When Rāma spoke his words, his father, King Daśaratha, was overwhelmed by grief. Unable to utter a single word because of his sorrow, the king broke into loud weeping. Rāma, radiant and composed, bowed reverently at the feet of his senseless father and, despite her actions, at the feet of Kaikeyī. Then, overcome, he fell to the ground. After this, Rāma circumambulated both his father and Kaikeyī, honoring them as was proper, and departed from the inner chambers. Outside, he saw his own friends waiting for him. Lakṣmaṇa, the joy of Sumitrā, followed behind Rāma. His eyes were filled with tears and his heart burned with anger at the injustice. Rāma then circumambulated the vessels that had been prepared for his consecration, walking away slowly, his gaze lingering upon them. Even as he lost the kingdom, his great splendor remained undiminished. All loved him dearly, just as the waning moon does not lose its cool beauty. Though Rāma was about to forsake the earth and go to the forest, no agitation or disturbance could be seen in his mind; he seemed as if he were beyond all worldly concerns. He dismissed the auspicious white parasol, the finely adorned fans, his people, the chariot, the citizens, and the townsfolk. Bearing his sorrow quietly, restraining his senses, the self-controlled Rāma entered his mother’s house, though he carried unwelcome news. All the noble attendants of illustrious, truthful Rāma could not discern any change in his face. The mighty-armed, self-controlled hero maintained his composure, radiant like the autumn moon shining in its own light. Rāma, famed and righteous, honored everyone with sweet words as he entered his mother’s presence. Lakṣmaṇa, his brother of great prowess and virtue, followed him, bearing his own sorrow. Entering the house, Rāma—though he saw that misfortune had come—did not show any agitation, fearing to distress his friends. As Rāma, the 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 the palace, Rāma had always been their guide and refuge, but now he was leaving them. The royal wives lamented that Rāghava always behaved toward them as he did toward his own mother Kausalyā, since birth. He never became angry, even when insulted, avoided all causes for wrath, and appeased those who were angry. Yet today, he would depart. They cried out in anguish, lamenting that the king acted without wisdom, for he was abandoning Rāghava, who was the path for all beings. The royal wives wailed aloud for their husband, like cows bereft of their calves. The king, tormented by grief for his son, heard these dreadful sounds within the palace and collapsed upon his seat. Rāma, deeply troubled, breathed heavily like an elephant, yet, accompanied by Lakṣmaṇa, entered his mother's inner chambers, self-controlled. There, he saw an elderly man, greatly honored, seated at the doorway, with 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. After bowing to those elders, Rāma saw in the third chamber women, children, and elderly, all devoted to guarding the doorway. The joyful women offered their blessings, entered the house, and quickly informed Rāma’s mother, Kausalyā, of her beloved son’s arrival. At that time, Queen Kausalyā, having spent the night in meditation, was performing worship of Viṣṇu 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 auspicious rites. Rāma entered his mother’s auspicious inner chamber and saw her there, offering oblations to the sacred fire. He observed the offerings prepared for divine rites: curds, rice grains, clarified butter, sweet cakes, and other items. Raghunandana saw fried grains, white garlands, milk-rice, gruel, firewood, and full water pots. He saw his mother, clad in white silk, emaciated by the practice of vows, offering libations to the gods, radiant in beauty. Rāghava approached his mother, embraced her with his arms, and kissed her on the head. Kausalyā, steadfast and loving, addressed her son with words of affection and kindness, full of motherly love: “May you attain long life, fame, and righteousness befitting your lineage, as did the aged, virtuous, royal sages of great soul. Behold your father, the king, O Rāghava, steadfast in his word; today itself, that righteous one will anoint you as heir-apparent.” Having accepted the seat offered to him and being invited to dine, Rāghava, with hands joined in respect, spoke a little to his mother. Naturally humble and bowed with respect, he then began to take leave, preparing to depart for the Daṇḍaka forest.