After receiving the offering from his guests, the sage Bharadvāja seated Rāma and then spoke to him with words filled with righteousness. “O descendant of Kakutstha,” said the sage, “after such a long time, I see you here. I have heard of your exile, which, truly, is without cause. Here, at this sacred confluence of great rivers, is a secluded and delightful place. Let you, the blessed ones, dwell here in happiness.” Hearing these words from Bharadvāja, Rāma—ever devoted to the welfare of all—replied gently and auspiciously. “O revered one, the people of the city and countryside are not far from here. If they see me, I believe they will come to this hermitage. Many will wish to see Sītā and me, and for this reason, I do not wish to reside here. But look yonder, O sage, at that excellent hermitage site at the edge; there, Vaidehī, the daughter of Janaka, who deserves happiness, will find delight.” Hearing Rāma’s thoughtful words, the great sage Bharadvāja responded, 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 pleasing to behold from every side. It is called Citrakūṭa, visited by cows, langurs, monkeys, and bears, and it resembles the famed Gandhamādana. As far as the eye can see the peaks of Citrakūṭa, one attains auspiciousness and the mind turns away from evil. Many sages have spent a hundred autumns there; through their austerities, with skulls for headgear, they have ascended to heaven. I think this secluded dwelling will bring you comfort. Whether here or in the forest, stay, O Rāma, together with me.” Then, Bharadvāja, knower of righteousness, welcomed Rāma as his dear guest, together with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, offering all they desired. As Rāma arrived at Prayāga to meet the great sage, the blessed night passed as they recounted many wondrous tales. The descendant of Kakutstha, weary and once accustomed to comfort, spent that night happily with Sītā as the third, in the delightful hermitage of Bharadvāja. When the night had passed, Rāma, the tiger among men, approached Bharadvāja, who shone with ascetic power, and addressed him. “O truthful one, having spent the night in your hermitage, we now seek your permission to depart from this dwelling.” As the new day dawned, Bharadvāja replied, “Go to Citrakūṭa, abundant with honey, roots, and fruits. I think that place is well suited for your dwelling, O mighty Rāma—adorned with flocks of birds, and frequented by Kinnaras and serpents. Resounding with the calls of peacocks and attended by lordly elephants, that renowned mountain, Citrakūṭa, should be your destination. It is sacred and beautiful, rich with many roots and fruits, and herds of elephants and groups of deer roam all about. You will see these herds, O Rāghava, wandering at the forest’s edge, and the riverbanks, slopes, and mountain streams nearby. As you roam with Sītā, your heart will rejoice—on that auspicious earth, resounding with the calls of joyful cranes and cuckoos, and filled with many intoxicated deer and elephants, you will find a most delightful hermitage.” Thus ended the fifty-fourth sarga of the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. After spending the night there, the two princes—destroyers of foes—paid their respects to the great sage and then set out toward the mountain. The sage bestowed blessings upon their journey and, watching them depart, followed them as a father would his sons. Then the radiant Bharadvāja, filled with ascetic power, spoke to Rāma, steadfast in truth and valor: “Having reached the confluence of the Gaṅgā and Yamunā, O best of men, you should follow the Kālindī river, which flows westward. When you come to the swift-flowing Kālindī and see the ancient, sacred ford of that river, you will recognize it. There, after making a raft, you should cross the shining river. Then, upon reaching a great banyan tree with green foliage—grown large with many trees, dark and frequented by perfected beings—let Sītā offer joined palms and utter auspicious blessings. Having reached that tree, you may stay or move on; after traveling about a krośa further, you will see the blue forest, beautiful and mixed with palāśa and jujube trees, and with bamboo from the Yamunā. I have taken that path to Citrakūṭa many times. It is pleasant, gentle, and free from forest fires.” Having thus described the path, the great sage took his leave. Rāma respectfully replied, “So be it,” and, dismissed by Rāma, the sage withdrew. As Bharadvāja departed, Rāma spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, “We are truly blessed, O Saumitri, that the sage shows us such compassion.” The two mighty and wise brothers conferred together. Placing Sītā at the front, they went to the river Kālindī. Upon reaching the swiftly flowing river, they prepared a great raft from a bundle of wood. They covered it with dry bamboo and wrapped it with roots; then the strong one gathered branches of cane and jambu trees, preparing for their journey onward into the forested wilds of Citrakūṭa.