Sumantra, the trusted charioteer, entered the eighth chamber of the palace. There, he beheld King Dasharatha, the lord of men, sitting in misery and agitation. Grief for his beloved son Rama had faded the king’s countenance; he was pale, his spirit diminished within the house. Approaching the king, Sumantra offered his respects and faithfully conveyed Rama’s message, repeating every word exactly as it had been spoken. Hearing this, Dasharatha remained silent. His mind was greatly disturbed, and, overwhelmed by sorrow for Rama, he suddenly fainted and collapsed onto the ground. As the lord of the earth lay unconscious, a cry arose within the inner palace. The women raised their arms and lamented loudly as the king fell. Kausalya and Sumitra hurried to lift their fallen husband, supporting him tenderly. Kausalya, her heart heavy, spoke: “Why do you not speak to this messenger, who has come from the forest-dwelling Rama, having accomplished such a difficult task?” She continued, “Having committed this injustice today, you are ashamed, O Raghava. Arise—may your virtue remain, for grief offers no assistance.” With urgency, she asked, “O lord, out of fear of whom do you not ask the charioteer about Rama? Kaikeyi is not here now, so speak freely.” Overwhelmed by sorrow, Kausalya, having spoken thus to the great king, quickly fell to the ground herself, her speech choked with tears. Seeing Kausalya lamenting and fallen, and observing their husband’s state, all the women in the palace cried out loudly. The sound of their grief rose through the inner palace, and elders, young men, and all the women throughout the city wept. The city was once again thrown into turmoil. Let the fifty-eighth chapter be heard. When Dasharatha recovered and returned to his senses from confusion, he summoned Sumantra, eager to learn about Rama’s situation. Sumantra, hands joined in reverence, approached the great king, his own heart grieving for Rama, filled with sorrow and distress. He saw the aged king, deeply afflicted—like an elephant seized by a new planet, sighing and reflecting, restless like a wounded beast. Dasharatha, seeing Sumantra approach with limbs covered in dust, his face full of tears and dejection, spoke to him with utmost anguish: “Where will the righteous Rama dwell, having taken shelter at the root of a tree? That exceedingly fortunate Raghava—charioteer, what will he eat?” “Unaccustomed to suffering, used to a comfortable bed, how does my son, Sumantra, sleep on the ground like one without support? He whom foot soldiers, chariots, and elephants used to follow—how will Rama live, having taken refuge in a lonely forest? In a place frequented by beasts and deer, inhabited by black serpents, how have the two princes, together with the daughter of Videha, arrived there?” “With gentle, ascetic Sita, Sumantra, how did the royal sons descend from the chariot and proceed on foot? You are indeed accomplished, charioteer, since you have seen my two 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, Sumantra, upon reaching the forest? Tell me, charioteer, of Rama’s sitting, lying, and eating; by this I shall live, just as Yayati lived among the virtuous.” Urged by the king, Sumantra composed himself and spoke, his words bound by tears. He recounted: “The great king, always upholding righteousness, Raghava made a gesture of reverence, bowing his head. He said, ‘Charioteer, by my words, let my father—who knows himself, whose head is worthy of reverence—have his feet honored by the great-souled one. Let the entire inner palace be addressed; let health be wished for all without distinction, and proper salutations offered. Let my mother Kausalya be greeted and saluted, and let vigilance be spoken; say also these words: Always devoted to righteousness, attend to the sacred fire at the proper time. O lady, guard the feet of the lord like those of a god. Abandon pride and arrogance, behave properly toward the mothers; honor Queen Kaikeyi as one should honor a mother. Let your conduct toward Prince Bharata be as toward a king; for kings are foremost in wealth—remember the royal duty. Let Bharata be greeted, and let my words be conveyed; in all ways, act toward the mothers according to what is proper. Let the mighty-armed delight of the Ikshvaku line be addressed; while your father holds the royal power, preserve the kingdom.’” “The king, advanced in years, said to me: ‘Do not hinder him from ruling the kingdom as prince; live on, and carry out only his commands.’ He spoke to me again, his tears flowing profusely: ‘You must see my mother, who longs for her son, as you would your own mother.’” Sumantra continued, “Thus, O great king, while Rama was speaking to me in this way, he, whose eyes are coppery like a lotus, wept intensely. But Lakshmana, deeply angered, spoke while sighing: ‘For what offense has the prince been exiled? Indeed, relying on the queen Kaikeyi’s command, the king has done this—whether right or wrong—by which we have all been oppressed. If Rama has been exiled out of greed or for the sake of granting boons, in any case, a wrongful act has been committed.’” Thus, Sumantra faithfully recounted the sorrowful events and words from the forest, bearing to the king and palace the pain and devotion of Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita, and the heavy grief that now weighed upon Ayodhya.