After reciting the sacred prayers and bathing in the river according to proper rites, Rama performed the highest offering to purify himself of sin. He then established altars, shrines, and sanctuaries befitting the hermitage, ensuring the place was sanctified and ready for worship. Rama adorned the altars with garlands made from forest flowers, and offered fruits, roots, ripe meats as prescribed, water for libations, sacred darbha grass, and kindling, just as taught in the Vedas. Together, Rama and Lakshmana—the two Raghavas—along with Sita, satisfied the forest beings with their offerings, and, marked by auspicious signs, entered the beautiful shelter they had prepared. The leaf-thatched hut was delightful, well-built, and protected from the wind. All three entered it for their dwelling, much like the hosts of gods entering a noble assembly hall. In that excellent forest, which echoed with the calls of wild beasts, teemed with many kinds of deer and birds, and was adorned with trees bearing clusters of varied flowers, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana rejoiced happily, their senses disciplined and at peace. Having arrived at the charming, picturesque mountain and the sacred river Mālyavatī—haunt of deer and birds—Rama’s heart was uplifted. The beauty of the place helped him let go of the sorrow caused by exile from his beloved city. Now, the fifty-seventh sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa, is to be heard. After speaking at length, weighed down by deep sorrow, Guha and Sumantra returned to their own home when Rama had reached the southern bank. The journey to Bharadvāja’s hermitage, their stay at Prayāga, and their ascent of the mountain were all witnessed by those present. Sumantra, having received permission, yoked his excellent horses and, his heart heavy with grief, set out for the city of Ayodhya. As he traveled swiftly, he passed through fragrant forests, rivers, lakes, villages, and cities. On the evening of the third day, the charioteer reached Ayodhya and found it bereft of joy. Seeing the city silent and deserted, Sumantra was deeply distressed and overcome by sorrow. He wondered if the city, with its elephants, horses, people, and rulers, had been consumed by the fire of grief for Rama. Filled with anxious thoughts, he hurriedly entered the city gate with his swift-footed horses. As Sumantra approached, hundreds and thousands of men rushed toward him, asking, “Where is Rama?” He replied, “After taking leave of Raghava at the Ganga, I was permitted to return by that righteous, great-souled one.” Hearing that Rama had crossed the river, the people, their faces streaming with tears, sighed, “Alas! Fie!” and cried out, “Ah, Rama!” Sumantra heard their words as they stood in groups: “Truly, we are ruined, for we do not see Raghava here.” “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, coming from the inner markets along the wind-swept paths. Covering his face, Sumantra traveled through the middle of the royal road to the very house where King Dasaratha resided. Dismounting quickly from the chariot, he entered the royal palace and passed through seven courtyards crowded with people. From mansions, towers, and palaces, women gathered together and cried out in anguish, gazing down, emaciated by longing for Rama. Their wide, clear eyes overflowed with tears, and they looked at each other, their grief so deep that their words were indistinct. From the palaces of Dasaratha’s women, Sumantra heard their soft murmuring, tormented by grief for Rama. He wondered what he would say to Kausalya, who grieved so deeply, having departed with Rama and now returned without him. He reflected that living was indeed difficult, especially as Kausalya remained alive after her son had left. Observing the words of the king’s wives, which were truthful in form, 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 the 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 struck with panic; raising their arms, the women cried out as the king fell to the ground. Together with Sumitra, Kausalya lifted her fallen husband and spoke these words: “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.” Having spoken thus to the great king, Kausalya, overwhelmed by sorrow, quickly fell to the ground, her speech choked with tears.