Rama, resolute in his purpose, gently addressed his mother: “Mother, gather the necessary provisions and restrain your sorrow within your heart. My mind is firmly set on dwelling in the forest; let this resolve be followed in righteousness.” Hearing these unwavering and righteous words, the queen, as if revived from the depths of despair, regained her senses and looked at Rama, speaking 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 am I. What is life to me without you? What is the world, or even the nectar of immortality? A moment with you is more precious to me than all the world of the living.” Rama heard his mother’s pitiful lament and, like a mighty elephant driven into darkness by torches, his grief burned even more fiercely. He saw his mother, nearly senseless with sorrow, and Sumitra’s son, Lakshmana, tormented by pain. Steadfast in righteousness, Rama spoke words appropriate to the situation: “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 the world of the living, 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; for one who is solely intent on gain becomes hated in the world, 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? I am not able to fulfill my father’s promise completely as it should be; for he is our teacher by command, the husband of the queen, and the path of righteousness. While the king of righteousness still lives and especially follows his own path, how could the queen accompany me from here, like a woman bereft of her husband? Do not be angry with me, O queen, as I go to the forest; offer us your blessings, so that when my time is complete I may return, just as Yayāti returned by truth. I am not able to achieve great fame merely for the sake of the kingdom; but in this brief span of life, O queen, today I choose the lesser earth, not unrighteously.” Having sought to please his mother, Rama, the bull among men, eager to depart for Dandaka through his resolve, then earnestly instructed his younger brother and circumambulated his mother in his heart. Let the twenty-second chapter be heard. Rama then approached Lakshmana, his dear friend and brother, who was deeply distressed and indignant, his eyes blazing with anger like a furious lord of elephants. Rama, steadfast in spirit, spoke to Lakshmana with composure, restraining himself with courage. Suppressing anger and sorrow, relying solely on fortitude, Rama cast aside humiliation and embraced supreme joy. He said, “Whatever has been prepared for my consecration, let all that be quickly withdrawn; carry out the task without delay. O Saumitri, the effort made for my consecration should now be directed toward its cancellation. Let us act so that our mother, whose mind is troubled on account of my consecration, may not remain anxious. I cannot endure, even for a moment, this pain of suspicion arising in her mind, O Saumitri. I do not recall ever, knowingly or unknowingly, doing anything slight or displeasing to my mothers or father. My father, who is truthful, steadfast in his vows, always devoted to truth, should be fearless, fearing only the consequences in the next world. If this act is not carried out, even for her, my mind would be troubled by the thought that truth is not upheld, and her anguish would afflict me. Therefore, Lakshmana, withdrawing the arrangements for the consecration, I wish to go to the forest from here, right away. Today, with my departure into exile, the king’s wife will have accomplished her purpose; then let them consecrate her son Bharata, free from anxiety. When I have gone to the forest, wearing bark garments and a matted hair crown, Kaikeyi will find peace of mind. The decision by which this has come about, and the mind that is so resolved, I ought not to disturb; I will depart into exile without delay. O gentle one, it is fate alone that must be seen in my banishment and in the reversal of the kingdom that had already been bestowed. How could Kaikeyi’s resolve have arisen to harm me, unless this intention of hers had been ordained by fate? For you know, gentle one, that I have never made any distinction among my mothers, nor has there ever been any special preference for her or for her son from me. Therefore, with her harsh words meant to prevent my consecration and send me into exile, I see no other cause but fate behind her actions. How could a princess, endowed with noble qualities, speak like an ordinary woman, causing me pain in the presence of her husband? But destiny, which is beyond thought, does not spare even living beings; clearly, misfortune has fallen upon both her and me. Who, O gentle Lakshmana, is able to contend with fate, when nothing but what is destined is seen to result from any action? Even seers of fierce austerity, impelled by fate, abandon their intense vows and fall under the sway of desire and anger. Whatever unexpectedly arises here, without being conceived beforehand, and interrupts what has been begun—surely, that is the work of fate. With this understanding, restraining myself by my own mind, I feel no distress even though my consecration has been hindered.