Perceiving the anxiety on the faces of the ascetics around him, Rāma grew uneasy. With hands joined in respect, he addressed the chief among the sages, his voice gentle yet concerned. "Revered one," Rāma said, "I hope that nothing in my past conduct has seemed improper, causing distress among the ascetics. Has my younger brother, Lakṣmaṇa, perhaps through carelessness, done anything unbefitting in the eyes of the sages? And Sītā, ever devoted to serving you and attentive to me—has she, through negligence, acted in a manner unsuitable for her?" The sage, aged both by years and the rigors of asceticism, trembled as he prepared to reply. His voice, though frail, was full of warmth as he addressed Rāma, who was ever compassionate toward all beings. "How could there be any misconduct by Vaidehī, who is noble in character and delights in virtue, especially among ascetics, dear one? The concern troubling the ascetics arises solely because of you. Frightened by the demons, they speak among themselves." He continued, "There is a certain demon here named Khara, brother of Rāvaṇa, who has driven away all the ascetics once dwelling in Janasthāna. He is bold, cruel, a devourer of men, arrogant and wicked, and, dear one, he cannot tolerate your presence. Since you have come to reside in this hermitage, the demons have begun to harass the ascetics more fiercely. They appear in hideous, terrifying forms—monstrous and deformed, their appearances dreadful to behold. With vile and impure acts, they attack the ascetics, standing before them in ignoble ways. Hiding themselves in the hermitages, they delight in tormenting those with little virtue, causing distress to the sages." The sage described how these wicked beings would steal ladles and vessels, extinguish the sacred fires with water, and shatter the water pots just as sacrifices were about to begin. "Because these evil ones have defiled the hermitages, the sages now wish to leave and urge me to lead them elsewhere. Therefore, Rāma, before these demons can inflict bodily harm upon the ascetics, we must abandon this place. Not far from here is a beautiful forest, rich with roots and fruits. I, together with my followers, will return to our old hermitage." He added, "Khara, too, has previously acted unjustly toward you, dear one. If you are willing, come with us. For one who is always uncertain about the safety of his family, even the capable would find it difficult to remain here now." Rāma wished to persuade the ascetic to stay, but the sage could not be restrained. Having greeted Rāma, taken leave, and offered reassurances, the leader of the hermitage departed, taking his community with him. Rāma, ever respectful, followed the sage and his group for a distance, saluted the chief sage, and, with their full approval and instructions, returned to his own blessed dwelling. Yet, though the hermitage was now deserted by the sages, Rāma did not leave it, not even for a moment. The ascetics, steadfast in the ways of the seers, always followed Rāghava. Thus ends the one hundred sixteenth sarga of the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa in the holy Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki. When the ascetics had departed, Rāghava sat in reflection. For many reasons, he found the place no longer suitable for dwelling. "Here," he thought, "Bharata saw me, along with my mothers and the people of the city. My mind, remembering them, constantly grieves. The ground itself is trampled and soiled from the camp of the great-souled Bharata, his horses and elephants having left their mark." Thus, deciding it best to seek another place, Rāghava set out with Vaidehī and Lakṣmaṇa by his side. In time, the renowned prince reached the hermitage of the sage Atri. Rāma offered his respects, and the venerable Atri received him with the affection of a father for a son. Atri personally arranged all hospitality, honoring Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā, and kindly comforting both Saumitri and the noble Sītā. Turning to his aged wife, who had come to him—honored and respected—Atri, who knew righteousness and was devoted to the welfare of all beings, comforted her. He then spoke to Vaidehī, "Receive Anasūyā, the highly fortunate ascetic who follows the path of righteousness." He spoke also to Rāma about this venerable woman, devoted to dharma. "When the world was scorched for ten years by ceaseless drought," said Atri, "she produced roots and fruits and caused the Ganges to flow. Endowed with fierce austerity and adorned with disciplines, she has performed great penance for ten thousand years. Purified by vows and having removed obstacles, Anasūyā hastened for the gods’ sake and created a night lasting ten days. She is like a mother to you, O sinless one. Let Vaidehī approach this renowned woman, worthy of reverence by all beings—aged, always free from anger, and known throughout the world as Anasūyā, who has gained fame through her deeds." When the sage had spoken thus, Rāghava replied, "So be it." He turned to Sītā, who knew righteousness, and said, "Princess, you have heard the sage’s words. For your own welfare, quickly approach this ascetic." Sītā, hearing Rāma’s words spoken for her good, went to the aged wife of Atri, who was learned in righteousness. Anasūyā was frail, her body wrinkled and aged, her hair pale with the passage of years. Always trembling in body like a banana plant in the wind, she awaited Sītā’s approach, embodying the serene strength of a life devoted to dharma.