As King Dasharatha lay unconscious upon the ground, stricken with grief, a tremor passed through the inner palace. The women within, seeing their lord fallen, raised their arms and cried out in anguish. Together with Sumitra, Queen Kausalya rushed to her husband’s side, gently lifting him as he lay prostrate. Her heart heavy with sorrow, Kausalya spoke to the king, her voice trembling: “Why do you not speak to this messenger who has come from the forest, having accomplished such a difficult task? Having committed this injustice today, you are ashamed, O Raghava; arise, let your virtue remain unshaken—for grief will not help us now.” She implored further, “O lord, out of fear of whom do you remain silent, not asking the charioteer about Rama? Kaikeyi is not here—speak freely.” Overwhelmed by her sorrow, Kausalya’s voice broke, and she too collapsed to the ground, her words choked with tears. Seeing Kausalya thus lamenting and fallen, and witnessing their husband’s distress, all the women of the palace raised their voices in loud lamentation. The sound of their wailing spread through the palace, and soon the elders, young men, and women of the city were weeping everywhere; once again, Ayodhya was plunged into turmoil. When at last the king recovered from his faint and confusion, he summoned the charioteer, eager to hear news of Rama. The charioteer, Sumanta, approached with hands joined in reverence, his heart heavy with grief for Rama. As he entered, he saw the aged king, deeply afflicted and restless, sighing and pondering like a wounded elephant under a new, dire influence. The king, beholding Sumanta—his limbs covered in dust, his face streaked with tears and sorrow—addressed him in utter anguish: “Where will the righteous Rama dwell now, taking shelter beneath the roots of trees? That supremely fortunate Raghava—what will he eat, charioteer? Unaccustomed to hardship and used to a soft bed, how does my son, the prince, sleep now on the ground, like one without support? He who was once followed by foot soldiers, chariots, and elephants—how will Rama live, now taking refuge in a lonely forest? In those woods, haunted by wild beasts, deer, and black serpents, how have the two princes and the daughter of Videha arrived safely? With gentle, ascetic Sita, Sumanta, how did my royal sons descend from the chariot and proceed on foot?” “You are truly accomplished, charioteer, for you have seen my two sons enter the depths of the forest, like the Ashvins entering Mandara. What words did Rama speak? What did Lakshmana say? What did Maithili utter, Sumanta, as they reached the forest? Tell me of Rama’s sitting, lying, and eating; by this account, I shall be able to live, just as Yayati lived among the virtuous.” Thus urged by the king, Sumanta composed himself and, his words mingled with tears, began to speak: “O great king, Rama, ever upholding righteousness, bowed his head to me in reverence. He asked that I, by his words, honor his father—whose head is ever worthy of reverence—and touch the feet of the great-souled one. He bade me address the entire inner palace on his behalf, wishing health to all and offering proper salutations without distinction.” “He asked that I greet and salute his mother, Kausalya, and convey these words: ‘Always devoted to righteousness, attend to the sacred fire at the proper times, O lady, and guard the feet of your lord as one would those of a god. Abandon pride and arrogance; behave properly toward the mothers and honor Queen Kaikeyi as you would your own mother. Treat Prince Bharata as you would a king, for kings are foremost in wealth—remember the royal duty.’” “He instructed me to greet Bharata and to urge him to act toward the mothers in every way as is proper. He wished that the mighty-armed delight of the Ikshvaku line be addressed and asked that, while his father holds the royal power, the kingdom be preserved. The king, advanced in years, told me: ‘Do not hinder him from ruling the kingdom as prince; live on, and carry out only his commands.’” “Again, with tears streaming down his face, Rama said: ‘You must see my mother, who longs for her son, as you would your own mother.’ Thus, O king, as he spoke to me in this way, Rama—whose eyes are coppery like the lotus—wept intensely.” Sumanta continued, “But Lakshmana, deeply angered, spoke with a sigh: ‘For what offense has the prince been exiled? Indeed, relying on 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 to grant boons, in any case, a wrongful act has been committed. This has been done merely to satisfy the will of the ruler; but as for abandoning Rama, I see no justification at all. Undertaken without due consideration, and contrary to reason, this exile of Raghava will only give rise to public outcry. As for me, O great king, I recognize no other fatherhood; for Raghava is my brother, my lord, my kinsman, and my father.’” Thus, the sorrow and turmoil within the palace and city deepened, as the words and grief of Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita were carried back to the stricken king and his household.