When Rama was commanded by his beneficent elder—his father, the grateful king—he wondered aloud, “Why should I not, with confidence, do what is dear to them?” Yet one thought troubled his heart and burned within him: the king himself had not told him of Bharata’s consecration. Rama reflected, “I would gladly give Sita, the kingdom, my life, and all my beloved riches 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?” He turned to Kaikeyi, asking her to comfort the modest one—meaning Sita—and wondered why the lord of the land, his gaze fixed on the earth, slowly shed tears. Rama 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.” Hearing these words, Kaikeyi was glad. Believing in Rama’s departure, she urged him to hasten, saying, “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, Rama; therefore, you should go to the forest at once. The king, out of shame, does not speak to you himself—O best of men, do not take this as anything; set aside any anger. Until you have left for the forest from this city, Rama, your father will neither bathe nor eat, so hurry.” Overwhelmed by grief, the king sighed, “Alas, how terrible,” and fainted, falling upon his golden-adorned couch. Rama, urged by Kaikeyi, gently lifted up his father and, like a horse struck by a whip, made haste to go to the forest. Rama addressed Kaikeyi, “O lady, I am not one who seeks gain; 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 for fourteen years. Surely, Kaikeyi, 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 Sita, 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.” Hearing Rama’s words, his father was overwhelmed by grief, unable to speak because of sorrow, and broke into loud weeping. Rama, radiant, bowed at the feet of his senseless father and also at those of the unworthy Kaikeyi, then fell to the ground. Circumambulating his father and Kaikeyi, Rama departed from the inner chambers and saw his own friends. Lakshmana, the joy of Sumitra, his eyes filled with tears and burning with anger, followed behind him. Rama, circumambulating the vessels prepared for his consecration, walked away slowly, not turning his gaze from them. The loss of the kingdom did not diminish his great splendor, for he was beloved by all, just as the waning of the cool-rayed moon does not lessen its beauty. Even as he wished to go to the forest and abandon the earth, no disturbance of mind could be seen in him, as if he were beyond all the world. He dismissed the auspicious white parasol and the finely adorned fans, sent away his own people, the chariot, the citizens, and the townsfolk. Bearing his sorrow in his mind and restraining his senses, the self-controlled one entered his mother’s house, though he brought her unwelcome news. All the noble attendants of the illustrious, truthful Rama could not discern any change in his face. The mighty-armed, self-controlled one did not abandon his usual composure, like the autumn moon, radiant with its own light. Rama, of great fame and righteous soul, honoring everyone with sweet words, entered his mother’s presence. Lakshmana, his brother of great prowess and equal in virtues, followed, bearing his own sorrow. Entering the house, filled with great joy, and seeing that misfortune had come, Rama did not show any agitation, fearing for the distress of his friends. As Rama, that tiger among men, departed with joined palms, a great cry of anguish arose from the women in the inner chambers. Commanded by his father and by all the inner palace, Rama had been their guide and refuge, but today he would depart. Just as he always behaved toward his mother Kausalya, so too had Raghava conducted himself toward all since birth. He did not become angry even when insulted, avoiding all causes for wrath; appeasing all those who were angry, he would depart from there that day.