As Rama prepared to depart for the forest, he addressed his mother with gentle firmness. “While the king, who upholds righteousness, still lives and follows his own path, how could you, O queen, accompany me from here, as if you were a woman bereft of her husband? Do not be angry with me as I go to the forest; instead, offer us your blessings, so that when my period of exile is complete, I may return in truth, just as Yayāti once returned. I do not seek great fame for the sake of the kingdom; in this brief span of life, O queen, today I choose the lesser earth, but I do so without unrighteousness.” Desiring to please his mother, Rama, the bull among men, was resolute in his wish to depart for Dandaka. Eager to fulfill his vow, he earnestly instructed his younger brother and, in his heart, circumambulated his mother with reverence. Turning to Lakshmana, his beloved brother and friend, Rama found him deeply distressed and burning with indignation, his eyes blazing like those of an enraged lord of elephants. Rama, steadfast and composed, spoke to Lakshmana with calm courage, suppressing his own anger and sorrow. Casting aside humiliation, he embraced supreme joy, relying on his inner fortitude. “Whatever has been prepared for my consecration,” Rama said, “let it all be withdrawn at once. Carry out this task without delay. O Saumitri, the efforts made for my installation as prince should now be redirected toward cancelling it. Let us act so that our mother, whose mind is troubled by my consecration, may not remain anxious. I cannot bear, even for a moment, the pain of suspicion arising in her mind, O Saumitri. I do not recall ever, knowingly or unknowingly, doing anything to displease my mothers or father. “My father is truthful and steadfast in his vows, ever devoted to truth, and 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 afflict me. Therefore, Lakshmana, let us withdraw the arrangements for my consecration. I wish to go to the forest at once. “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 that has brought this about, and the mind 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 to harm me have arisen, unless her intention had been ordained by fate? For you know, gentle one, that I have never made any distinction among my mothers, nor have I ever shown any special preference for her or for her son. Therefore, in her harsh words, meant to prevent my consecration and send me into exile, I see no other cause but fate at work. “How could a princess of noble qualities speak like an ordinary woman and cause me pain before 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, can contend with fate, when only what is destined comes to pass? “Even seers of fierce austerity, impelled by fate, abandon their intense vows and fall under the sway of desire and anger. Whatever arises unexpectedly, 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, should 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 be troubled by this 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—you know well how powerful destiny is.” As Rama spoke these words, Lakshmana, his head bowed in sorrow and anger, quickly entered the gathering. The best of men furrowed his brow and breathed heavily, like a great serpent enraged in its hole. His face, fierce with its 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 tilted his head to the side and upward, letting his neck fall. Looking askance at his brother, Lakshmana spoke, his agitation clear: “This great agitation of yours has arisen in vain.