As Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana wandered through the forest during their exile, they came upon the magnificent Chitrakuta mountain. Its peaks dazzled the eye: some shone like silver, others glowed with the fresh hue of blood; some were yellow or crimson, while others radiated the brilliance of precious gems. Across its slopes, certain regions gleamed like blossoms, sunlight, or ketaka flowers, and some shone with the fiery glow of flames. Everywhere, the mountain lord’s domain was adorned with a wealth of minerals. The mountain teemed with life, filled with many kinds of deer, wild beasts, tigers, bears, and trees. Harmless creatures made their homes here, and flocks of birds fluttered through the branches, adding to the mountain’s splendor. The forest was rich and diverse, covered with mango, jambū, asana, lodhra, priyāla, jackfruit, dhava, aṅkola, bhavyatiniśa, bilva, tinduka, and bamboo trees. There were kāśmarya, ariṣṭa, varuṇa, madhūka, tilaka, badarī, āmalaka, nīpa, vetra, dhanvana, and bījaka trees as well. Adorned with these trees, bearing flowers and fruits, and offering delightful shade, the mountain flourished in beauty. On the lovely slopes, Rama pointed out to Sita the wondrous and awe-inspiring kinnaras, wise beings who delighted together in pairs. Swords hung from branches, and splendid garments were draped across the trees—these were the enchanting playgrounds of the Vidyādhara women. Waterfalls, springs, and streams flowed here and there, making the mountain shine like a great elephant exuding fragrant ichor. The mountain breeze carried the fragrance of many flowers, delighting the sense of smell. Rama remarked, “Who would not be gladdened by such sweetness?” He told Sita, “If I dwell here for many autumns with you and Lakshmana, sorrow will not consume me. On this charming mountain, abundant with flowers and fruits and filled with many kinds of birds, with its varied peaks, I find delight, O lovely one.” Reflecting on their exile, Rama said, “Through this journey, I have gained two fruits: I have fulfilled my duty to my father, and I have done what is pleasing to Bharata.” He asked Sita, “Vaidehi, do you find joy here on Chitrakuta with me, as you observe the many forms of life, restrained in mind, speech, and body?” He recalled the wisdom of royal sages of old, declaring that exile in the forest for spiritual purpose after death was truly immortal. All around, the broad rocks of the mountain shone in hundreds, abundant with blue, yellow, white, and red colors. At night, herbs radiant with their own light sparkled by the thousands on the lord of mountains, like tongues of sacred fire. Some regions of the mountain resembled dwellings, others appeared like gardens, and some shone as if formed from a single rock. It seemed as if Chitrakuta had burst forth, splitting the earth; its peak was visible everywhere, auspicious in every direction. Rama pointed out the beds of lovers, covered with leaves of kuṣṭha, punnāga, asoka, and bhūrja trees, adorned with lotus petals. He showed Sita garlands of lotuses, crushed and cast aside by lovers, and various fruits scattered about. He declared, “This Chitrakuta mountain, rich in roots, fruits, and water, surpasses even the lotus-filled lakes of the northern Kurus, the abodes of the gods.” He promised Sita, “O lovely one, I will spend this time with you and Lakshmana, delighting in a joy that upholds the noble path, established in the highest self-restraint.” Thus ended the ninety-fourth sarga in the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the ancient and illustrious Rāmāyaṇa composed by sage Vālmīki. Then, having descended from the mountain, Rama, the lord of Kosala, showed Maithili the beautiful Mandakini river, with its pure waters. Lotus-eyed Rama spoke to the noble princess, daughter of the king of Videha, whose face was lovely as the moon: “Behold the Mandakini river, charming with its varied sandbanks, frequented by swans and cranes, and adorned with lotuses. See how she is encircled on all sides by many kinds of trees bearing flowers and fruits, shining like a lotus pond of a king of kings.” He continued, “Now, the waters at the fords, muddied by herds of deer, are delightful to me and awaken my joy. At the proper time, the sages, wearing matted locks and deer skins, clad in bark garments, enter the Mandakini river, beloved. These great sages, steadfast in their vows, stand with arms raised in discipline, worshipping the sun.” Rama pointed out how the mountain, with its peaks shaken by the wind, seemed to dance, while trees all around shed their leaves and flowers into the river. He invited Sita to behold the Mandakini river: in some places she shone like a string of jewels, in others she was lined with sandy banks, and elsewhere she was crowded with perfected beings. He showed her heaps of flowers scattered by the wind and various creatures swimming in the water. “O auspicious one,” Rama said, “those twice-born sages called ‘Rathanga-invokers’, whose words are exceedingly sweet, ascend her banks, singing beautiful hymns. The sight of Chitrakuta and the Mandakini is, I think, even more delightful than the city, because I see them with you.” He invited Sita, “Let us, together, enter these ever-stirred waters, purified by perfected beings who are free from impurity and endowed with austerity, self-restraint, and tranquility. O Sita, enter the Mandakini river as you would with a friend, submerging the lotuses and water-lilies, O beautiful one. Always think of this mountain as Ayodhya, and this river as the Sarayu, just as the people of the city do. Righteous Lakshmana, too, abides by my command, and you, Vaidehi, are supportive; you both bring me joy.” Thus, in the company of Sita and Lakshmana, Rama found solace and delight in the beauty and sanctity of Chitrakuta and the Mandakini river, upholding the noble path in their forest exile.