He gathered the Brahmin groups close, listening attentively to the blessings of the people. His gaze swept across the distant horizons, and he wandered through the wild, untamed lands. Gradually departing from his own Kosala region, he performed his daily duties—bathing, giving in charity, practicing austerities, and studying the sacred texts. On his journey, he beheld the sacred rivers, holy forests, revered shrines, wild borderlands, and the banks of vast oceans and towering mountains. He marveled at the Mandākinī, luminous as the moon, and the Kālindī, pure as a blooming lotus. He visited the Sarasvatī, the Śatadru, the Candrabhāgā, and the Irāvatī. His pilgrimage led him to the Veṇā, the Kṛṣṇaveṇā, the Nirvindhyā, the Sarayū, the Carmaṇvatī, the Vitastā, the Vipāśā, and the Bāhudā rivers as well. He traveled to holy sites: Prayāga, Naimiṣa, Dharmāraṇya, Gayā, Vārāṇasī, Śrīgiri, Kedāra, and Puṣkara. He visited Mānasā, Kramasaras, Uttaramānasā, Vaḍavā, Maḍavā, and countless other sacred places with their revered hollows. His path took him to the Agni tīrtha, the great tīrtha, the Indradyumna lake, and many lakes, ponds, and reservoirs. He visited the shrines of Svāmin and Kārttikeya, the abode of Hari at Sāligrāma, and the sixty-four sacred abodes of Hara, the Lord of Girijā. Along the way, he saw many wondrous and marvelous places: the shores of the four oceans, the caves and groves of the Vindhya mountains, and the ancient grounds of his ancestors. He visited the pure and auspicious hermitages of great royal sages, Brahmarṣis, gods, and Brāhmaṇas. Again and again, the honored one wandered with his brothers, traversing all the borders of the earth, in every direction. Having beheld the entire world, honored by immortals, kinnaras, and men alike, the delight of the Raghu line returned to his own home—just as the Lord of beings returns to Shiva’s realm after wandering the directions. Upon his return, the illustrious Jayanta was welcomed by the city dwellers, who showered him with handfuls of roasted rice and flowers as he entered his house, as if entering heaven itself. Raghava, who had arrived first, bowed respectfully to his father, Vasiṣṭha, his mother, relatives, Brahmins, and all the elders and teachers. Again and again, he was embraced by his friends, mothers, father, and groups of Brahmins, and never tired of their affectionate greetings. There, the two sons of Dasharatha, speaking to each other with firm and loving words, filled the quarters with their sweet voices, gentle as the notes of a melodious flute. For many days, the festival of Rama’s return continued, overflowing with joy and the clamor of playful celebration. From then on, Raghava dwelled happily at home, recounting tales of various customs and practices he had witnessed in different lands. Rama would rise early each morning, perform the Sandhya ritual as prescribed, and then go to see his father seated in the assembly, resplendent as Indra himself. He would spend a quarter of the day with Vasiṣṭha and other wise elders, engaging in delightful and varied conversations, honored by all the learned. With his father’s permission, and surrounded by a great army, he would venture into forests teeming with boars and buffaloes, eager to hunt. Upon returning home, he would perform his bathing and other rituals, dine with friends and relatives, and spend the evening with his companions. Thus, Rāghava, together with his brothers, followed this daily routine, and after returning from pilgrimage, dwelled in his father’s house. The faultless one spent his days in this manner, pleasing the hearts of the virtuous with his noble actions and the nectar of his learned speech, like the soothing light of the moon. When the scion of Raghu reached his sixteenth year, Rama, Śatrughna, and Lakṣmaṇa were always at his side. Bharata, meanwhile, resided happily in his maternal grandfather’s house, while King Daśaratha ruled the entire earth justly. For the sake of his sons and the people, the wise king, skilled in counsel, daily consulted with his ministers on all matters. After the pilgrimage was completed, Rama remained at home, but day by day, he grew thin, like a clear lake in autumn losing its fullness. His broad-eyed face became pale, like a white lotus leaf fully opened and faded. Seated in the lotus posture, his hand resting on his cheek, he became absorbed in thought, silent and inactive. Emaciated and weary, deeply troubled, he spoke to no one, like a figure painted in a picture. Though his attendants urged him out of concern, he performed his daily duties with a withered, lotus-like face. Seeing Rama—distinguished among sages and a repository of virtues—in such a state, his two brothers too became similarly afflicted. As his sons grew distressed and emaciated, King Daśaratha and his wives were seized by anxiety. Again and again, the king gently asked Rama, “What is this great worry, my son?” But Rama did not reveal his thoughts. He only replied, “Father, I have no sorrow at all,” and sat silently on his father’s lap, his eyes resembling lotus petals. Puzzled and concerned, King Daśaratha turned to Vasiṣṭha, the foremost among speakers and knower of all duties, to seek the cause of Rama’s distress. The sage Vasiṣṭha reassured him, saying, “O illustrious king, there is indeed a reason for this; do not grieve.” Hearing these words, the king pondered deeply. “O king,” Vasiṣṭha continued, “the wise do not easily give way to anger, sorrow, or excessive joy for trivial reasons. In this world, beings do not undergo great changes without the force of creation and the momentum of circumstances.