Rāma, ever steadfast and dutiful, was approached by Kaikeyī, who spoke to him in a manner that filled him with shame. “Lady,” he said, “it is not right for you to address me thus. At the king’s command, I would not hesitate to throw myself into fire. If ordered by my teacher, my father, the king, or one who wishes me well, I would drink deadly poison or leap into the ocean. Therefore, tell me whatever the king desires; I will do it, I promise you—Rāma does not speak twice.” Kaikeyī, though her words were harsh and unworthy, spoke directly to Rāma, whose nature was marked by truthfulness and straightforwardness. She reminded him of a time long ago, during the great battle between the gods and demons, when his father, King Daśaratha, wounded and protected by her, was granted two boons. At that moment, Kaikeyī had asked the king for two things: the consecration of Bharata as heir, and Rāma’s departure that very day to the Daṇḍaka forest. “If you wish to fulfill your father’s truthful promise, O best of men,” she said, “and honor yourself, then listen to my words. Abide by your father’s command as he has promised: you must enter the forest for fourteen years. Let Bharata be consecrated; this consecration, O Rāghava, was arranged by the king entirely for your sake. Renounce this consecration and dwell in the Daṇḍaka forest for two periods of seven years, wearing matted hair and bark garments. Let Bharata, lord of the Kosalas, rule this earth, filled with jewels and crowded with horses and chariots. Because of this, the king, overwhelmed with compassion and distressed with grief, is unable to look upon you. Do the king’s bidding, O delight of the Raghus; by your great truthfulness, deliver the lord of men.” Even as Kaikeyī spoke these harsh words, Rāma did not fall into sorrow. Yet the great-souled one was troubled, and the king was tormented by grief for his son. Now begins the nineteenth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Hearing Kaikeyī’s unpleasant, death-like command, Rāma, the destroyer of foes, remained unshaken and addressed her: “So be it; I will go to the forest from here and dwell there, wearing matted hair and bark, upholding the king’s promise. But I wish to know: for what reason does the mighty king, the subduer of enemies, not greet me as before?” He continued, “Do not take offense, O queen; I say this before you: I will go, be well pleased, to the forest, wearing bark and matted hair. When commanded by a beneficent elder, a grateful king and father, why should I not, with confidence, do what is dear to them? Only one thing, a baseless thought, burns my heart: that the king himself did not tell me of Bharata’s consecration. For I would gladly give Sītā, the kingdom, my life, beloved riches, all to my brother Bharata, even unasked. What then, when the king himself, urged by his father, is upholding his promise for the sake of your dearest wish? So comfort this modest one; but why does the lord of the land, his gaze fixed on the earth, slowly shed tears?” Rāma then suggested, “Let messengers, with swift horses, go at once to bring Bharata from his maternal uncle’s house today, by the king’s command. I will go quickly to the Dandaka forest, without hesitation, to dwell there for fourteen years, just as my father has commanded.” Kaikeyī, hearing Rāma’s words, was gladdened and, believing in his departure, urged him to hasten. “So be it—let messengers with swift horses go to bring Bharata back here from his maternal uncle’s house. But I think it is not proper to delay when you are eager, Rāma; therefore, you should go to the forest at once. That the king, out of shame, does not speak to you himself—O best of men, do not take this as anything; let any anger be set aside. Until you have left for the forest from this city, Rāma, your father will neither bathe nor eat, so hurry.” Overwhelmed by grief, sighing “Alas, how terrible,” the king fainted and fell upon his golden-adorned couch. Rāma, urged on by Kaikeyī, lifted up the king and, like a horse struck by a whip, made haste to go to the forest. Rāma then spoke further to Kaikeyī: “I am not one who seeks gain, O lady; I cannot bear to live in the world. Know me to be like the sages, established in pure righteousness. Whatever I can do to please you, I have done completely—even at the cost of my life. There is truly no greater practice of righteousness than service to one’s father and obedience to his command. Even though I was not told by him, at your word I will dwell in the lonely forest here for fourteen years. Surely, Kaikeyī, you expect no virtues in me, since, though you are my superior, you spoke to the king about me. As soon as I have taken leave of my mother and comforted Sītā, I will go today itself to the great forest of the Dandakas. Let Bharata rule the kingdom and serve his father as he should; so too must you act, for that is the eternal law.” Thus, with unwavering resolve and devotion to dharma, Rāma prepared to fulfill his father’s promise, leaving behind all that was dear to him.