After a long time, the sage Bharadvāja beheld Rāma, the illustrious descendant of Kakutstha, and greeted him with affection and wonder. “O scion of Kakutstha,” he said, “it has been so long since I have seen you here. I have heard of your exile, which has come upon you without cause.” With warmth, the sage continued, “Here is a secluded place at the confluence of great rivers—holy and delightful. Let you, the blessed ones, dwell here happily.” Thus addressed by Bharadvāja, Rāma, ever devoted to the welfare of all, replied with gentle and auspicious words. “O revered one,” Rāma said, “the people of the city and countryside are not far from here. If they see me, I believe they will flock to this hermitage. People will come to see Vaidehī and myself. For this reason, I do not wish to remain here. Instead, O holy one, look yonder at that excellent hermitage site on the edge of the forest. There, Vaidehī, the daughter of Janaka and deserving of happiness, will find delight.” Hearing these auspicious words, the great sage Bharadvāja spoke again, conveying their deeper meaning. “Ten krośas from here, dear Rāma, stands a mountain where you may dwell. It is holy, frequented by great sages, and pleasing to behold from all sides. It is known as Citrakūṭa, where cows, langurs, monkeys, and bears roam. It resembles the famed Gandhamādana mountain. As far as the eye can see the peaks of Citrakūṭa, one attains auspiciousness and the mind turns away from evil. Many sages have dwelt there for a hundred autumns, and by their austerities, with skulls as their headgear, they have ascended to heaven. I believe this secluded dwelling will be comfortable for you. Whether here or in the forest, stay, O Rāma, together with me.” With heartfelt hospitality, Bharadvāja, knower of righteousness, welcomed Rāma—his dear guest—along with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, offering them all they desired. Thus, 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 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 and spoke respectfully to the sage, radiant with ascetic power. “Having spent the night in your hermitage, O truthful one, we now seek your permission to depart from this dwelling.” At dawn, Bharadvāja replied, “Go to Citrakūṭa, abundant with honey, roots, and fruits. That place is suitable for your dwelling, O mighty Rāma—adorned with flocks of birds, frequented by Kinnaras and serpents. It resounds with the calls of peacocks and is attended by lordly elephants. That renowned mountain, Citrakūṭa, should be your destination. It is sacred and beautiful, rich with many roots and fruits. There, herds of elephants and groups of deer roam all around. You will see those 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-fifth sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Having spent the night there, the two princes, destroyers of foes, paid their respects to the great sage and set out toward the mountain. The sage performed a blessing for their journey and, watching them depart, followed them with the affection of a father for his sons. Then the radiant sage Bharadvāja 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. Then, upon reaching the swift-flowing Kālindī, you will see the ancient and sacred ford of that river.” “There, after making a raft, you should cross the shining river. Upon reaching a great banyan tree with green foliage—grown large and surrounded by many trees, dark and frequented by perfected beings—there, Sītā should offer joined palms and utter auspicious blessings. Having reached that tree, you may stay or move on. After traveling about a krosha 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.” Thus describing the path, the great sage turned back. With reverence, Rāma replied, “So be it,” and, having taken leave, watched the sage depart. As the sage withdrew, Rāma spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, “We are truly blessed, O Saumitri, that the sage shows us such compassion.” Thus, the two mighty and wise brothers conferred together. Placing Sītā at the front, they made their way to the river Kālindī. Upon reaching its swift-flowing waters, they set about making a great raft from a bundle of wood. Using dry bamboo and wrapping it with roots, the strong Lakṣmaṇa gathered branches of cane and jambu trees. He cut them and fashioned a comfortable seat for Sītā. There, Rāma, son of Daśaratha, seated his beloved Sītā, as if placing her upon a throne of fortune.