Rama, his heart filled with affection, called Sita’s attention to the wonders around them. “See, O fair one,” he said, “the garlands of lotuses, crushed and cast aside by lovers, and the many fruits scattered about.” His gaze swept over the Chitrakuta mountain, lush with roots, fruits, and sparkling waters, and he declared, “This mountain surpasses even the lotus-filled lakes of the northern Kurus, the abodes of the gods.” Turning to Sita, Rama’s voice was gentle and resolute. “O lovely one, I will spend this time here with you and with Lakshmana, delighting in a happiness that is rooted in righteousness and upheld by the highest self-restraint.” Thus, the ninety-fourth sarga of the glorious Ayodhya Kanda in the ancient Ramayana composed by sage Valmiki came to its end. Descending from the mountain, Rama, the lord of Kosala, led Sita to the beautiful Mandakini river, whose waters ran clear and pure. With eyes as radiant as lotuses, Rama spoke to Sita, the noble princess of Videha, whose moon-like face glowed with beauty. “Behold the Mandakini river, charming with its shifting sandbanks, visited by swans and cranes, and adorned with blooming lotuses. See how she is surrounded on all sides by trees heavy with flowers and fruits, shining like the lotus pond of a mighty king.” Rama’s spirit was light as he continued, “The waters at the fords, muddied by herds of deer, delight me and fill me with joy. At the proper times, sages with matted locks, dressed in deer skins and bark, come here to enter the Mandakini, beloved. O wide-eyed one, these great sages, steadfast in their vows, stand with arms raised in discipline, worshipping the sun.” He pointed out the mountain, its peaks swaying in the wind as if in a dance, while the trees shed their leaves and flowers into the flowing river. “Look at the Mandakini,” Rama said, “here she sparkles like a string of jewels, there she is lined with sandy banks, and in some places, she is crowded with perfected beings. See the heaps of flowers scattered by the wind, and the many creatures swimming in the water’s midst.” Rama’s voice softened with reverence. “O auspicious one, the twice-born sages called Rathanga-invokers, whose words are sweet as nectar, ascend her banks singing beautiful hymns. Truly, the sight of Chitrakuta and the Mandakini with you, O lovely one, is even more delightful to me than the city itself. Let us enter these ever-stirring waters together, purified by perfected beings who are free from impurity and endowed with austerity, self-restraint, and tranquility.” He invited Sita, “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 abides by my command, and you, Vaidehi, are ever supportive; together, you both bring me joy.” Rama’s heart brimmed with contentment. “Bathing at the three times, eating honey, roots, and fruits, today I desire neither Ayodhya nor the kingdom, as long as I am with you. Truly, who could see this delightful river—adorned with herds of deer, drunk by elephants, lions, and monkeys, and decorated with blossoming trees—and not be happy and free from fatigue?” Thus, speaking many such words to his beloved Sita about the river, Rama, the enhancer of the Raghu line, wandered about the beautiful Chitrakuta, radiant and pleasing to the eyes. With this, the ninety-fifth sarga of the glorious Ayodhya Kanda in the holy Ramayana, the first poem composed by sage Valmiki, came to an end. After showing Sita the mountain river, Rama sat down with her on the mountain slope, pleasing her with well-prepared meat. As they sat together, Rama said, “This is pure, this is tasty, this is well-roasted in the fire,” offering the food with care. But as they enjoyed their simple meal, a great cloud of dust and the sound of an approaching army rose up, filling the sky. Startled by the tremendous noise, herds of wild animals, led by their chiefs, fled in all directions, frightened and distressed. Rama heard the sound raised by the army and saw the animals fleeing in panic. Turning to Lakshmana, the son of Sumitra, blazing with energy, Rama said, “Look, Lakshmana, noble son of Sumitra! A terrible, thunderous, deep, tumultuous sound is being heard. Whether it is herds of elephants in the forest, or buffaloes in the great woods, frightened by lions, the animals have suddenly fled everywhere. Perhaps a king or royal minister is hunting in the forest, or perhaps it is some other wild beast; O Sumitra’s son, you should find out. This mountain, Lakshmana, is very difficult even for birds to traverse; quickly ascertain the truth of all this.” Lakshmana hurriedly climbed a flowering shala tree and, looking in all directions, gazed toward the eastern quarter. There, he saw a great army, crowded with chariots, horses, elephants, and foot soldiers, adorned with banners. Descending, he reported to Rama, “Extinguish the fire, noble one, and let Sita enter the cave; string your bow, and prepare your arrows and armor as well.” Rama, tiger among men, calmly replied, “O Sumitra’s son, look carefully—whose army do you think this is?” Lakshmana, burning with anger like blazing fire and eager to destroy the army, answered Rama, ready to defend them. Thus the story unfolds, with the noble trio on Chitrakuta, their hearts bound in righteousness and love, now facing the approach of destiny upon the mountain’s sacred slopes.