"Oh, holy banyan tree,
Let Ram be harm-free,
At the end, let me see
My queen mothers three."

"Allow him to fulfill
His vow, an unbroken will,"
The tree heard Sita's prayer.
Its leaves shook, "so it be" in answer.

In front brother Lakshman,
Sita Lakshmi in between,
Behind the two Ram,
Their march went calm.

In their forest bound journey
They were at the height of joy,
Resting somewhere at night fall,
Moving again before its befall.

They ate fruits and nuts,
Rested in caves and huts,
Took bath in holy rivers,
And did their daily prayers.

It was a dry hot summer,
But under shade and shelter,
Of giant plants-trees multi,
They spent time comfortably.

The hanging hives of bees,
O'er the variety of trees,
The multi-colored flowers,
Fallen on the forest-floors,

The sweet songs of the birds,
The animals' march in herds,
All these sights and sounds,
Added joy to their rounds.

This way they reached,
The Chitrakoot hill touched,
The beauty of it watched,
And at its base they rested.

It was a Mini-Heaven,
A calm-beautiful region,
A panorama of bushy green,
A sage-sought-paradise-gain.

A forest with edible roots,
And plenty of juicy fruits,
It did attract three of them,
And give them a nice time.

A sturdy hut of the first rank,
On the Malyavati's River bank,
Built of bamboos and mud,
Beautified its river-bank-bed.

This weather-proof hut,
Lakshman skillfully built,
With every raw material,
In the forest freely available.

Life for them here,
Was free from care,
Happy were they all
At this rough foothill.

Unaware of the sorrows,
Of the approaching morrows,
Their life went on smoothly
Amidst the sages happily.