When Rama crossed the sacred Ganga and reached the southern shore, heavy-hearted Guha spoke at length and returned to his dwelling. News of Rama’s visit to Bharadwaja’s ashram reached him, and he set out for Mount Chitrakuta. Meanwhile, at Rama’s command, Sumanthra turned his chariot towards Ayodhya. His journey took him through dense forests, across rivers and lakes, past villages, hamlets, and bustling towns. On the third day, he arrived at Ayodhya, only to find it desolate and lifeless. The silence was unsettling; the once-thriving city now mirrored despair and abandonment.
As he gazed at the forlorn streets, Sumanthra imagined the city’s elephants, horses, scholars, and citizens consumed by the fire of sorrow ignited by Rama’s departure. Near the city gates, a crowd gathered in distress, demanding, “Where is Rama?” With humility, Sumanthra replied, “I left him at the banks of the Ganga, as per his command.” The people wailed, lamenting their inability to prevent Rama’s exile. Their anguish echoed: Without Rama, life is unbearable; the city feels cursed and barren.
Sumanthra witnessed women peeking from windows, their cries of despair piercing the air. Covering his face, he made his way to the royal palace. A heavy pall of sorrow hung over the household, transcending rank and status. As he entered, whispers of curses and regret filled the corridors. Sumanthra’s heart grew heavier, dreading how he might console Queen Kausalya. His steps brought him to the inner chambers, where grief burned like an unquenchable flame.
King Dasharatha, overwhelmed by sorrow, lay faint and sobbing. Kausalya and Sumitra rushed to lift him, their voices trembling. Kausalya addressed him: “O King! Sumanthra has returned after accomplishing the impossible. Why do you remain silent? Speak, for your word has already wrought this calamity. You fulfilled your vow, but if you succumb to sorrow, who will guide us? Fear not Kaikeyi, who is absent now—speak boldly.”
Her voice faltered as sorrow seized her. The harem filled with women, their faces clouded with despair, their cries like mournful winds. Slowly, Dasharatha regained composure. Calling Sumanthra near, he requested details of Rama’s journey. Sumanthra, with folded hands, bowed deeply and began his account.
“Rama, the noble soul, bound by dharma, bade me convey his respects to all in the harem. He instructed me to reassure Queen Kausalya, urging her to perform her duties with strength and support the king. Rama spoke of Bharata, asking him to rule wisely and treat all mothers equally, with the dignity befitting a prince. He implored that Ayodhya be safeguarded until his return.”
Dasharatha listened, tears streaming down his dust-covered face. Trembling, he cried out, “Sumanthra! How does Rama, accustomed to comforts, now live in the forest? What does he eat? How does he sleep on grass instead of fine beds? How do they endure the dangers of serpents and wild beasts?”
Sumanthra narrated Rama’s composed demeanour, Lakshmana’s silent fury, and Sita’s quiet resignation. He described her as a sculpture of sorrow, bearing the weight of the king’s decision. Lakshmana’s anger was palpable: “The king, succumbing to Kaikeyi’s schemes, has plunged everyone into misery. Rama’s sacrifice is the result of misguided authority.”
Sumanthra concluded, “Rama urged patience and diligence in guiding Bharata. He awaits your response, O King.” The room fell silent, the weight of despair palpable. Sumanthra waited, his heart heavy, as the future of Ayodhya hung in the balance, veiled in uncertainty.