Hearing the call to depart, the royal women—accustomed to the comfort of carriages—set aside their vehicles and gathered around the venerable brāhmaṇa. Among them, Kausalyā, trembling with grief and emaciated by sorrow, approached together with Queen Sumitrā. Both, overwhelmed by misery, clasped the sage’s feet with their hands, seeking solace. Kaikeyī too, shamed and despised by all for the outcome of her desires, hesitantly touched his feet, her heart burdened with embarrassment. After respectfully circumambulating the great sage, Kaikeyī stood apart, not far from Bharata, her spirit heavy with regret. At this moment, the sage Bharadvāja, steadfast in his vows, turned to Bharata and gently inquired, “O descendant of Raghu, I wish to know in detail about your mothers.” Addressed thus, the righteous Bharata, skilled in speech and humble in demeanor, joined his palms and replied, “Revered one, this sorrowful and grief-stricken lady, emaciated by her suffering, is my father’s chief queen—Kausalyā—honored like a goddess. She is the mother of Rāma, the tiger among men, whose stride is like a lion’s, just as Aditi bore the sustainer of all. “Clinging to her left arm stands this dejected lady, Queen Sumitrā, like a karṇikāra branch in the forest bereft of its flowers. She is mother to two resplendent sons—Lakṣmaṇa and Śatrughna—heroes whose valor equals that of the gods. For her sake, those tigers among men risked their very lives, and my father Daśaratha, deprived of his sons, has now gone to heaven. “Know Kaikeyī as my mother—angry, lacking wisdom, proud, and thinking herself fortunate, though ignoble beneath a noble appearance. She is cruel and intent on evil; I see her as the root of this great calamity that befell my father.” Having spoken thus, Bharata, his voice choked with tears, sighed deeply, his eyes red as those of an enraged elephant. Bharadvāja, the wise and discerning sage, then addressed Bharata with meaningful words: “Kaikeyī should not be blamed by you, Bharata. For Rāma’s exile will ultimately bring about a happy outcome. For gods, demons, and purified seers alike, Rāma’s dwelling in exile will indeed prove beneficial.” Having offered his respects and circumambulated the sage, Bharata then instructed the army to prepare for departure. At his command, splendid chariots adorned with gold were harnessed, and a great multitude of eager people mounted them. Elephant maidens and mighty tuskers, decked with golden trappings and fluttering banners, set out with a thunderous sound, like clouds at the end of summer. All manner of vehicles, large and small, joined the procession, while the esteemed foot soldiers marched on foot. The 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 splendid palanquin that shone like the moon, the sun, and the dawn. That great army, bristling with elephants, horses, and chariots, moved southward, spreading across the land like a vast, rising cloud. They passed through forests teeming with deer and birds, crossed the far banks of the Ganga, and traversed mountains and rivers. The army, filled with delighted priests, horses, and warriors, shone brilliantly as it advanced, frightening flocks of deer and birds in the great forest. Thus ended the ninety-second sarga of the glorious Ayodhya Kanda in the ancient and revered Ramayana composed by sage Valmiki. As the great army, adorned with banners, advanced, the wild elephants of the forest, struck with fear, fled with their herds. In the groves, as well as on the mountains and by the rivers, bears, herds of spotted deer, and antelopes were seen. Bharata, the righteous son of Dasharatha, pleased at heart, journeyed onward, surrounded by his resounding fourfold army. The mighty force, resembling the surging waves of the ocean, covered the earth as a rain cloud veils the sky in the monsoon. From the passage of time and the distance traveled, it was clear that a long journey had been made. When the vehicles were 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 that Bharadvāja described. Here is Mount Chitrakuta, here flows the Mandakini river, and from afar, that forest appears, dark as a rain cloud. “Look, the delightful slopes of Chitrakuta mountain are now being trampled by my elephants, themselves as mighty as mountains. The trees on the mountain slopes are shedding their blossoms, just as rain clouds release water when the heat subsides. Shatrughna, see this mountain region, frequented by Kinnaras and surrounded everywhere by deer, like the ocean is by makaras. These herds of deer, swift and urged onward, shine like rows of clouds scattered across the autumn sky by the wind. They make fragrant garlands of flowers upon their heads, just as people in the south adorn themselves with shining fruit resembling clouds.” Thus, the great army pressed on, ever closer to their beloved Rāma.