As Rama and Sita wandered together amidst the beauty of Chitrakuta, Rama pointed out to Sita the wondrous sights before them. “O wide-eyed one,” he said, “look at these great sages, steadfast in their vows, standing with arms raised in discipline, worshipping the sun.” The mountain itself seemed alive, its peaks shaken by the wind so that it appeared to dance, while trees shed their leaves and flowers, which drifted down into the river below. Rama drew Sita’s gaze to the Mandakini river, sparkling in some places like a string of jewels, lined with sandy banks elsewhere, and crowded with perfected beings in certain spots. He invited her to notice the heaps of flowers scattered and spread by the wind, and the various creatures swimming in the water’s midst. “O auspicious one,” he continued, “those twice-born sages called Rathanga-invokers, whose words are exceedingly sweet, ascend her banks, singing beautiful hymns.” Rama’s heart overflowed with delight. “O lovely one, the sight of Chitrakuta and the Mandakini is, I think, even more delightful than the city, because I see them with you.” He suggested, “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.” He urged Sita, “O lady, always think of this mountain as Ayodhya, and this river as the Sarayu, just as the people of the city do.” Rama expressed his joy in the company of his brother and wife: “Righteous Lakshmana, too, abides by my command, and you, Vaidehi, are supportive; you both bring me joy. 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.” Rama marveled at the river’s charm. “Truly, there is no one who, seeing this delightful river adorned with herds of deer, drunk by elephants, lions, and monkeys, and decorated with blossoming, flower-bearing trees, would not be happy and free from fatigue.” Thus, speaking many such words to his beloved companion about the river, Rama, enhancer of the Raghu line, wandered about the beautiful Chitrakuta, radiant as collyrium to the eyes. Thus ended the ninety-fifth sarga of the glorious Ayodhya Kanda in the holy Ramayana, the first poem, composed by sage Valmiki. After showing Sita the mountain river in this way, Rama sat down on the mountain slope, pleasing Sita with meat. The righteous Rama sat with Sita, saying, “This is pure, this is tasty, this is well-roasted in the fire.” As they sat together, suddenly the dust and sound of Bharata’s approaching army rose up, touching the sky. Startled by the great noise, frightened and distressed herds of wild animals, with their leaders, fled in all directions. Raghava heard the sound raised by the army and saw all the chiefs of the herds fleeing in panic. Seeing them fleeing and hearing the tumult, Rama spoke to Lakshmana, son of Sumitra, blazing with energy: “Look, Lakshmana, noble son of Sumitra, see here! A terrible, thunderous, deep, tumultuous sound is being heard.” He speculated, “Whether it is herds of elephants in the forest, or buffaloes in the great woods, frightened by lions, the animals have suddenly fled in all directions. Perhaps a king or a 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; you should quickly ascertain the truth of all this.” Lakshmana hastened, climbed a flowering shala tree, and looked in all directions, gazing toward the eastern quarter. Facing east and observing, he saw a great army crowded with chariots, horses, and elephants, and equipped with foot soldiers. Seeing that army, filled with horses and elephants, adorned with chariot banners, he reported it to Rama, saying, “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, replied, “O Sumitra’s son, look carefully—whose army do you think this is?” Thus addressed, Lakshmana, burning with anger like blazing fire, spoke eagerly to destroy that army: “Desiring to secure the kingdom, having surely obtained the consecration, Bharata, son of Kaikeyi, is coming to kill us both. See, that great, splendid tree stands out, and on the chariot shines the banner bearing the symbol of the kovidara tree. Mounted on swift horses, these men move as they please; others, delighted, shine as they ride elephants.” Lakshmana continued, “Let us, with bows in hand, take refuge on the mountain, O hero; or else, let us stand right here, armed and ready. Perhaps the one with the kovidara banner may fall into our power. Will I see Bharata, on whose account, O Raghava, you, Sita, and I have all encountered this great misfortune? O Raghava, for the sake of which you have been cast out from the eternal kingdom, this enemy Bharata has now arrived; for me, he is to be slain. I see no fault, O Raghava, in killing Bharata; for abandoning those who have previously committed wrongs is not considered unrighteous. Bharata, who has previously done wrong and abandoned righteousness, O Raghava—once he is slain, rule the entire earth. Today, let Kaikeyi, greedy for the kingdom, see her son slain in battle by me, and be tormented with grief, like a tree shattered by an elephant.” Thus, the peaceful beauty of Chitrakuta was suddenly disturbed by the approach of Bharata’s great army, and Lakshmana, fiercely loyal and protective, prepared to defend Rama and Sita, his heart ablaze with righteous indignation.