When Kausalya, overwhelmed by unbearable grief, had spoken thus to the great king, her voice choked with tears, she suddenly collapsed to the ground, unable to stand beneath the weight of her sorrow. The other women of the palace, witnessing Kausalya’s lamentation and seeing their husband, the king, so afflicted, raised their voices in loud and anguished cries. The sound of their mourning rose up from the inner chambers, and soon both elders and young men, as well as all the women throughout the palace, were weeping everywhere; once again, the city was thrown into turmoil and distress. In the midst of this great sorrow, the king at last recovered from his confusion and returned to his senses. Eager to know about Rama’s welfare, he summoned the charioteer, Sumanta, to his presence. With hands joined in reverence and a heart heavy with grief for Rama, Sumanta approached the aged king, who was deeply afflicted—like a great elephant wounded and restless, sighing and lost in thought. As the charioteer drew near, his limbs covered in dust, his face streaked with tears and dejection, the king, overwhelmed with anguish, addressed him: “Where will my righteous Rama dwell, now that he has taken shelter at the root of a tree? That exceedingly fortunate Raghava—what will he eat, Sumanta? Accustomed only to comfort and soft beds, how does the king’s son now sleep on the bare ground, as if he were without support? He, whom foot soldiers, chariots, and elephants once followed in great splendor—how will Rama live, now that he has sought refuge in a lonely forest? “In a forest haunted by wild beasts, deer, and black serpents, how have the two princes, together with Sita, the daughter of Videha, arrived there? Tell me, Sumanta, how did these royal sons, accompanied by gentle, ascetic Sita, descend from the chariot and proceed on foot? You are truly fortunate, charioteer, for you have witnessed my two sons entering the depths of the forest, like the divine Ashvins entering the Mandara mountain. What words did Rama speak, what did Lakshmana say, and what did Maithili utter upon reaching the forest? Tell me of Rama’s sitting, lying, and eating, for by hearing this I shall find the strength to live, just as Yayati once lived among the virtuous.” Thus urged by the king, the charioteer composed himself and, his words bound with tears, began to speak. “O great king,” he said, “Raghava, ever upholding righteousness, first made a gesture of reverence, bowing his head. He said to me: ‘Charioteer, by my words, convey my deepest respect to my father, whose head is worthy of all honor. May the feet of the great-souled king be revered. Let my words also reach the entire inner palace; wish health for all without distinction, and offer proper salutations. ‘Greet my mother Kausalya and urge her to be vigilant. Say to her: Always devoted to righteousness, attend to the sacred fire at the proper time, and guard the feet of your 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 this royal duty. ‘Let Bharata be greeted and my words conveyed to him: in all ways, act toward the mothers according to what is proper. Address the mighty-armed delight of the Ikshvaku line, and while your father holds royal power, preserve the kingdom. The king, advanced in years, told me: “Do not hinder Bharata from ruling the kingdom as prince; live on, and carry out only his commands.” He also said, with tears flowing: “You must see my mother, who longs for her son, as you would your own mother.”’ “So, O great king, while Rama was speaking thus to me, his eyes, coppery like a lotus, were streaming with tears. Lakshmana, deeply angered, then spoke with a heavy sigh: ‘For what offense has the prince been exiled? Relying on Queen Kaikeyi’s command, the king has done this—right or wrong—by which we have all been oppressed. Whether out of greed or for the sake of granting boons, if Rama has been exiled, it is a wrongful act. This has been done merely to satisfy the will of the ruler; but as for abandoning Rama, I see no justification at all. This exile of Raghava, undertaken without due consideration and contrary to reason, will only give rise to public outcry. ‘As for me, O great king, I no longer recognize any fatherhood; Raghava is my brother, my lord, my kinsman, and my father. Having abandoned one beloved by all and devoted to the welfare of all, how will the world remain attached to you after such an act? By exiling Rama, who delights all people and is righteous, how will you remain king, having opposed the entire world?’ “But Janaki, O great king, steadfast in her vows yet sighing deeply, stood silent and motionless, as if her mind had been struck down by sorrow. The illustrious princess, who had never before known such misfortune, wept from grief and did not speak a word to me. Looking at her husband with a face parched by sorrow, she suddenly shed tears as she watched me depart.” Thus did Sumanta recount all that had transpired, his words heavy with the sorrow and love that filled the hearts of those left behind.