Rāma, gazing upon Sītā with gentle affection, spoke words of comfort and assurance: “If I dwell here for many seasons with you, O faultless one, and with Lakṣmaṇa by my side, sorrow will never consume me. On this charming mountain, so abundant with flowers and fruit, alive with many kinds of birds and adorned with varied peaks, I find true delight, O lovely one. Through this exile in the forest, I have gained two precious rewards: I have fulfilled my duty to my father, and I have done what is pleasing to Bharata. Vaidehī, do you also find joy here on Chitrakūṭa with me, as you observe the many forms of life, restraining your mind, speech, and body? The royal sages of old declared this alone to be immortal: my ancestors undertook exile in the forest, seeking spiritual purpose after death. See how the broad rocks of the mountain shine all around in their hundreds, radiant with many colors—blue, yellow, white, and red. At night, the herbs upon the lord of mountains glow with their own light by the thousands, like tongues of sacred fire. Some regions of this mountain resemble dwellings, others appear as gardens, and some, O beautiful one, shine as if formed from a single rock. It is as if Chitrakūṭa has burst forth, splitting the earth, and its auspicious peak is seen in every direction. See, the beds of lovers are covered with leaves of kuṣṭha, punnāga, aśoka, and bhūrja trees, and adorned with lotus petals. Look, O fair one, at the garlands of lotuses, crushed and cast aside by lovers, and the various fruits scattered about. This Chitrakūṭa mountain, rich in roots, fruits, and water, surpasses even the lotus-filled lakes of the northern Kurus, the abodes of the gods. O lovely one, I will spend this time with you, Sītā, and with Lakṣmaṇa, delighting in a joy that upholds the noble path, established in the highest self-restraint.” Thus ended that chapter in the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the ancient and illustrious Rāmāyaṇa composed by sage Vālmīki. Then, having descended from the mountain, the lord of Kosala showed Maithilī the beautiful Mandākinī river, with its pure, sparkling waters. Rāma, lotus-eyed, spoke to the noble princess, the daughter of the king of Videha, whose face was lovely as the moon: “Behold the Mandākinī river, charming with its varied sandbanks, frequented by swans and cranes, and adorned with lotuses. See how she is encircled on all sides by many kinds of trees, bearing flowers and fruits, shining like a lotus pond of a king of kings. Now, the waters at the fords, muddied by herds of deer, are delightful to me and awaken my joy. At the proper time, the sages, wearing matted locks and deer skins, clad in bark garments, enter the Mandākinī river, beloved. O wide-eyed one, these great sages, steadfast in their vows, stand with arms raised in discipline, worshipping the sun. See how the mountain, with its peaks shaken by the wind, seems to dance, while the trees all around shed their leaves and flowers into the river. Behold the Mandākinī river: here she shines like a string of jewels, there she is lined with sandy banks, and in some places, she is crowded with perfected beings. See the heaps of flowers scattered and spread out by the wind, and look at the various creatures swimming in the midst of the water. O auspicious one, those twice-born sages called ‘Rathanga-invokers,’ whose words are exceedingly sweet, ascend her banks, singing beautiful hymns. O lovely one, the sight of Chitrakūṭa and the Mandākinī is, I think, even more delightful than the city, because I see them with you. 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 Sītā, enter the Mandākinī river as you would with a friend, submerging the lotuses and water-lilies, O beautiful one. O lady, always think of this mountain as Ayodhyā, and this river as the Sarayu, just as the people of the city do. Righteous Lakṣmaṇa, too, abides by my command, and you, Vaidehī, are supportive; you both bring me joy. Bathing at the three times, eating honey, roots, and fruits, today I desire neither Ayodhyā nor the kingdom, as long as I am with you. 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, Rāma, the enhancer of the Raghu line, wandered about the beautiful Chitrakūṭa, radiant as collyrium to the eyes. Thus ended that chapter of the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa in the holy Rāmāyaṇa, the first poem, composed by sage Vālmīki. After showing Sītā the mountain river in this way, Rāma sat down on the mountain slope, pleasing Sītā with meat. That righteous Rāma sat with Sītā, saying, “This is pure, this is tasty, this is well-roasted in the fire.” As they sat there, the dust and sound of Bharata’s approaching army rose up, touching the sky. At that moment, startled by the great noise, the frightened and distressed herds of wild animals, with their leaders, fled in all directions. Rāghava heard that sound, raised by the army, and he saw all the chiefs of the herds fleeing in panic. Seeing them fleeing and hearing that tumult, Rāma spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, son of Sumitrā, blazing with energy.