With hands joined in reverence, Sītā, Rāma, and Lakṣmaṇa approached the hermitage and greeted the sage Vālmīki. The great sage, delighted and ever mindful of righteousness, welcomed them warmly, inviting them to be seated and honoring them with gentle words. After offering their respects, the mighty-armed Rāma, elder brother of Lakṣmaṇa, introduced himself properly to the sage and then spoke to his brother. “Lakṣmaṇa,” he said, “bring strong and excellent wood. Build a dwelling, dear one, for my heart is set on staying here.” Hearing his brother’s wish, Saumitri gathered various kinds of wood and, with skill and care, constructed a beautiful leaf-thatched hut, well-tied and sturdy. When the hut was completed, Rāma looked upon it with satisfaction and addressed his attentive brother: “Let us offer the meat of a deer here in this hut, Saumitri. The ritual for settling a dwelling must be performed by those who wish for long life. Go quickly, Lakṣmaṇa, and bring a deer, for this rite must be done according to the scriptures, which is the path of righteousness.” Understanding Rāma’s command, Lakṣmaṇa, ever the slayer of enemies, did as he was told. Rāma then instructed him, “Let this black antelope be prepared as an offering. We shall perform the sacrifice. Hurry, gentle one, for the moment is fleeting and the day is passing.” Lakṣmaṇa, the powerful son of Sumitrā, hunted and killed a pure black antelope and cast it into the blazing fire. When he saw the meat was thoroughly roasted and free from blood, he spoke to Rāma, “O noble one, the black antelope is now fully prepared, cooked as it should be. Like a god among men, offer the sacrifice, for you are skilled in these sacred rites.” Rāma, self-controlled and virtuous, learned in sacred chants, bathed and then recited all the concluding mantras of the sacrifice in summary. Having worshipped all the hosts of gods, pure and radiant, Rāma entered the shelter, his mind filled with joy. He performed the Vaiśvadeva offering, as well as the fierce and Vaiṣṇava rites, beginning auspicious ceremonies to pacify the dwelling. Following the proper rules, he recited the prayers and bathed in the river, performing the highest offering to remove sin. Rāma then established altars, shrines, and sanctuaries suitable for the hermitage. With forest garlands, fruits, roots, ripe meats as prescribed, water for libations, sacred darbha grass, and kindling as taught in the Vedas, the two brothers, together with Sītā, satisfied the beings. Marked by auspicious signs, they entered the beautiful shelter. That delightful leaf-thatched hut, well-built and sheltered from the wind, became their new home. Together, they entered it, like the hosts of gods entering a noble assembly hall. In that excellent forest—resounding with wild beasts, filled with many kinds of deer and birds, adorned with trees bearing clusters of varied flowers—they rejoiced happily, their senses conquered. Having reached that charming, picturesque mountain and the sacred river Mālyavatī, frequented by deer and birds, Rāma’s heart was uplifted. In that sacred place, he let go of the sorrow caused by exile from his city. Now begins the next chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. After a long conversation, full of deep sorrow, Guha, accompanied by Sumantra, returned home once Rāma had crossed to the southern bank. The journey to Bharadvāja’s hermitage, their stay at Prayāga, and their ascent of the mountain were all observed by those present. Then Sumantra, having been permitted, yoked the excellent horses and, his heart greatly troubled, set out for the city of Ayodhyā. As he journeyed swiftly, he beheld fragrant forests, rivers, lakes, and passed through villages and towns. On the evening of the third day, the charioteer reached Ayodhyā and saw it bereft of joy. The city was silent and deserted. Overcome with a surge of sorrow, Sumantra began to reflect, “Has this city, with its elephants, horses, people, and rulers, been consumed by the fire of grief for Rāma?” Filled with anxious thoughts, he hurriedly entered the city gate with his swift-footed horses. As Sumantra approached, hundreds and thousands of men rushed to him, crying out, “Where is Rāma?” To them he replied, “After taking leave of Rāghava at the Ganga, I was permitted to return by that righteous, great-souled one.” Learning that Rāma and his companions had crossed the river, the people, their faces streaming with tears, sighed, “Alas! Fie!” and cried out, “Ah, Rāma!” Sumantra heard their mournful words as they stood in groups: “Truly, we are ruined, for we do not see Rāghava here.” “In gifts, sacrifices, weddings, and great assemblies, never again shall we see righteous Rāma among us,” they lamented. “What is beneficial for these people? What is dear, what brings happiness?—thus was the city governed by Rāma, like a father to his children.” Sumantra also heard the lamentation of women, scorched by grief for Rāma, coming from the inner markets along the wind-swept paths. Covering his face, Sumantra made his way through the middle of the royal road to the very house where King Daśaratha resided, bringing with him the sorrow of a city bereft of its beloved prince.