Rama ruled his city with the care and affection of a loving father, always pondering what would benefit his people, what was dear to them, and what would bring them happiness. Yet, as he governed, the air itself carried the sorrowful cries of women, their hearts scorched by grief for Rama. Their lamentations echoed from the inner markets and drifted along the wind-swept paths. Meanwhile, Sumantra, his face veiled in sorrow, made his way down the royal road toward the palace of King Dasaratha. Dismounting swiftly from his chariot, he entered the royal residence and passed through seven crowded courtyards, each filled with anxious people. From the mansions, towers, and palaces above, women—gathered together, their bodies thinned by longing—looked down, calling out in anguish for Rama. Their wide, clear eyes overflowed with tears as they gazed at one another, their grief so profound that their words became indistinct murmurs. From the inner chambers of Dasaratha’s wives, Sumantra heard their soft, tormented voices, each one burdened by grief for Rama. The weight of their sorrow pressed upon him: having left with Rama and now returning alone, what could he possibly say to Kausalya in her suffering? He reflected on the difficulty of living in such circumstances, marveling that Kausalya remained alive after her beloved son’s departure. Listening to the truthful words of the king’s wives, Sumantra pressed onward, his heart ablaze with grief. Entering the eighth chamber, he found King Dasaratha—miserable, agitated, and pale—withered by sorrow for Rama. Approaching the seated king, Sumantra bowed and conveyed Rama’s message exactly as it had been spoken. Upon hearing Sumantra’s words, the king was struck silent, his mind overwhelmed. Grief for Rama overcame him, and he fainted, collapsing to the floor. As the lord of the earth lay unconscious, cries of distress erupted throughout the inner palace. The women raised their arms and wailed as the king fell. Kausalya, together with Sumitra, hurried to lift their fallen husband. Kausalya spoke, her voice trembling: “Why do you not speak to this messenger, who has come back from the forest, having accomplished such a difficult task? Having committed this injustice today, you feel ashamed, O Raghava; arise, let your virtue remain, for grief brings no help. O lord, out of fear of whom do you not ask the charioteer about Rama? Kaikeyi is not here; speak freely.” Having said this, Kausalya, overwhelmed by sorrow, fell to the ground herself, her words choked with tears. Seeing Kausalya collapsed in anguish, and their husband struck down by grief, all the women of the palace cried out in despair. The sounds of lamentation rose from the inner chambers, and soon elders, young men, and all the women throughout the city joined in weeping. Once more, the city was thrown into turmoil. After some time, King Dasaratha recovered from his confusion and summoned Sumantra, eager to hear news of Rama. Sumantra, his hands joined in reverence, approached the grief-stricken king, his own heart heavy with sorrow. He saw the aged king, afflicted and restless, sighing deeply like a wounded elephant. The king, seeing Sumantra approach—his limbs covered in dust, his face streaked with tears—spoke to him in anguish: “Where will the righteous one dwell, now that he has taken shelter at the root of a tree? What will that exceedingly fortunate Raghava eat? Unaccustomed to suffering and used to a comfortable bed, how does my son, Sumanta, sleep on the bare ground like one without support? He, whom foot soldiers, chariots, and elephants once followed—how will Rama live, having taken refuge in the lonely forest? In a forest haunted by beasts and serpents, how have the two princes, with the daughter of Videha, arrived there? With gentle, ascetic Sita, Sumanta, how did the royal sons descend from the chariot and go on foot? You are truly accomplished, charioteer, for you have seen my two sons entering the deep forest, like the Ashvins entering Mandara. Tell me, what did Rama say? What did Lakshmana and Maithili utter upon reaching the forest? Tell me of Rama’s sitting, lying, and eating; by this, I shall live, just as Yayati lived among the virtuous.” Urged thus by the king’s sorrowful words, Sumantra composed himself and, his voice trembling with tears, began to speak. He recounted how Rama, ever devoted to righteousness, had bowed his head in reverence. “Charioteer,” Rama had said, “by my words, let my father—who knows himself, and whose head is worthy of reverence—be told that the feet of the great-souled one are to be honored. Let the entire inner palace be addressed in my name; let health be wished for all without distinction, and proper salutations offered. Let my mother Kausalya be greeted and saluted, and let her be urged to vigilance. Tell her also this: always devoted to righteousness, at the proper time attend to the sacred fire; O lady, guard the feet of the lord, as one would those of a god.