At the command of the noble leader, the great army—teeming with elephants, horses, and chariots—was urged forward along the southern road, with options to take the left or right paths, for it was said that by these routes Rāghava could be found. As the call to depart echoed, the royal women, though accustomed to the comfort of carriages, left their vehicles and gathered around the venerable brāhmaṇa. Amidst them, Kausalyā, trembling, emaciated, and weighed down with sorrow, together with Queen Sumitrā, approached the sage and, with both hands, clasped his feet in supplication. Even Kaikeyī, shamed and scorned for the consequences of her unfulfilled desires, came forward and, though embarrassed, touched his feet. Having reverently circumambulated the great sage, Kaikeyī stood apart, not far from her son Bharata, her heart heavy with grief. Then, the steadfast sage Bharadvāja addressed Bharata, saying, “O descendant of Raghu, I wish to hear in detail about your mothers.” Thus invited, Bharata—righteous and skilled in speech—replied with joined palms, offering his respects. He began, “Revered one, this sorrowful and grief-stricken lady you see before you, emaciated by her suffering, is my father’s chief queen, revered like a goddess. This is Kausalyā, who gave birth to Rāma, the lion among men, whose stride is unmatched—just as Aditi bore the sustainer of all. Clinging to her left arm stands this dejected queen, like a karṇikāra branch bereft of its flowers in the forest. She is Sumitrā, who has two sons, Lakṣmaṇa and Śatrughna—heroes resplendent as gods, renowned for their true valor. For her sake, those tigers among men risked their very lives, and Daśaratha, bereft of his sons, has now gone to heaven. “As for Kaikeyī, know her as my mother—angry, lacking wisdom, proud, thinking herself fortunate, craving power, and ignoble though she appears noble. I see her as cruel and intent on evil, the very root of this great calamity that has befallen my father.” Having spoken these words, Bharata—his voice choked with tears, his eyes red like an enraged elephant—sighed deeply. The wise sage Bharadvāja then addressed Bharata with gentle, meaningful words: “Do not blame Kaikeyī, O Bharata, for Rāma’s exile will ultimately bring about a happy outcome. For gods, demons, and seers of purified souls alike, Rāma’s exile here will indeed prove beneficial.” Having offered his respects and circumambulated the sage, Bharata then turned to his great army and gave the order to prepare for departure. Splendid chariots adorned with gold were harnessed, and a great multitude of eager people mounted them. Elephant maidens and mighty elephants, decorated with golden trappings and fluttering banners, set out with a resounding noise, resembling clouds at the end of summer. All manner of vehicles, great and small, rolled forth, while the esteemed foot soldiers marched on foot. The royal women, led by Kausalyā and longing to see Rāma, departed joyfully in covered carriages. Bharata himself, radiant and surrounded by his retinue, set out in a magnificent palanquin shining like the moon, sun, and dawn together. The great army, filled with elephants, horses, and chariots, advanced southward, spreading across the land like a vast, rising cloud. They journeyed through forests alive with deer and birds, crossed the far banks of the Ganga, and passed over mountains and rivers. The army, with delighted priests, horses, and warriors, shone brilliantly as it advanced through the great forest, frightening flocks of deer and birds along the way. Thus concludes the ninety-second sarga of the glorious Ayodhya Kanda in the ancient and revered Ramayana composed by the sage Valmiki. As the great army, adorned with banners, pressed onward, wild elephants—struck with fear—fled with their herds. Bears, herds of spotted deer, and antelopes were seen in the groves, on the mountains, and by the rivers. The righteous son of Dasharatha, pleased, continued his journey surrounded by his resounding fourfold army. Bharata’s mighty host, resembling the swelling waves of the ocean, covered the earth as rain clouds cover the sky in the monsoon. From their progress, it was clear that a long time had passed. Having traveled far, with the vehicles and animals thoroughly fatigued, the illustrious Bharata spoke to Vasistha, foremost among counselors: “From what I see and from what I have heard, we have reached the place described by Bharadvāja. Here is Mount Chitrakuta, here flows the Mandakini river, and from afar that forest appears, dark as a rain cloud.” He pointed out the delightful slopes of Chitrakuta, now being trampled by his elephants, themselves as mighty as mountains. “See, Shatrughna,” he said, “this mountain region, frequented by Kinnaras, is surrounded everywhere by deer, just as the ocean is encircled by makaras. These herds of deer, swift and urged onward, shine like rows of clouds scattered across the autumn sky by the wind.