Rama, weighed down by the gravity of his father’s promise, spoke with deep humility and reverence. “I am unable to fulfill my father’s vow entirely as it should be,” he confessed, “for he, O father, is our teacher by command, the husband of the queen, and the very path of righteousness.” He pondered aloud, “While the king of righteousness still lives, faithfully following his own path, how could the queen accompany me from here, as if she were bereft of her husband?” Turning to the queen, Rama’s voice was gentle and respectful. “Do not be angry with me, O queen, as I go to the forest. Please bless us, so that when my period of exile is complete, I may return, just as Yayāti returned by the power of truth.” He continued, “I cannot seek great fame merely for the sake of the kingdom. In this brief span of life, O queen, today I choose the lesser earth, but not unrighteously.” Having sought to please his mother, Rama—bull among men—prepared himself to depart for Dandaka, resolute in his decision. He earnestly instructed his younger brother, and, in his heart, circumambulated his mother in reverence. Now, let the next chapter be heard. Rama then approached Lakshmana, his dear friend and brother, who was deeply distressed and especially indignant. Lakshmana’s eyes blazed with anger, like a furious lord of elephants. Rama, steadfast in spirit, spoke to him with composure, restraining himself with courage. Suppressing his own 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 He said, “Whatever has been prepared for my consecration, let all that be quickly withdrawn; carry out the task without delay.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 and 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.” He continued, “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 crown of matted hair, 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,” Rama said, “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. Therefore, do not grieve; you too, following me, quickly withdraw the preparations for the consecration. With these very jars, Lakshmana, all prepared for the consecration, I will perform the vow-bath of an ascetic. Or else, what need have I for this royal paraphernalia? The water I myself draw will suffice for the bath required by my vow.” “Do not, Lakshmana, be troubled by the reversal of fortune; whether it is the kingdom or the forest, the forest life is of great merit. Lakshmana is not to be suspected in this obstruction to my kingship, nor is my younger mother; fate has intervened, not my father in any way—indeed, you know well how powerful destiny is.” Now, let the twenty-third chapter be heard. As Rama spoke thus, Lakshmana, with his head bowed, quickly entered the midst, his mind seized by both sorrow and anger. The best of men furrowed his brow and breathed heavily, like a great serpent enraged in its hole. At that moment, his face, with its fierce frown, was as hard to look upon as the face of an angry lion. He shook his clenched fist, like an elephant shaking its trunk, and, tilting his head to the side and upward, let his neck fall, overwhelmed by emotion.