lost all its light. With you gone, it is like night without the moon. It is not right, Rama, for you to grieve so; your sorrow weighs heavily on Sita and on me as well. Neither Sita nor I could survive even a moment without you, just as fish cannot live out of water. Truly, I do not wish to see our father, nor Shatrughna, nor even our mother Sumitra, nor heaven itself, if you are not there.” As Sita sat nearby, the two brothers, righteous in heart, lay down together on a bed of leaves beneath the spreading branches of a banyan tree. Hearing Lakshmana’s wise and loving words, Rama found strength. Embracing their life in the forest with respect, the noble Raghava devoted himself to righteousness, practicing great austerity for a long time. In that lonely wilderness, Rama and Lakshmana, mighty scions of the Raghu line, felt neither fear nor anxiety, moving with the confidence of lions on mountain slopes. Now begins the next part of the tale, as told in the fifty-fourth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. After spending the night safely beneath that great tree, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana rose with the spotless sun. They set out once more, journeying toward the place where the sacred Bhagirathi Ganga meets the Yamuna, entering a vast and dense forest. Along the way, these illustrious ones beheld many lands and delightful sights, marveling at wonders they had never seen before. As they traveled on, surrounded by many kinds of trees, and the day was nearly spent, Rama spoke to Lakshmana, “Look, Saumitri! Near Prayaga, I see a column of smoke rising. I believe it is the sacred fire of a sage—the sign of 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, the two archers journeyed on, and as dusk approached, they arrived at the dwelling of the sage at the sacred meeting of the rivers. As Rama entered the ashram, his presence startled the deer and birds; after walking for a time, he approached the sage Bharadvaja. Together with Sita and Lakshmana, wishing to see the sage, they stood respectfully at a distance. Entering the hermitage, they saw the great-souled Bharadvaja, surrounded by his disciples, steadfast in his vows, focused in mind, and radiant with the vision gained through austerity. Seeing the sage’s sacred fire offering, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana greeted him with joined palms, full of reverence. Rama then introduced himself: “Revered one, we are the sons of King Dasharatha—Rama and Lakshmana. This is my wife, Vaidehī, the virtuous daughter of Janaka, who has accompanied me into this lonely forest. My dear brother Saumitra has also followed me, sent into exile by our father; he is firm in his vows and has come with me to the forest. Instructed by our father, we shall dwell in the forest of austerity, practicing righteousness and subsisting on roots and fruits.” Hearing Rama’s words, the righteous sage Bharadvaja welcomed them with honor. He brought offerings: a cow, water, and gifts, and provided them with various kinds of forest food—roots and fruits—and prepared a dwelling for them. Surrounded by deer, birds, and other sages, Bharadvaja honored Rama and his companions. After receiving the sage’s offerings and being seated, Rama listened as Bharadvaja spoke words full of righteousness: “O descendant of Kakutstha, after a long time I see you here. I have heard of your exile, which has no cause. Here, at the confluence of these great rivers, is a secluded and holy place—delightful in every way. Let the blessed ones dwell here happily.” Rama, always mindful of others’ welfare, replied with gentle words, “O revered one, the city and countryside are nearby. If I remain here, people will surely come to see Vaidehī and me, and I do not wish to disturb the peace of your hermitage. Look, revered one, there is an excellent site at the edge of this place; there, Vaidehī, the daughter of Janaka, will find happiness.” Hearing these auspicious words, the great sage Bharadvaja spoke in reply, “Ten krośas from here, dear one, is a mountain where you shall dwell. It is holy, frequented by great sages, and beautiful to behold from every side. It is known as Citrakūṭa, where cows, langurs, monkeys, and bears roam. It resembles the famed Gandhamādana. As far as one can see the peaks of Citrakūṭa, one attains auspiciousness and the mind turns away from all evil.” Thus, guided by the sage, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana prepared to continue their sacred journey, hearts strengthened by wisdom and hospitality, ready to embrace the forest life in the holy environs of Citrakūṭa.