Sumantra, the devoted charioteer, stood before Rama, his heart heavy with longing and loyalty. With humility, he spoke, “O blameless one, I cannot return to Ayodhya without you. Please permit me to accompany you into the forest.” His voice trembled with earnestness as he continued, “If, despite my pleas, you insist on abandoning me, then I will enter the fire with the chariot here, forsaken by you.” He pressed on, “Whatever obstacles may arise in the forest, O Raghava, I will drive them away with the chariot. The happiness I have known in serving you with this chariot, I hope to find again by serving you in your forest dwelling. Even these noble horses, O hero, if they serve you in the forest, will surely attain the highest state. I will serve you with all my heart while dwelling in the forest. Ayodhya, or even the realm of the gods, I renounce entirely.” Sumantra’s devotion was unwavering as he declared, “Truly, I cannot enter Ayodhya without you. For one who has committed evil, even the royal city of mighty Indra is inaccessible. When your time in the forest is complete, my greatest wish is to carry you back to the city with this very chariot. The fourteen years spent with you in the forest will pass like mere moments; otherwise, hundreds of years would feel different. Please, do not abandon me, your devoted servant, on the path where you and your brother have gone, steadfast in my service.” Thus, Sumantra pleaded again and again, humble and distressed. Rama, ever compassionate to his devoted servant, gently addressed him, “O Sumantra, I know the depth of your devotion. Hear now the reason I ask you to return to the city. When you reach Ayodhya, my younger mother, Kaikeyi, will be convinced that I have indeed gone to the forest. She will be satisfied and will not suspect the righteous king of falsehood.” Rama’s voice was calm and resolute as he continued, “This is my foremost wish: that my younger mother may secure a flourishing kingdom for her son Bharata, kept safe. For the sake of my happiness and that of the king, you, Sumantra, must return to the city with the chariot. As I have instructed, speak to each person as is appropriate.” Having thus spoken and having consoled Sumantra with kind words, Rama then turned to Guha, the chief of the Nishadas, and addressed him with firm resolve. “Guha, it is not fitting for me now to dwell in the inhabited forest. I must reside in the hermitage, for such is the rule prescribed. Therefore, embracing the vow that adorns ascetics, I, wishing for the welfare of my father, Sita, and Lakshmana, will proceed.” Rama then instructed, “After my matted locks are made, I will depart. Please bring the milk of the banyan tree.” Guha quickly brought the banyan milk, and with it, Rama fashioned matted locks for himself and for Lakshmana. Clad in garments of bark and with circles of matted hair, the two brothers shone like twin sages, their ascetic appearance radiant and dignified. Having thus adopted the path of hermits with Lakshmana, Rama, steadfast in his vow, spoke again to Guha, his loyal companion. “Be ever vigilant, Guha, in guarding the army, the treasury, the fortresses, and the people, for the kingdom is most difficult to protect.” Then, having taken leave of Guha, the scion of the Ikshvaku line departed swiftly, undisturbed, with Sita and Lakshmana by his side. On the banks of the river, desiring to cross the swift-flowing Ganga, Rama spoke to Lakshmana, “O tiger among men, board this boat which is ready, and gently help Sita, the noble lady, to embark after you.” Lakshmana, obedient and without hesitation, first helped Maithili, Sita, to board the boat, and then ascended himself. Then the illustrious elder brother, Rama, boarded as well. Guha, the chief of the Nishadas, urged his kinsmen to row them onward. Rama, of great splendor, seated in the boat, recited sacred prayers for his own welfare, as prescribed for both Brahmins and Kshatriyas. Then, together with Sita and Lakshmana, he ritually sipped water according to the scriptures and bowed reverently to the river, radiant and delighted. Having taken leave of Sumantra, Guha, and their forces, Rama directed the boatmen to proceed. The boat, expertly steered by the helmsman and driven by the force of a fine oar, swiftly crossed the water. When they reached the middle of the Bhagirathi, the faultless Vaidehī, Sita, joined her palms and prayed to the river, “This is the son of Dasharatha, the great and wise king. May he, protected by you, O Ganga, fulfill his father’s command. After dwelling for fourteen full years in the forest, together with his brother and me, he will return again. Then, O blessed and gracious goddess, when I have returned safely, I will worship you, O Ganga, joyfully, for the fulfillment of all my desires. For you, O goddess Tripathagā, behold the world of Brahma; and as the consort of the ocean king, you are seen in this world. Therefore, O goddess, I bow to you and praise you, O beautiful one. When the tiger among men regains his kingdom and returns in safety, I will give a hundred thousand cows, garments, and fine food to the Brahmins, wishing to please you.” With these prayers and offerings of devotion, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana crossed the sacred river, their hearts anchored in duty and faith, journeying onward into the forest.