As Rama prepared to depart, his mother, Kaikeyi, overcome by sorrow, pleaded with him. She spoke with the affection and authority of both a parent and a teacher, declaring that just as his father was to him, so was she—bound by duty and love. She could not permit him to leave, so deeply afflicted was she. She lamented that life, the world, or even the nectar of immortality meant nothing to her without Rama; a single moment in his presence was more precious than all the joys of the living. Hearing his mother’s pitiful words, Rama’s grief intensified, burning within him like a great elephant driven by torches into darkness. He saw his mother, almost senseless with anguish, and Sumitra’s son, Lakshmana, tormented by pain. Yet, steadfast in righteousness, Rama spoke words befitting dharma, as was proper for him in that moment. He gently addressed Lakshmana, acknowledging his brother’s devotion and valor, which he had always known. But Rama asked that his own intention be respected, urging Lakshmana and his mother not to distress him further with their deep sorrow. He explained that in the world, righteousness, wealth, and desire all arise from the fruits of dharma, and that all who live are obedient as a devoted wife and her sons, dear and under control. Rama advised that one should pursue what unites all and gives rise to righteousness, for one who seeks only personal gain becomes hated, and self-indulgence is not commendable. He wondered who, acting with cruelty, would refuse 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. Rama confessed his inability to fulfill his father’s promise completely, as it ought to be. He reminded them that his father was their teacher by command, the husband of the queen, and the path of righteousness. While the king, the embodiment of dharma, still lived and followed his own path, Rama questioned how the queen could accompany him, as if she were bereft of her husband. He pleaded with Kaikeyi not to be angry as he went to the forest, asking her to bless him so that, when his time was complete, he might return as Yayāti had, through truth. He declared he could not achieve great fame merely for the sake of the kingdom; in this brief span of life, he chose the lesser earth, not unrighteously. Having sought to please his mother, Rama, the bull among men, resolute in his decision to depart for Dandaka, earnestly instructed his younger brother and circumambulated his mother in his heart. Now, let the twenty-second chapter be heard. Rama approached Lakshmana, his dear brother and friend, who was deeply distressed and indignant, his eyes blazing with anger like a furious lord of elephants. Rama, steadfast in spirit, spoke calmly to Lakshmana, restraining himself with courage. Suppressing anger and sorrow, relying on fortitude, Rama cast aside humiliation and embraced supreme joy. He instructed Lakshmana that all preparations made for his consecration should be quickly withdrawn; the task must be carried out without delay. The effort for his consecration should now be directed toward its cancellation. They must act so that their mother, troubled by the thought of his consecration, would not remain anxious. Rama confessed that he could not endure, even for a moment, the pain of suspicion arising in his mother’s mind. He recalled never doing anything, knowingly or unknowingly, that might slight or displease his mothers or father. His father, steadfast in truth and vows, should be fearless, concerned only for consequences in the next world. If the act was not carried out, even for Kaikeyi, Rama’s mind would be troubled by the thought that truth was not upheld, and her anguish would afflict him. Therefore, Rama resolved to withdraw the arrangements for the consecration and to depart for the forest immediately. He explained that with his departure into exile, the king’s wife would have accomplished her purpose, and Bharata, her son, could be consecrated without anxiety. When Rama was gone, wearing bark garments and a matted hair crown, Kaikeyi would find peace of mind. He would not disturb the decision that brought this about, nor the mind so resolved; he would depart into exile without delay. Rama told Lakshmana that it was fate alone that must be seen in his banishment and in the reversal of the kingdom already bestowed. How could Kaikeyi’s resolve to harm him have arisen unless it was ordained by fate? Rama reminded Lakshmana that he had never made any distinction among his mothers, nor had there been any special preference for Kaikeyi or her son. Therefore, with her harsh words meant to prevent his consecration and send him into exile, Rama saw no other cause but fate behind her actions. He wondered how a princess, endowed with noble qualities, could speak like an ordinary woman, causing him pain in her husband’s presence. But destiny, which is beyond thought, does not spare even the living; misfortune had clearly fallen upon both Kaikeyi and himself. Rama asked who could contend with fate, for nothing but what is destined results 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, without being conceived beforehand, and interrupts what has been begun—surely, that is the work of fate. With this understanding, Rama restrained himself by his own mind and felt no distress, even though his consecration had been hindered. He urged Lakshmana not to grieve, but to quickly withdraw the preparations for the consecration. With the very jars prepared for the consecration, Rama would perform the vow-bath of an ascetic.