The Forest Exile of Sri Rama (Ramayana Series 32)

Facing the chariot that carried Sri Rama toward the forests, King Dasaratha stood transfixed. His gaze remained fixed upon it until even the dust rising from its wheels disappeared into the horizon. As long as he could see his beloved and supremely righteous son, it seemed as though his very being strained forward, yearning to follow. But the moment the dust cloud faded from sight, the grief-stricken monarch collapsed upon the earth, overwhelmed by sorrow.

Meanwhile, the citizens of Ayodhya, bound by deep affection to the noble and truthful Rama, followed the chariot into the wilderness. Though ministers forcefully persuaded the King and his companions to return, the townspeople refused to turn back. Among them were aged and wise Brahmins, radiant in austerity yet trembling with age. Standing at a distance, they addressed the royal horses:

“O noble steeds, born of the finest lineage! Hear our plea. Turn back toward Ayodhya at once. It is fitting for you to carry such a virtuous, steadfast, and auspicious prince back to his city—not away from it into the forest.”

As though moved by their heartfelt cries, the sacred river Tamasa appeared before the chariot, as if to halt its course. At that moment, Sumantra brought the chariot to a stop.

Upon reaching the serene banks of the Tamasa, Rama looked upon Sita and spoke gently to Lakshmana:

“Lakshmana, this is my first night in exile. Let there be no sorrow in your heart. Though this forest seems desolate, listen—the cries of birds and beasts returning to their nests surround us like a lament. Ayodhya, filled with men and women alike, surely grieves for us. Our people deeply love our father, the noble King, and they cherish us—Bharata, Shatrughna, you, and me—with equal affection.

I grieve for our father and our revered mother. I fear they may weep until their eyes grow dim with tears. Yet Bharata, righteous at heart, will console them with words rooted in dharma.

Lakshmana, your presence is a great blessing. Had you not come, I would have had to seek protection for Vaidehi. Tonight, I shall sustain myself on water alone. Though roots and fruits abound, it seems fitting to observe a fast on this first night of exile.”

As the sun set, Sumantra tied the horses and, along with Lakshmana, prepared a simple bed of tender leaves. Upon the banks of the Tamasa, Rama lay down beside Sita and soon fell into restful sleep after the day’s trials. Watching them, Lakshmana began recounting Rama’s countless virtues to Sumantra.

Thus passed the night, Lakshmana keeping vigil while dawn slowly approached.

At Brahma Muhurta, Rama awoke and beheld the citizens who had followed him, sleeping beneath the trees out of pure devotion.

“Lakshmana,” he said softly, “see how these people, abandoning their own homes, sleep here out of love for us. They are resolute; they would sacrifice even their lives, but never their vow to bring us back. Therefore, before they awaken, let us depart swiftly and quietly.

A prince must relieve his people of suffering, whether born of fate or circumstance. If sorrow befalls the king, he must bear it alone—never pass it on to his subjects.”

With that noble resolve, Rama prepared to journey deeper into the forest, carrying not only the weight of exile—but the undying love of Ayodhya in his heart.