Rāma stood before Kaikeyī, his voice calm and resolute, and said, “O lady, I am not one who seeks personal gain. I cannot bear to live in this world for selfish ends. Know me to be like the sages, established in pure righteousness. Whatever I could do to please you, I have done fully—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 tell me himself, at your word I will dwell in the lonely forest here for fourteen years.” He looked at Kaikeyī with gentle firmness. “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 is right; so too must you act, for that is the eternal law.” Hearing Rāma’s unwavering words, his father Daśaratha was overwhelmed by grief. Sorrow choked his voice, and he broke into loud weeping. Rāma, radiant as ever, bowed respectfully at the feet of his senseless father and also at those of Kaikeyī, though she had wronged him, and then he fell to the ground in reverence. Having circumambulated both his father and Kaikeyī, Rāma departed from the inner chambers and went to see his friends. Lakṣmaṇa, the joy of Sumitrā, followed behind him, his eyes brimming with tears and his heart burning with anger. Rāma then walked slowly around the vessels prepared for his consecration, his gaze lingering on them as he took his leave. Though the kingdom was slipping away, Rāma’s splendor did not diminish. He remained beloved by all, just as the moon’s beauty is undiminished even when it wanes. Even as he prepared to abandon the earth and go to the forest, no disturbance of mind could be seen in him; he seemed beyond all worldly attachments. He dismissed the auspicious white parasol and the finely adorned fans, sending away his attendants, the chariot, the citizens, and the townsfolk. Bearing his sorrow inwardly and restraining his senses, the self-controlled Rāma entered his mother’s house, though he brought her unwelcome news. Yet, all the noble attendants of illustrious, truthful Rāma could not detect any change in his face. The mighty-armed, self-controlled Rāma did not abandon his usual composure, glowing like the autumn moon radiant with its own light. Honoring everyone with sweet words, he entered his mother Kausalyā’s presence. Lakṣmaṇa, his brother of great prowess and equal virtue, followed, carrying his own sorrow. Though Rāma entered the house, which was filled with joy only moments before, and saw that misfortune had come, he showed no agitation, not wishing to distress his friends. At this moment, let the next chapter be heard. As that tiger among men, Rāma, departed with joined palms, a great cry of anguish arose from the women in the inner chambers. Commanded by his father and loved by all, Rāma had been their guide and refuge—but today he would leave. The royal wives lamented, “Just as he always behaves toward his mother Kausalyā, so too has Rāghava conducted himself toward us since birth. He never becomes angry, even when insulted, always avoiding causes for wrath; he appeases those who are angry, and now he will depart from us today. Alas, our king acts without wisdom among the living, for he abandons Rāghava, who is the true path for all beings.” The royal wives cried out in grief, like cows bereft of their calves, and they wailed aloud 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. Meanwhile, Rāma, deeply troubled but self-controlled, breathed heavily like an elephant and, accompanied by his brother, entered his mother’s inner chambers. There, at the doorway, he saw an elderly man of great honor seated, and many others standing nearby. Upon seeing Rāma, all those present greeted him, praising Rāghava, the best among victors, with acclamations of victory. Entering the first chamber, Rāma saw in the second chamber Brahmins, learned in the Vedas, elderly and honored by the king. He bowed to those elders and, entering the third chamber, saw women, children, and the elderly, all devoted to guarding the doorway. The joyful women, having offered their blessings, entered the house and quickly informed Rāma’s mother of her beloved son’s arrival. At that time, Queen Kausalyā, having spent the night in meditation, performed worship of Viṣṇu at dawn, wishing for her son’s welfare. Clad in silk garments, joyful and ever devoted to her vows, she offered oblations to the fire with proper mantras, having completed auspicious rites. Rāma entered his mother’s auspicious inner chamber and saw her there, offering oblations to the sacred fire. There, prepared for the divine rites, were curds, rice grains, clarified butter, sweet cakes, and other offerings. Raghunandana saw fried grains, white garlands, milk-rice, gruel, firewood, and full water pots—all arranged with love and devotion for his well-being.