As Kausalyā, the mother of Rāma, poured out her sorrow in anguished words, Lakṣmaṇa, deeply troubled, turned to her and spoke with gentle firmness befitting the moment. "Noble lady," he said, "this situation does not please me either—that Rāghava should abandon his royal fortune and go to the forest, all because of a woman's words. Our aged father, swayed and overpowered by desires, pressed and agitated, what would he not say? Yet, I see no fault in Rāghava, no wrongdoing for which he deserves exile from the kingdom to the wilderness. "In truth, I cannot think of anyone in this world, not even in secret—be they friend or outcast—who could point to any fault in him. Who, guided by righteousness, would ever abandon a son who is like a god—upright, self-controlled, and affectionate even to his enemies—without just cause? And which son, remembering the conduct of kings, would show a royal heart toward a father who has lapsed into childishness? "As long as this matter remains unknown to others, keep the king’s command within your heart, together with me. With me by your side, armed with my bow, who could act against you or Rāghava while I protect you, just as none can defy Death itself standing near? O best of men, if Ayodhyā turns hostile, I will empty this city of its people with my sharp arrows. Whoever sides with Bharata or wishes him well, I will slay them all, for the gentle are always scorned. "If our father, encouraged by Kaikeyī, is displeased with us and has become our enemy, let him be slain without hesitation—let him be slain indeed. Even a teacher, if arrogant and ignorant of right and wrong, must be disciplined when he strays from the path. Tell me, Rāghava, on what strength or reason does he wish to hand over this ready-made fortune to Kaikeyī? Having made enmity with you and me, what power does he have to bestow the kingdom’s wealth upon Bharata, O subduer of enemies? "O queen, I swear by truth, by my bow, and by the sacrifices I have performed, that I am truly devoted in heart to my brother. If Rāma enters blazing fire or the forest, know, O queen, that I will have gone there before him. With my strength I will remove your sorrow, just as the sun dispels darkness at dawn. Let the queen see my valor, and let Rāghava see it as well. If need be, I will slay my aged father, whose mind is attached to Kaikeyī, who is pitiable, childish, and condemned by his old age." Hearing these passionate words from the great-souled Lakṣmaṇa, Kausalyā, weeping and overwhelmed with grief, turned to Rāma and spoke: "You should not, my son, heed the unrighteous words spoken by my co-wife and abandon me, tormented by grief, to depart from here. You are known for your understanding of righteousness and your desire to practice it most faithfully; therefore, while you remain here, serve me and perform the highest duty. "A son who dwelt obediently in his own house and served his mother, that Kāśyapa, endowed with great austerity, attained heaven. Just as the king must be honored by you with respect, so also must I. Therefore, I do not permit you—do not go to the forest. For me, separated from you, there is no value in life or happiness; I would rather eat even grass, so long as I am with you. If you go to the forest, abandoning me who am consumed by sorrow, I will remain here fasting unto death, for I will not be able to live. "Then, my son, you will incur infamous hell, as one guilty of unrighteousness, just as the lord of rivers, the ocean, did for the sin of brahminicide." As Kausalyā lamented thus in her distress, Rāma, ever devoted to righteousness, spoke gently to her, his words firmly rooted in dharma: "I do not have the power to transgress my father’s command. I beg you, with bowed head—permit me to go to the forest. There was once a sage, who, while living in the forest and obeying his father’s command, knowingly committed the unrighteous act of killing a cow—so did the wise Kaṇḍu. In our lineage, by the command of their father Sagara, his sons dug the earth, and a great destruction occurred. By Rāma, son of Jamadagni, his own mother Reṇukā was slain with an axe in the forest, to fulfill his father’s word. "By these and many other godlike men, O noble lady, the father’s command was carried out without weakness; I too shall do what is pleasing to my father. Indeed, it is not by me alone that obedience to the father is practiced; it was done also by those whom I have just mentioned, O noble lady. I do not pursue a new or contrary path of righteousness; this is the way approved by the ancients, and I follow it. "Therefore, this must be done by me on earth and in no other way; for by carrying out the father’s command, no one ever comes to harm." Having thus spoken to his mother, Rāma then turned to Lakṣmaṇa, who stood by, the best among speakers and foremost among all bowmen. "Lakṣmaṇa," he said, "I know your unsurpassed affection for me, as well as your valor, steadfastness, and your strength that is difficult to withstand. My mother, of auspicious character, suffers a great and incomparable sorrow, not understanding the true intent of truth and self-restraint. "For righteousness is supreme in this world, and upon righteousness, truth is established. Even this command of my father is rooted in righteousness and is most excellent.