As the time of exile approached, Rama was urged to hasten his departure from the city, for his father, King Dasharatha, would neither bathe nor take food until Rama had gone to the forest. The king, overwhelmed by unbearable grief, sighed, “Alas, how terrible,” and, unable to withstand the sorrow, fainted and collapsed upon his golden-adorned couch. Moved by Kaikeyi’s insistence, Rama gently lifted his stricken father. Like a horse spurred by the whip, he resolved to set forth for the forest without delay. Turning to Kaikeyi, Rama spoke with calm resolve, “O lady, I am not one who seeks personal gain, nor can I bear to live in this world for its pleasures. 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. Truly, there is no greater righteousness than serving one’s father and obeying his command. Even though my father did not himself command me, at your word I will dwell in the lonely forest here for fourteen years.” He continued, “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 steadfast words, the king, crushed by grief and unable to speak, broke into loud weeping. Rama, radiant and humble, bowed at the feet of his senseless father and, with equal reverence, at the feet of Kaikeyi, though she had proved unworthy of such honor. Then, having circumambulated both his father and Kaikeyi, Rama departed from the inner palace and saw his friends. Lakshmana, the joy of Sumitra, his eyes filled with tears and burning with anger, followed Rama closely. Rama, walking slowly, circumambulated the vessels prepared for his consecration, not turning his gaze from them, taking a final leave. The loss of the kingdom did not diminish his great splendor; beloved by all, he shone like the moon, whose beauty is undimmed even as it wanes. Even as he prepared to leave for the forest and abandon the earth, no disturbance of mind could be seen in him, as if he were beyond all the world’s concerns. He dismissed the auspicious white parasol and the finely adorned fans, sending away his own attendants, the chariot, the citizens, and the townsfolk. Bearing his sorrow within and restraining his senses, Rama, ever self-controlled, entered his mother’s house, though he brought her unwelcome news. All the noble attendants of the illustrious and truthful Rama could not discern any change in his face. The mighty-armed, composed Rama did not abandon his usual serenity, shining like the autumn moon radiant with its own light. Honoring everyone with gentle words, Rama, famed and righteous, entered his mother Kausalya’s presence. Lakshmana, his brother of great prowess and equal virtue, followed him, bearing his own sorrow. Though entering a house once filled with joy, Rama, upon seeing the misfortune that had come, did not show any agitation, for he feared to distress 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 beloved by all the palace, Rama had always been their guide and refuge—but now, today, he would depart. “Just as he always behaves toward his mother Kausalya, so too has Raghava conducted himself toward us since birth,” they lamented. “He never becomes angry, even when insulted, and avoids all causes for wrath; appeasing those who are angry, he will depart from here today. Alas, our king acts without wisdom among the living, for he abandons Raghava, who is the path for all beings.” Thus, all the royal wives wept aloud, like cows bereft of their calves, mourning for their husband. The king, tormented by grief for his son, heard the dreadful sounds of anguish within the palace and collapsed upon his seat. Rama, deeply troubled, breathing heavily like an elephant, entered his mother’s inner chambers, accompanied by his steadfast brother, yet always self-controlled. At the doorway, Rama saw an elderly, greatly honored man seated, with many others standing nearby. Upon seeing Rama, all those present greeted him, praising Raghava, the best among victors, with acclamations of victory. Entering the first chamber, Rama saw in the second chamber Brahmins, learned in the Vedas, elderly and honored by the king. He bowed respectfully to these elders, and then, in the third chamber, saw women, children, and more elders, all devoted to guarding the doorway. The joyful women, having offered their blessings, entered the house and quickly informed Rama’s mother of her beloved son’s arrival. At that time, Queen Kausalya, having spent the night in meditation, was performing worship of Vishnu at dawn, wishing for her son’s welfare. Clad in silk garments, joyful and ever devoted to vows, she offered oblations to the fire with proper mantras, having completed all the auspicious rites for her beloved Rama.