When Rama saw Lakshmana, his beloved brother and friend, he noticed how deeply distressed and indignant Lakshmana was. Lakshmana’s eyes blazed with anger, like a furious lord of elephants. Rama, steadfast and composed, approached his brother. With great self-control, Rama spoke to Lakshmana, restraining both his anger and sorrow. He set aside any feelings of humiliation and, relying on his inner strength, embraced a sense of supreme joy. He said, “Whatever has been prepared for my consecration, let it be withdrawn at once. Let us not delay in this task, Saumitri. The efforts made for my coronation should now be directed toward canceling it. We must act so that our mother, Kaikeyi, who is troubled because of my consecration, may no longer remain anxious. I cannot bear, even for a moment, the pain of suspicion in her heart. I have never, knowingly or unknowingly, done anything slight or displeasing to my mothers or father. My father, who is 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 has not been upheld, and her anguish would afflict me. Therefore, Lakshmana, let us withdraw the arrangements for my consecration. I wish to go to the forest from here, right away. With my departure into exile today, 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 that has brought this about, and the mind so resolved, should not be disturbed by me. 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 this intention of hers had been ordained by fate? You know, gentle Lakshmana, 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 behind her actions. How could a princess, endowed with noble qualities, speak like an ordinary woman and cause 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 ever 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 unexpectedly arises here, unplanned and interrupting what has already 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, follow me, and 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 draw myself will suffice for the bath required by my vow. Do not be troubled, Lakshmana, by this reversal of fortune; whether it is the kingdom or the forest, the forest life is of great merit. Neither you, Lakshmana, nor my younger mother are to be suspected in this obstruction to my kingship. 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, quickly entered the midst, his mind seized by both sorrow and anger. He furrowed his brow and breathed heavily, like a great serpent enraged in its hole. At that moment, his face, fierce with a frown, was as hard to look upon as 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. Looking askance at his brother with the front of his eyes, Lakshmana spoke: “This great agitation of yours has arisen in vain. Because of concern for a fault in righteousness, and out of excessive regard for public opinion, how could someone like you, unshaken, speak in this way? How is it that you, a valiant Kshatriya, speak so feebly of fate, as if it were powerless and pitiable? How is it that you do not suspect any wrongdoing in those two? There are indeed people who use righteousness as a pretense—O righteous one, do you not perceive this? If their conduct were truly sincere and not driven by selfishness or deceit, then, Raghava, the boon would have been granted to them long ago, and it would have been a proper one.