When Rama, having poured out his grief, grew silent and subdued—like a fire whose flames had died down, or a sea whose waves were stilled—Lakshmana drew near to comfort him. “Surely, O best of warriors,” Lakshmana said gently, “Ayodhya itself is darkened today, deprived of its radiance by your absence, as night is bereft of the moon. It does not become you, Rama, to sink into such sorrow, for in doing so, you cast both Sita and me into despair as well, O noblest of men. Neither Sita nor I could survive even a moment without you, just as fish cannot live when taken from water. Truly, I have no desire to see our father, nor Shatrughna, nor even my own mother Sumitra, nor even heaven itself, if it were without you.” As Lakshmana spoke these heartfelt words, Rama’s spirit was steadied. Nearby, Sita sat quietly, and the two righteous brothers, seeing her thus, made a bed of leaves beneath a great banyan tree and lay down together. Lakshmana’s wise and abundant words brought solace to Rama’s heart, and so, accepting their life in the forest with reverence, the noble Raghava devoted himself to righteousness, practicing supreme austerity for a long time. In that lonely forest, the two mighty sons of the Raghu line felt no fear or anxiety, moving like lions across the mountain slopes, undaunted by their exile. Now begins the fifty-fourth chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. After spending the night safely beneath the spreading branches of that great tree, Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita rose at dawn, when the spotless sun had ascended the sky. They set out once more, journeying toward the place where the sacred Bhagirathi Ganga merges with the Yamuna, entering a vast and dense forest. As they traveled, the illustrious trio beheld many lands and delightful places, marveling at sights they had never seen before. Journeying safely, surrounded by many kinds of trees, they pressed on until the day was nearly done. Then Rama said to Saumitri, “Look, Lakshmana, 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. See, there are logs split by forest dwellers, and in the ashram of Bharadvaja, many kinds of trees flourish.” With hearts uplifted, the two archers, accompanied by Sita, made their way toward the sage’s dwelling at the confluence of the holy rivers. As they approached the hermitage, Rama’s presence startled the deer and birds, but he pressed on, wishing to meet the great sage Bharadvaja. The three stood respectfully at a distance, observing the sage surrounded by his disciples, steadfast in his vows, focused, and radiant with the vision born of austerity. Rama, along with Lakshmana and Sita, saw the sacred fire offering of the sage and greeted him with joined palms, full of reverence. Then Rama 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 this lonely forest of asceticism. Saumitra, my dear younger brother, has followed me, sent into exile by our father; this brother, steadfast in his vows, has come with me to the forest. O revered one, following our father’s command, we have entered this forest of austerity, resolved to live righteously, subsisting on roots and fruits.” Hearing Rama’s humble words, the righteous sage Bharadvaja brought forth a cow, offerings, and water for his guests. He, scorched by his own austerities, provided them with various kinds of forest fare—roots and fruits—and also prepared a dwelling for them. Surrounded by deer, birds, and other sages, Bharadvaja welcomed Rama with honor and hospitality. After receiving these offerings and seating the noble Raghava, Bharadvaja spoke words filled with righteousness: “O descendant of Kakutstha, after a long time I see you come here. I have heard of your exile, which is without cause. Here, at the confluence of these great rivers, is a secluded and delightful place—let the blessed ones dwell here happily.” Rama, ever attentive to the welfare of all, replied with auspicious words: “O revered one, the people of the city and countryside are nearby. If they see me here, I think they will surely come to this hermitage. People will come to see Vaidehī and me; for this reason, I do not wish to reside here. But look, O sage, at that excellent hermitage site at the edge; there, Vaidehī, the daughter of Janaka, who deserves happiness, will surely find delight.” Hearing these thoughtful words, the great sage Bharadvaja spoke to Rama, conveying their deeper meaning: “Ten krośas from here, dear one, is a mountain where you may dwell. It is holy, frequented by great sages, and pleasant to behold from all sides. It is called Citrakūṭa, a place where cows, langurs, monkeys, and bears roam freely, and it resembles the fabled Gandhamādana. As far as the eye can see the peaks of Citrakūṭa, one attains auspiciousness and is not drawn toward evil. Many sages have spent a hundred autumns there; through their austerity, with skulls as their headgear, they have ascended to heaven.” So, guided by the sage’s wisdom, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana prepared to continue their journey, hearts uplifted by the promise of a new dwelling in the sacred and beautiful woods of Citrakūṭa.