Rama, steadfast in righteousness, beheld his mother nearly faint with grief, and Lakshmana, Sumitra’s son, tormented by pain. With a heart unwavering in dharma, Rama spoke words appropriate to the moment, gentle yet firm, as was his nature. “My dear Lakshmana,” he said, “I am always aware of your devotion and valor. Yet, since my intention is not being considered, do not, along with my mother, deepen my sorrow with such distress. In this world, righteousness, prosperity, and even desire—all arise from the fruit of dharma. All who live, surely, should act in harmony, just as a devoted wife and her sons are obedient and dear. We ought to pursue that which brings unity and from which righteousness springs. If one seeks only personal gain, he becomes hated; and self-indulgence is not worthy of praise. Who, after considering what is right, would disregard the command of a teacher, king, father, or elder—whether out of anger, joy, or desire? I am unable to fulfill my father’s promise as I should, for he is our teacher by authority, the husband of the queen, and the very embodiment of righteousness. While the king, steadfast in dharma, still lives and walks his path, how could the queen accompany me, as if she were bereft of her husband? Do not be angry with me, revered mother, as I go to the forest. Instead, bless me, so that when my exile ends, I may return, just as Yayāti returned by the power of truth. I do not seek great fame for the sake of the kingdom; in this brief life, I choose the lesser earth today, but not through unrighteousness.” Having thus sought to please his mother, Rama, the bull among men, resolute in his decision to depart for Dandaka, gave earnest instructions to his younger brother and, in his heart, reverently circled his mother. Now, Rama turned to Lakshmana, who stood by as a dear friend and brother, his heart burning with anger and distress, his eyes blazing like a furious lord of elephants. Rama, ever composed, addressed him with calm courage, suppressing his own sorrow and anger, and drawing strength from within. He cast aside humiliation and embraced a higher joy. “Whatever has been prepared for my consecration,” Rama instructed, “let it be withdrawn at once. Let us act without delay. Saumitri, the effort made for my consecration should now be redirected toward its cancellation. Let us act so that our mother, troubled because of my consecration, may not remain anxious. I cannot bear, even for a moment, the pain of suspicion in her mind. Never, knowingly or unknowingly, have I done anything to displease my mothers or father. My father, ever truthful and steadfast in his vows, should live without fear, concerned only for the consequences in the next world. If I do not act as required, even for her sake, I would be troubled by the thought that truth has not been upheld, and her anguish would wound me. Therefore, Lakshmana, withdraw the arrangements for my consecration. I wish to go to the forest at once. With my departure, the king’s wife will have her desire fulfilled. Then, let them consecrate her son Bharata, free from anxiety. When I have gone, clad in bark and crowned with matted hair, Kaikeyi will find peace of mind. The decision that has brought this about, and the resolve behind it, I should not disturb. I will depart for exile without delay. O gentle one, it is fate alone that is at work in my banishment and in this reversal of the kingdom already bestowed. How could Kaikeyi’s resolve to harm me have arisen, unless fate itself had ordained it? You know well, gentle Lakshmana, I have made no distinction among my mothers, nor have I shown any special preference for her or for her son. Therefore, her harsh words, meant to prevent my consecration and send me into exile, have no other cause but fate. How could a princess, noble by birth, speak as an ordinary woman, bringing me pain before her husband? But destiny, which none can fathom, spares no living being; clearly, misfortune has befallen both her and me. Who, O gentle Lakshmana, can contend with fate, when only what is destined ever comes to pass? Even seers who practice fierce austerities are overpowered by fate, abandoning their vows and succumbing to desire and anger. Whatever arises unexpectedly and interrupts what has been begun is surely the work of fate. With this understanding, restraining my mind, I feel no distress, though my consecration has been hindered. So do not grieve. You too, follow me and quickly withdraw the preparations for the consecration. With these very jars, Lakshmana, prepared for the royal rite, I will undertake the vow-bath of an ascetic. Or, what need have I for royal paraphernalia? The water I draw myself will suffice for the bath required by my vow. Do not be troubled by this reversal of fortune, Lakshmana. Whether it is the kingdom or the forest, the forest life is full of merit. Neither you nor my younger mother is to be blamed for this obstruction to my kingship; nor is my father at fault. It is fate alone that has intervened, as you well know how powerful destiny is.” Thus, Rama spoke—his words filled with dharma, fortitude, and a gentle acceptance of fate’s design.