Rama, seeking to reassure his grieving mother, spoke of the sacred duty of obeying one’s father. He recalled how, in ancient times, a sage dwelling in the forest, intent on fulfilling his father’s command, knowingly committed the grave act of killing a cow, just as the wise Kaṇḍu had done. In their own illustrious lineage, he reminded her, the sons of Sagara, at their father’s bidding, had dug into the earth, bringing about great destruction. Even Rama, the son of Jamadagni, had slain his own mother Reṇukā in the forest with an axe, all to honor his father’s word. Rama explained that many other noble and godlike men had carried out their fathers’ commands without hesitation or weakness, and that he, too, would do what pleased his father. It was not only he who upheld this obedience, he said—those great souls he had just mentioned had also done so. He assured his mother that he was not forging a new or contrary path of righteousness; rather, he was following the course approved by the ancients. He declared that this duty must be performed by him on earth and in no other way, for no harm could ever come from carrying out a father’s command. Having thus spoken to his mother, Rama turned to address Lakshmana, his words calm and resolute. He acknowledged Lakshmana’s unmatched affection, valor, steadfastness, and strength. Yet, he noted, their mother was suffering an immense and incomparable sorrow, unable to grasp the deeper intent of truth and self-restraint. Rama continued, affirming that righteousness is supreme in the world, and that truth is established upon righteousness. Even his father’s command, he said, was rooted in righteousness and was most excellent. He told Lakshmana that when one has pledged to the words of a father, mother, or Brahmin, a person devoted to righteousness must not disregard them. Therefore, Rama explained, he could not defy his father’s command, for he had been urged by Kaikeyi according to that very word. He urged Lakshmana to abandon his noble resolve, which was grounded in the warrior’s duty, and instead to take refuge in righteousness, letting his mind follow Rama’s own. Having spoken thus to his brother out of deep affection, Rama, with hands joined and head bowed, turned again to Kausalya. He asked her to grant him permission to depart for the forest, reminding her that she was bound to him by his very life, and requesting that she perform auspicious rites for his journey. Rama promised that, having fulfilled his vow, he would return from the forest to the city, just as King Yayati, having once fallen, returned again to heaven. He urged his mother to bear her grief in her heart and not to sorrow, assuring her that he would return after fulfilling his father’s command. He declared that he, his mother, Sita, Lakshmana, and Sumitra must all abide by the father’s word, for this is the eternal law. He asked his mother to gather the provisions needed and to restrain her sorrow, insisting that since his mind was set on dwelling in the forest, it must be carried out in righteousness. Hearing these unwavering words, so righteous and firm, the queen—regaining her senses as if returning from the brink of death—looked at Rama and spoke once more. She reminded him that, just as his father was his teacher, so too was she, by her own duty and love. She could not permit him to leave her, so deeply afflicted as she was. What, she asked, was life or the world or even the nectar of immortality to her without him? A single moment in his presence was dearer to her than all the world. Hearing his mother’s anguished lament, Rama’s grief burned even more fiercely, like a great elephant driven into darkness by torches. He saw his mother nearly senseless with sorrow, and Sumitra’s son, Lakshmana, tormented by pain. Yet, steadfast in righteousness, Rama spoke words appropriate to the moment, words grounded in dharma. He acknowledged Lakshmana’s devotion and valor, but implored him not to distress him further, along with their mother, by disregarding his intention. In the world, he said, righteousness, wealth, and desire all arise from the fruits of righteousness. All those who are truly dear and obedient—like a wife and her sons—must act accordingly. He counseled that one should pursue that path in which all are united and from which righteousness arises, for one who is solely intent on gain becomes disliked, and self-indulgence is never praiseworthy. Who, he asked, after considering what is right, would fail to carry out the task assigned by a teacher, king, father, or elder, whether out of anger, joy, or desire? Rama admitted he could not fulfill his father’s promise completely as it should be, for his father was their teacher by command, the husband of the queen, and the very path of righteousness. While the righteous king still lived and followed his own path, Rama wondered how the queen could accompany him, as though she were a woman bereft of her husband. He asked his mother not to be angry with him as he departed for the forest, but to offer her blessings, so that, when the time was complete, he might return, just as Yayati returned by truth. He said he did not seek great fame or the kingdom; in this brief life, he chose instead the lesser earth, but always in accordance with righteousness. Seeking to please his mother, Rama, resolute in his intention to depart for Dandaka, instructed his younger brother with care and, in his heart, circumambulated his mother. Now, let the next chapter be heard. Then Rama approached Lakshmana, his dear friend and brother, who was deeply distressed and burning with indignation, his eyes blazing like a furious lord of elephants. Rama, steadfast in spirit, spoke with composure, restraining himself with courage. Suppressing his own anger and sorrow, relying on fortitude, he set aside humiliation and embraced supreme joy. He instructed Lakshmana that whatever had been prepared for his consecration should now be quickly withdrawn, and the task should be carried out without delay. The effort made for his coronation, Rama said, must now be turned toward its cancellation.