When Rama had settled into his forest dwelling, he performed the sacred Vaiśvadeva offering, along with the fierce and Vaiṣṇava rites, and began auspicious ceremonies to sanctify and pacify his new home. With careful recitation of prayers and a ritual bath in the river, as prescribed by tradition, Rama undertook the highest offerings to remove any lingering sin. The noble Raghava then established altars, shrines, and sanctuaries suited to the hermitage, ensuring the place was spiritually prepared. He adorned the site with garlands fashioned from forest flowers, and brought together fruits, roots, ripe meats as prescribed, and pure water for libations. Sacred darbha grass and kindling, as taught in the Vedas, were also gathered. Together, Rama and Lakshmana—the two Raghavas—along with Sita, offered these gifts and satisfied the beings of the forest. Marked by auspicious signs, they then entered their beautiful shelter. The hut they entered was delightful, thatched with leaves, well-built, and protected from the wind. Together, the three entered this dwelling, just as the hosts of gods might enter their grand assembly hall. In that excellent forest, alive with the calls of wild beasts, teeming with many kinds of deer and birds, and adorned with trees clustered with varied blossoms, they rejoiced, their senses under control. Having reached the charming, picturesque slopes of the mountain and the sacred river Mālyavatī—haunted by gentle deer and birds—Rama’s heart was uplifted. The beauty of the place eased the sorrow that exile from his beloved city had caused. Now, the fifty-seventh sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa, is to be heard. After speaking at length, overwhelmed with sorrow, Guha, accompanied by Sumantra, returned to his home once Rama 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. Sumantra, having been permitted by Rama, yoked the excellent horses. Though his heart was heavy with grief, he set forth for the city of Ayodhyā. Swiftly he traveled, passing fragrant forests, rivers, lakes, as well as villages and cities along the way. By the evening of the third day, Sumantra reached Ayodhya. But the city, once vibrant, now appeared bereft of joy. Seeing it silent and deserted, Sumantra was struck by a surge of sorrow, and began to reflect: “Has this city, with its elephants, horses, people, and rulers, been consumed by the fire of grief for Rama?” Filled with anxious thoughts, the charioteer hurried his swift horses through the city gate. As he entered, hundreds and thousands of men rushed toward him, asking, “Where is Rama?” Sumantra replied, “After taking leave of Raghava at the Ganga, I was permitted to return by that righteous, great-souled one.” Hearing that Rama and his companions had crossed the river, the people—tears streaming down their faces—sighed, “Alas! Fie!” and cried out, “Ah, Rama!” Sumantra heard their words as they gathered in groups: “Truly, we are ruined, for we do not see Raghava here.” They lamented, “In gifts, sacrifices, weddings, and great assemblies, never again shall we see righteous Rama among us. What is beneficial for these people? What is dear, what brings happiness?—thus was the city governed by Rama like a father.” He heard the lamentation of women, scorched by grief for Rama, their voices carried 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 Dasaratha resided. Dismounting quickly from his chariot, he entered the royal palace, passing through seven courtyards crowded with people. From mansions, towers, and palaces, women—gathered together and crying out in anguish—gazed down, emaciated by longing for Rama. With wide, tear-filled eyes, they looked at one another, their grief so deep that their words became indistinct. From the palaces of Dasaratha’s women, Sumantra heard their soft murmuring, tormented by grief for Rama. He pondered, “Having departed with Rama and now returned without him, what indeed will I say to Kausalya as she grieves? Truly, living is difficult—not easy at all—especially when Kausalya remains alive after her son has departed.” Taking in the words of the king’s wives, which were truthful and heartfelt, Sumantra entered the house suddenly, as if ablaze with grief. Entering the eighth chamber, he saw King Dasaratha—miserable and agitated, faded by grief for his son, pale within his house. Approaching the seated lord of men, Sumantra offered his respects and conveyed Rama’s message exactly as it had been spoken. Hearing this, the king remained silent, his mind disturbed; overwhelmed by grief for Rama, he fainted and collapsed to the ground. As the lord of the earth lay unconscious, the inner palace was thrown into turmoil; the women raised their arms and cried out as the king fell. Together with Sumitra, Kausalya lifted her fallen husband and spoke: “Why do you not speak to this messenger, who has come from the forest-dwelling, having accomplished a difficult task? Having committed this injustice today, you feel ashamed, O Raghava; arise, may your virtue remain, for grief offers no assistance. O lord, out of fear of whom do you not ask the charioteer about Rama? Kaikeyi is not present here, so speak freely.