The forest grew dense, its trees rising tall like silent sentinels watching over Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana. The earth beneath their feet grew wild, covered in thick roots and soft moss, as they ventured deeper into the heart of nature.
After many miles, they came upon a peaceful clearing, where birds sang sweet songs and the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers. There stood the hermitage of the great Sage Bharadwaja, simple yet glowing with the power of years of penance and wisdom.
The sage welcomed them with folded hands, his face shining like the full moon. “O Rama, I have awaited your arrival. The earth speaks of your noble heart, and the rivers sing of your name. Rest here, O blessed ones, and tell me your tale.”
Rama, humble as always, bowed low. “O great sage, we come as guests of the forest, seeking your blessing. We walk this path to fulfill a promise, to uphold dharma.”
Sage Bharadwaja smiled, his eyes filled with pride. “You are the very soul of dharma, Rama. The gods themselves watch over you.” He offered them fruits, roots, and cool water from the river. Sita, weary from the journey, found peace in the gentle air of the ashram.
The sage spoke softly, “Beyond these woods lies Chitrakoot, a land of great beauty, where rivers sing and mountains rise like dreams. Go there, O Rama, and make your home. The forest shall embrace you, and the sky shall watch over you.”
Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita thanked the sage with reverence. The next morning, as the sky blushed with the first rays of dawn, they continued their journey — their hearts lightened by Bharadwaja’s blessings.
The path to Chitrakoot was filled with wonders. Rivers danced beside them, and trees arched their branches as if to offer shade to the weary travelers. Birds chirped sweet melodies, and even the wild beasts gazed at them with calm eyes, as if knowing they walked beside purity and grace.
At last, they reached the sacred land of Chitrakoot — where the hills touched the sky and the rivers whispered secrets to the trees. The mountain stood tall and proud, clothed in green, while the waters of the Mandakini flowed clear and pure.
There, Lakshmana, with loving hands, built a humble hut from bamboo and leaves — simple, yet filled with warmth. Sita’s laughter once more rang through the air as she gazed upon the beauty of their new home.
Rama smiled, his heart at peace. “Here, we shall live, O Sita, O Lakshmana. The forest shall be our kingdom, the sky our roof, and the earth our bed. Let us make this exile a time of joy, not sorrow.”
And so, beneath the shade of Chitrakoot’s mighty hills, the three exiles found their home — where love, duty, and nature lived together in harmony, far from the golden palaces of Ayodhya.
Little did they know, far away in that sorrowful city, hearts still wept, and a father’s soul grew weaker with each passing moment.