Kaikeyī, though unworthy of such harshness, addressed Rāma—who stood before her, steadfast in truth and straightforwardness—with exceedingly severe words. She reminded him of a time long past, during the great war between the gods and demons, when his father, King Daśaratha, wounded in battle but protected by her, had granted her two boons. Now, she declared, she was claiming those boons: Bharata was to be consecrated as king, and Rāma, on this very day, must depart for the Daṇḍaka forest. “If you wish to uphold your father’s truthful promise and honor yourself, O Rāghava, then heed my words,” she said. “Obey your father’s command as he has pledged: you must dwell in the forest for fourteen years. Let Bharata be consecrated; this arrangement, Rāghava, was made by the king entirely for your sake. Renounce your own consecration and live in the Daṇḍaka forest for two periods of seven years, clad in matted hair and bark garments. Let Bharata, lord of the Kosalas, rule this earth, resplendent with jewels and crowded with horses and chariots. It is because of this, Rāma, that the king, overwhelmed with compassion and his face clouded by grief, cannot even look upon you. Fulfill the king’s bidding, O delight of the Raghus; by your great truthfulness, deliver the lord of men from this burden.” Even as Kaikeyī spoke these harsh words, Rāma did not succumb to sorrow. Though troubled within, the noble-souled Rāma remained composed, while his father was tormented by grief for his beloved son. Now begins the nineteenth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa’s Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Hearing that dreadful, almost death-like command, Rāma, destroyer of foes, stood unshaken and replied to Kaikeyī: “So be it. I will go to the forest from here and dwell there, wearing matted hair and bark, upholding the king’s promise. Yet, I wish to know—why does the mighty king, the subduer of enemies, not greet me as he used to?” 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 pains 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—everything—to my brother Bharata, even without being asked. What then, when the king himself, urged by his father, is upholding his promise for the sake of your dearest wish? Comfort this modest one, but why does the lord of the land, his gaze fixed to 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 Daṇḍaka forest without hesitation, to dwell there for fourteen years, just as my father has commanded.” Hearing these words, Kaikeyī was gladdened. Trusting in Rāma’s resolve to depart, she pressed 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 amiss; 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.” At that moment, the king, sighing “Alas, how terrible,” was overcome by grief, fainted, and fell upon his golden-adorned couch. Rāma, urged on by Kaikeyī, lifted his stricken father, and, like a horse lashed by a whip, made haste to prepare for the forest. He addressed Kaikeyī again: “I am not one who seeks gain, O lady; I cannot bear to live in the world for its own sake. Know me to be like the sages, established in pure righteousness. Whatever I could 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 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 Daṇḍakas. Let Bharata rule the kingdom and serve his father as he should; so too must you act, for that is the eternal law.” But when Daśaratha heard Rāma’s words, grief overwhelmed him, and, unable to speak, he broke into loud weeping. Rāma, radiant and resolute, bowed at the feet of his senseless father and also at those of Kaikeyī, though she had shown herself unworthy. Then, circumambulating both, he departed from the inner chambers and came forth to see his own friends.