Hearing Rama’s steadfast and righteous words, the queen—who had been as if lifeless with grief—regained her senses. She gazed upon her beloved son and spoke again, her voice trembling with emotion. “Just as your father is your teacher and guide, so too am I by my own duty and love. My son, I cannot permit you to leave me, so deeply afflicted am I. What meaning does life hold for me without you? What worth is there in the world, or even in the nectar of immortality, if you are gone? A single moment in your presence is dearer to me than all the pleasures of this world.” But Rama, hearing his mother’s lament—so sorrowful and desperate—felt his own heart burn with even greater grief, like a mighty elephant driven into darkness by flaming torches. He saw his mother, nearly senseless with anguish, and Lakshmana, too, tormented by pain. Yet, true to his nature and steadfast in righteousness, Rama spoke words that were fitting and just. “Lakshmana,” he said gently, “I have always known your devotion and valor. But if my resolve is not being considered, do not, along with my mother, distress me with such deep sorrow. In this world, all righteousness, wealth, and desire arise from the fruits of righteousness. All those who dwell here, without doubt, should be as obedient as a devoted wife and her sons. One should pursue that in which all are united and from which righteousness springs. For if one seeks only personal gain, he becomes hated in the world, and self-indulgence is never commendable. Who, after considering what is right, would fail to carry out the command of a teacher, king, father, or elder—whether from anger, joy, or desire? I am not able to fully fulfill my father’s promise, as I should. He, after all, is our teacher by command, the husband of the queen, and the very path of righteousness itself. 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. Instead, bless me, so that when my time is complete, I may return—just as Yayāti returned by the power of truth. I do not seek great fame merely for the sake of ruling a kingdom; in this brief span of life, O queen, I choose today the lesser earth, but not unrighteously.” Having spoken thus, Rama, ever eager to please his mother and resolute in his decision to depart for Dandaka, turned to his younger brother. In his heart, he reverently circumambulated his mother, honoring her with his devotion. Now begins the next chapter. Rama then approached Lakshmana, his dear friend and brother. Lakshmana was deeply distressed and seething with indignation, his eyes blazing with anger like a furious lord of elephants. Rama, steadfast and composed, addressed him with calm restraint, mastering his own sorrow and anger, and setting aside humiliation to embrace a higher joy. “Whatever has been prepared for my consecration,” Rama said, “let it all be quickly withdrawn. Let us act without delay. O Saumitri, the effort made for my consecration should now be directed toward its cancellation. We must see to it that our mother, whose mind is troubled by all this, is no longer anxious. I cannot bear, even for a moment, the pain of suspicion that has arisen in her mind, O Saumitri. Never, knowingly or unknowingly, have I done anything slight or displeasing to my mothers or my father. My father, ever truthful and steadfast in his vows, should remain fearless, concerned only with 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 torment me. Therefore, Lakshmana, let us withdraw the arrangements for the consecration. I wish to depart for the forest at once. Today, with my exile, the queen will have accomplished her purpose, and then they may consecrate her son Bharata, free from worry. When I have gone—clad in bark garments and with matted hair—Kaikeyi will find peace of mind. The decision that has brought this about, and the mind so firmly resolved, I ought not to disturb. I will go 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 was already promised. How could Kaikeyi’s resolve to harm me have arisen, unless fate itself ordained it? You know, gentle one, that I have never made any distinction among my mothers, nor shown any special preference for her or her son. 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 of noble qualities speak so harshly, like an ordinary woman, causing me pain before her husband? But destiny, which is beyond thought, does not spare even the living; misfortune has clearly fallen upon both her and me. Who, O gentle Lakshmana, can contend with fate, when only what is destined comes to pass? Even seers of fierce austerity, impelled by fate, abandon their vows and fall under the sway of desire and anger. Whatever arises unexpectedly and interrupts what has been begun—surely, that is the work of fate. With this understanding, restraining my own mind, I feel no distress even though my consecration has been hindered. Therefore, do not grieve; you too, following me, quickly withdraw the preparations for the consecration.” Thus spoke Rama, his heart unwavering, accepting the will of destiny and remaining true to righteousness, even as sorrow and loss pressed upon him from all sides.