Guided by the sage’s wisdom, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana pressed onward along the path he had described. “When you reach that particular tree,” the sage had said, “you may rest or continue further. If you travel about a krosha beyond, you will come upon the blue forest.” The sage spoke of this forest with affection, describing its beauty—how it was interwoven with palāśa and jujube trees, and how bamboo from the Yamuna grew there. He assured them, “This is the path to Citrakuta, one I have walked many times. It is pleasant and gentle, unmarred by the threat of forest fires.” With these words, the great sage took his leave. Rama, ever respectful, replied, “So be it,” and dismissed him with honor. As the sage withdrew, Rama turned to Lakshmana and said warmly, “We are truly blessed, O Saumitri, to have received such compassion from this noble sage.” The two brothers, mighty and wise, shared this moment of gratitude together. Placing Sita at the front, the trio made their way to the river Kalindi, the swift-flowing Yamuna. Upon reaching its banks, they gathered wood and constructed a sturdy raft, binding it together with dry bamboo and wrapping it with roots. Lakshmana, strong and resourceful, cut branches of cane and jambu to fashion a comfortable seat for Sita. Rama, son of Dasaratha, seated his beloved wife upon this makeshift throne as if placing her upon a seat of fortune. Their bows and arrows were carefully placed on the raft, along with Sita’s garments and coverings. Rama arranged his quivers and weapons, ensuring all was secure. With Sita seated first, the two brothers took hold of the raft and pushed off into the river’s current. As they reached the middle of the Kalindi’s shining, wave-tossed waters, Sita offered her salutations to the river goddess: “Farewell, O goddess! May I cross you safely, may my vow of fidelity remain unbroken. I promise to worship you with a thousand cows and a hundred jars of liquor. Farewell, until Rama returns to the city of the Ikshvakus.” With joined palms, Sita prayed fervently as they crossed. Upon reaching the southern bank, Sita—her beauty undiminished—stepped ashore. Leaving the raft behind, they ventured into the forest that bordered the Yamuna, surrounded by trees lining the riverbanks. Soon, they found respite beneath a sprawling banyan tree, its cool shade and lush green leaves offering comfort. Approaching the tree, Sita spoke with reverence: “Salutations to you, great tree! May my vow of fidelity be fulfilled, and may I see Kausalya and the illustrious Sumitra again.” She circled the banyan with joined palms, making her heartfelt request. Witnessing Sita’s devotion, Rama, ever loving and dutiful, said to Lakshmana, “Take Sita and go ahead, O Bharata’s younger brother. I will follow behind, armed and vigilant. Whatever fruit or flower Janaka’s daughter desires, offer it to her wherever her heart delights.” Thus, Sita walked between the two brothers, as radiant as an elephant-cow flanked by two mighty tuskers, her eyes lingering on every tree, bush, and flowering vine. As they journeyed, Sita marveled at the many beautiful, blossoming trees she had never seen before, and she asked Rama about each one. Lakshmana, eager to fulfill her wishes, led her to a river adorned with sands of varied hues and alive with the calls of swans and cranes. There, Sita delighted in gazing at the sparkling river. After traveling about a krosha further, Rama and Lakshmana hunted and brought down noble deer as they wandered through the Yamuna forest. They enjoyed the beauty of the woodland, filled with peacocks and elephants, until at last they reached a pleasing riverside grove. There, free from sorrow, they settled for a time. When the night had passed, Rama rose while Lakshmana still slept. Gently, he awakened his brother, saying, “Saumitri, listen to the sweet sounds of the forest creatures. It is time for us to set out, O great ascetic.” Awakened at the right time, Lakshmana cast off his sleep, weariness, and the fatigue of the journey. All three rose together, touched the auspicious water of the river, and followed the path the sages had shown them toward Chitrakuta. As they set out, Rama spoke to Sita, whose eyes were like lotus petals: “Vaidehi, see the trees all around, blooming as if aflame—the silk-cotton trees heavy with blossoms at the end of winter. Look at the bhallātaka trees, untouched by people, weighed down with fruit and leaves. Surely I will be able to live here. “Look, Lakshmana! Honeycombs as large as baskets hang from every mountain, filled with honey by the bees. Here, the natyūha bird calls out, and the peacock answers, in this delightful forest thick with beds of flowers. See this mountain—its peaks towering, followed by herds of elephants and echoing with flocks of birds, its slopes varied and beautiful. “On this lovely, level ground, covered with many trees, we shall enjoy ourselves, dear one, in the sacred woods of Citrakuta.” Walking together, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana at last reached the charming mountain—Citrakuta—delightful to the mind, ready to begin the next chapter of their forest exile, surrounded by the beauty and peace of the sacred land.