As the time of Rama’s departure to the forest drew near, Queen Kausalya, overwhelmed with anguish, pleaded with her son. “Just as you honor the king with the deepest respect, so too must you honor me,” she implored. “Therefore, I do not give you permission—do not go to the forest. For me, life and happiness hold no value if I am separated from you. I would rather eat grass and live in hardship, so long as I am with you. If you leave me, consumed by sorrow, and go to the forest, I shall remain here, fasting until death, for I could not bear to live without you. My son, if you abandon me in this way, you will incur a grievous sin and fall into infamous hell, just as the ocean was cursed for the sin of brahminicide.” As Kausalya lamented in her distress, Rama, ever devoted to righteousness, gently answered her with words aligned to dharma. “Mother, I do not have the power to transgress my father’s command. With bowed head, I beg you, please permit me to go to the forest. In ages past, a sage living in the forest, obeying his father’s command, knowingly committed the unrighteous act of killing a cow, as did the wise Kaṇḍu. In our own lineage, the sons of Sagara, by their father’s command, dug the earth, causing great destruction. Rama, the son of Jamadagni, even slew his own mother Reṇukā in the forest to fulfill his father’s word. Many other godlike men, noble lady, have carried out the commands of their fathers without hesitation. I too shall do what is pleasing to my father. Indeed, obedience to one’s father was not practiced by me alone, but also by those I have just mentioned, O noble lady. I do not seek a new or contrary path of righteousness; I follow the course approved by the ancients. Therefore, I must do this on earth and in no other way, for by carrying out the father’s command, no one ever comes to harm.” Having spoken thus to his mother, Rama turned to Lakshmana, the best among speakers and foremost of bowmen. “Lakshmana, I know your unsurpassed affection for me, your valor, steadfastness, and your mighty power. My mother, who is of auspicious character, suffers a great and incomparable sorrow, not fully understanding the intent of truth and self-restraint. Righteousness is supreme in this world, and upon righteousness, truth is established; even my father’s command is rooted in righteousness and is most excellent. O hero, having pledged to the words of one’s father, mother, or a Brahmin, one who abides in righteousness must not disregard them. Therefore, I cannot transgress my father’s command; Kaikeyi has urged me by his word. Abandon this noble resolve, grounded in the duty of warriors; take refuge in righteousness, not harshness—let your mind follow mine.” With these words, Rama, out of affection, spoke to his brother, and then, with joined palms and bowed head, addressed Kausalya once more. “Grant me your permission, O Lady, as I depart for the forest. You are bound to me by my very life—please perform auspicious rites for me. Having fulfilled my vow, I shall return from the forest to the city, just as King Yayati, having once abandoned, returned again to heaven. Bear your grief in your heart, Mother, and do not sorrow; I shall return from the forest, having fulfilled my father’s command. By you, by me, by Vaidehi, by Lakshmana, and by Sumitra, we must all abide by our father’s command—this is the eternal law. Mother, gather the necessary provisions and restrain your sorrow; since my mind is set on dwelling in the forest, let it be followed in righteousness.” Hearing these unwavering, righteous words, Queen Kausalya, as if returning to life from the depths of despair, looked at Rama and spoke again. “Just as your father is to you, so am I—your teacher, by duty and affection. I do not permit you, my son, to leave me, so deeply afflicted. What is life to me without you? What is the world, or even the nectar of immortality? A single moment in your presence is dearer to me than all the world.” Rama, hearing his mother’s pitiful lament, was consumed by even deeper grief, like a great elephant driven into darkness by torches. He saw his mother, nearly senseless, and Sumitra’s son, Lakshmana, tormented by pain. Yet, steadfast in righteousness, Rama spoke words appropriate to the moment. “Lakshmana, I know well your devotion and valor. But since my intention is not being considered, do not, along with my mother, distress me with such deep sorrow. In this world, righteousness, wealth, and desire all arise from the fruits of righteousness; all those who are there, without doubt, are as obedient as a wife, along with her sons, who is dear and under control. One should pursue that in which all are united, from which righteousness arises. One who seeks only personal gain becomes hated, and self-indulgence is not commendable. Who, acting with cruelty, would fail to carry out the task assigned by a teacher, king, father, or elder, whether out of anger, joy, or desire, after considering what is right?” He continued, “I am not able to fulfill my father’s promise completely as it should be, for he, O father, is our teacher by command, the husband of the queen, and the path of righteousness. While the king of righteousness still lives and follows his own path, how could the queen accompany me, as if she were bereft of her husband? Do not be angry with me, O queen, as I go to the forest; offer your blessings, so that when my time is complete I may return, just as Yayāti returned by truth. I do not seek great fame merely for the sake of the kingdom; in this brief span of life, O queen, I choose the lesser earth, not unrighteously.” Having thus sought to console his mother, Rama, the bull among men, eager to depart for Dandaka, earnestly instructed his younger brother. Then, with deep reverence, he circumambulated his mother in his heart, ready to fulfill his father’s command and uphold the eternal law.