Rāma, steadfast in his dharma, spoke gently, “Let Bharata rule the kingdom and serve our father as is right; this is the eternal law, and so must I act as well.” Hearing these words, his father, King Daśaratha, was overcome by grief. Unable to utter a word, his sorrow broke forth in loud weeping. Rāma, radiant as ever, bowed low at his father’s feet, and then, though she was unworthy, at the feet of Kaikeyī. Overwhelmed, he fell to the ground in reverence. Rising, he circumambulated both his father and Kaikeyī, then left the inner chambers and came upon his own friends. Lakṣmaṇa, Sumitrā’s son, followed close behind—his eyes brimming with tears, his heart burning with anger at the injustice. Rāma, pausing for a moment, walked slowly around the vessels prepared for his consecration, his gaze lingering on them—he could not look away. Yet, even as the kingdom slipped from his grasp, Rāma’s innate splendor shone undiminished. All hearts loved him still, just as the moon, though waning, loses none of its beauty. Though he was prepared to abandon the earth and go to the forest, no trace of agitation could be seen in him; he was serene, as if untouched by the world’s turmoil. With calm resolve, Rāma dismissed the royal white parasol, the ornate fans, his attendants, chariot, and the people of the city who had gathered around him. Bearing his sorrow in silence and restraining his senses, he entered his mother’s house, bringing with him unwelcome tidings. Yet, his noble attendants could see no change upon his face. Rāma, mighty-armed and self-controlled, maintained his composure, radiant like the autumn moon glowing with its own light. With gentle words and due honor to all, Rāma—renowned for righteousness—entered his mother’s presence. Lakṣmaṇa, his virtuous and powerful brother, followed, carrying his own sorrow within. Within the house, where there was usually joy, Rāma entered, his face betraying no agitation, lest he cause distress to his friends, though misfortune had now arrived. As Rāma departed with hands joined in reverence, a great cry of anguish rose from the women in the inner chambers. He, who had ever been their guide and refuge at his father’s and the palace’s command, was leaving them today. “He has always treated us as he treats his own mother Kausalyā,” they lamented. “Never does he become angry, even when insulted; he avoids all cause for wrath and appeases those who are angry. Yet today, he must depart from us.” Their sorrow grew. “Alas, our king acts without wisdom, abandoning Rāghava, who is the very path for all beings.” The royal wives wept aloud, their cries like cows bereft of their calves, lamenting for their husband and their loss. King Daśaratha, tormented by grief for his son, heard their dreadful wailing from within the palace and collapsed onto his seat, overwhelmed. Rāma, deeply troubled but self-controlled, breathed heavily like an elephant and, with his brother, entered his mother’s inner chambers. At the doorway, Rāma saw an elderly, highly honored man seated, with many others standing nearby. Upon seeing Rāma, all those present greeted him joyfully, praising him—the best among victors—with acclamations of victory. Passing into the first chamber, Rāma beheld in the second chamber Brahmins, learned in the Vedas, elderly and honored by the king. He bowed to them respectfully. In the third chamber, he saw women, children, and elders, all devoted to guarding the doorway. The joyful women, offering their blessings, hastened inside to inform Queen Kausalyā that her beloved son had arrived. Kausalyā, having spent the night in meditation, was at that moment performing worship of Viṣṇu at dawn, praying for her son’s welfare. Clad in silk, joyful and steadfast in her vows, she offered oblations into the sacred fire with proper mantras, having completed auspicious rites. Rāma entered his mother’s auspicious inner chamber and saw her offering those sacred oblations. He noticed all the offerings prepared for the divine rites—curds, rice grains, clarified butter, sweet cakes, and more. There were fried grains, white garlands, milk-rice, gruel, firewood, and full water pots—all arranged for the ceremony. He saw his mother, clad in white silk, emaciated from her vows, offering libations to the gods, radiant in her beauty and devotion. Rāma approached her, embracing her with his arms and kissing her gently on the head. Kausalyā, steadfast and loving, addressed her son with words of deep affection: “May you attain long life, lasting fame, and righteousness befitting your noble lineage, as did the virtuous royal sages of old. Behold your father, the king, O Rāghava—he is steadfast in his word. Today, that righteous one will anoint you as heir-apparent.” Rāma accepted the seat offered to him and, when invited to dine, joined his hands and spoke softly to his mother, preparing to share with her the news that would change all their lives.