Hearing the earnest and truthful words of the king’s wives, Sumantra, the royal charioteer, entered the palace with a heart heavy and ablaze with grief. He moved swiftly through the chambers until he reached the eighth one, where he found King Dasharatha—miserable, agitated, and pale from sorrow over his son’s exile. The king sat faded and forlorn, his spirit weighed down by grief. Approaching the lord of men, Sumantra offered his respects and, with great care, delivered Rama’s message exactly as it had been spoken. On hearing these words, the king was struck silent. His mind, already disturbed, could not bear the weight of his sorrow for Rama; overwhelmed, he fainted and collapsed to the ground. As the king lay unconscious, a cry of distress arose from the inner palace. The women, struck with anguish, raised their arms and wailed loudly at the sight of their fallen lord. Kausalya and Sumitra, together, lifted their husband from the ground, and Kausalya, her voice trembling with emotion, spoke sorrowfully: “Why do you not speak to this messenger, who has come from the forest-dwelling, having accomplished so difficult a task? Having committed this injustice today, you are ashamed, O Raghava. Arise—let your virtue remain, for grief will not help you. O lord, out of fear of whom do you not ask the charioteer about Rama? Kaikeyi is not here; speak freely.” Having said this to the great king, Kausalya, overwhelmed by sorrow, fell to the ground herself, her words choked with tears. Seeing Kausalya thus lamenting and collapsed, and their husband likewise stricken, all the women of the palace cried out in anguish. The sound of their grief rose from the inner chambers, and soon elders, young men, and all the women throughout the city wept openly. Once more, Ayodhya was thrown into turmoil and sorrow. When the king had recovered his senses after that confusion, he summoned Sumantra, longing to hear of Rama’s condition. The charioteer, his hands joined in reverence, approached the aged king—who was now like an elephant wounded by a new and terrible affliction, sighing deeply and restless with grief. The king, seeing Sumantra approach—his limbs dust-covered, his face streaked with tears and dejection—spoke to him in utter anguish: “Where will the righteous one, Rama, dwell now, having taken shelter at the root of a tree? What will he eat, that exceedingly fortunate Raghava? Unaccustomed to hardship, used to the comfort of royal beds, how does my son sleep on the ground, like one forsaken? He who was always followed by soldiers, chariots, and elephants—how will he survive now, taking refuge in the lonely forest? In a wilderness filled with beasts, deer, and black serpents, how did the two princes and the gentle Sita, daughter of Videha, arrive there? Tell me, Sumantra, how did my sons descend from the chariot and proceed on foot with Sita? Truly, you are blessed, charioteer, for you have seen my sons entering the depths of the forest, like the Ashvins entering Mandara. What words did Rama speak, what did Lakshmana say, and what did Maithili utter when you reached the forest? Tell me of Rama’s sitting, lying, and eating, for by hearing these things, I shall continue to live, as Yayati did among the virtuous.” Thus urged by the king, Sumantra steadied himself, though his words were bound by tears. He began to recount all that had happened: “O great king, Rama, ever devoted to righteousness, first bowed his head in reverence. He asked me to convey his salutations to you, his father, whose head is worthy of worship. He bade me speak to all within the inner palace, wishing health and offering proper salutations to everyone without distinction. He asked that his mother, Kausalya, be greeted and advised her to remain vigilant. He said to her: ‘Always attend to the sacred fire at the proper time, and guard the feet of the lord as one would those of a god. Abandon pride and arrogance, behave properly toward all the mothers, and honor Queen Kaikeyi as a mother should be honored. Treat Prince Bharata as you would a king, for kings are foremost in wealth—remember the duty of royalty.’ “Rama also sent greetings to Bharata, telling him to act properly toward all the mothers and to preserve the kingdom while you, O king, still hold royal power. He told me you had said, ‘Do not hinder Bharata from ruling as prince; live on, and carry out only his commands.’ Rama’s tears flowed as he spoke again: ‘You must see my mother, who longs for her son, as you would your own mother.’ “As Rama spoke thus, his eyes—red like lotuses—were filled with intense weeping. Lakshmana, deeply angered, sighed and asked, ‘For what offense has the prince been exiled?’ He lamented that, relying on Queen Kaikeyi’s command, the king had done this, whether right or wrong, and that all were thus oppressed.” Thus, in the presence of the grieving king and all those gathered, Sumantra faithfully conveyed the words and emotions of Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita, bringing to life their sorrow, their virtue, and their unwavering devotion even in exile.