Rama stood with Sita on the banks of the Mandakini River, inviting her to behold its beauty. The river gleamed in the sunlight like a string of precious jewels, its waters bordered in places by soft, sandy banks, and elsewhere thronged by radiant beings perfected in their austerities. The breeze had scattered heaps of fragrant flowers across the water’s surface, and all around, creatures of many kinds swam and played in the clear stream. “O auspicious one,” Rama said, his voice gentle, “look at those venerable sages, the Rathanga-invokers. Their words are sweet as nectar, and they gather on the banks, singing beautiful hymns that fill the air with peace.” He gazed at Sita with warmth, “Chitrakuta and the Mandakini, seen with you, are more delightful to me than any city. Let us together enter these ever-stirred waters, sanctified by the perfected beings—pure, tranquil, and free from all impurity.” He smiled at Sita, radiant and lovely, and said, “Come, enter the Mandakini as you would with a dear friend, letting the lotuses and water-lilies brush against you.” Rama continued, “Let us think of this mountain as Ayodhya itself, and this river as the Sarayu, just as the people of the city do. Righteous Lakshmana follows my command, and you, Vaidehi, support me faithfully; your presence brings me joy.” He spoke of their simple forest life: “Bathing at the three sacred times, eating honey, roots, and fruits—so long as I am with you, I desire neither Ayodhya nor the kingdom.” Rama’s gaze swept the river, “Who could see this delightful Mandakini, adorned with herds of deer, drunk from by elephants, lions, and monkeys, and bordered by blossoming trees, and not feel happiness and relief from all fatigue?” Thus, sharing such heartfelt words with Sita, Rama, the glory of the Raghu line, wandered joyfully about the beautiful Chitrakuta, his presence as pleasing as collyrium to the eyes. After showing Sita the wonders of the mountain and river, Rama sat with her on a gentle slope, offering her well-cooked meat to please her. He spoke kindly, “This is pure, this is tasty, this is well-roasted in the fire.” As they sat together in peace, a great cloud of dust and a distant, thunderous sound began to rise, reaching up to the sky—the noise of an approaching army. Startled, the wild animals of the forest, led by their chiefs, fled in every direction, frightened and distressed by the tumult. Raghava heard the commotion and saw the panic among the animals. He turned to Lakshmana, the energetic son of Sumitra, and said, “Look, Lakshmana! A terrible, thunderous sound fills the air. Is it herds of elephants or buffaloes, driven by lions, that have caused this sudden flight? Or perhaps a king or royal minister is hunting, or some wild beast is abroad. You must find out.” Rama pointed out, “This mountain is hard to traverse, even for birds. Quickly, discover the truth of this disturbance.” Lakshmana, swift and alert, climbed a flowering shala tree and looked toward the eastern quarter. There, he saw a great army approaching—crowded with chariots, horses, elephants, and foot soldiers, their banners waving. Lakshmana climbed down and reported, “Rama, extinguish the fire and let Sita hide in the cave. Ready your bow, arrows, and armor.” Rama, ever calm, replied, “Lakshmana, look closely—whose army do you think this is?” Lakshmana’s anger flared like blazing fire as he answered, “Bharata, son of Kaikeyi, must surely be coming to kill us both, having secured the kingdom for himself. See the splendid tree on the banner atop the chariot—the symbol of the kōvidāra. Men on swift horses and elephants move as they please, their banners shining.” He continued, “Let us, bows in hand, take refuge on the mountain, or stand here ready for battle. Perhaps the one with the kōvidāra banner will fall into our power. Will I see Bharata, for whose sake you, Sita, and I have suffered this great misfortune? Raghava, for the sake of the kingdom from which you have been cast out, this enemy Bharata has now arrived—he must be slain.” Lakshmana’s voice was fierce. “I see no fault in killing Bharata, for abandoning those who have committed wrongs is not unrighteous. Bharata has abandoned righteousness; once he is slain, rule the earth. Today, let Kaikeyi, greedy for the kingdom, see her son slain by me in battle and be crushed by grief, like a tree broken by an elephant. I will slay Kaikeyi as well, along with her associates and kin—let the earth be freed from this impurity. Today, O Rama, I will unleash my pent-up anger and the insult we have suffered upon the enemy’s army, as fire consumes dry grass.” Thus, the peaceful morning on Chitrakuta was transformed by the approach of Bharata’s army, and the hearts of Rama and Lakshmana were stirred, each responding in his own way to the coming trial.