Rama, weighed down by sorrow, spoke to Lakshmana, his heart troubled by the suspicion and anguish that had arisen in Kaikeyi’s mind. “Saumitri,” he said, “I cannot bear, even for a moment, the pain caused by her doubts. Never, knowingly or unknowingly, have I done anything to displease my mothers or my father. My father, steadfast in his vows and devoted to truth, should have nothing to fear except the consequences in the next world. If this command is not fulfilled—even for her sake—my mind will be tormented by the thought that truth has not been upheld, and her suffering will weigh upon me. Therefore, Lakshmana, withdraw the arrangements for my consecration. I wish to leave for the forest immediately. With my departure, the king’s wife will have achieved her goal; 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 resolve behind it, ought not to be disturbed. I will depart into exile without delay. 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 have arisen to harm me, unless her intention was ordained by fate? You know, Lakshmana, that I have never made any distinction among my mothers, nor have I shown any special preference for her or for her son. 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 the living; clearly, misfortune has fallen upon both her and me. Who, gentle Lakshmana, is able to 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, 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—you know well how powerful destiny is.” Now begins the twenty-third chapter in the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda. As Rama spoke, Lakshmana, his head bowed, 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, fierce with a 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. Looking askance at his brother, Lakshmana spoke: “This great agitation of yours has arisen in vain. Because of concern for a fault in righteousness, and 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. I cannot bear, O hero, the initiation of another’s consecration, which has begun in a way hated by the people—please forgive me for this. Even that righteousness, O wise one, which has led your mind into doubt, is hateful to me, since it causes you to be bewildered. How can you, by your own action, obey your father’s unrighteous and blameworthy command, acting under Kaikeyi’s influence? Though this division has been caused by wickedness, you still do not recognize it; that brings me sorrow, and your attachment to righteousness is blameworthy here. This adherence to righteousness of yours is condemned by the world; how could you, even in thought, serve those two, who always act for their own gain and are enemies, though called father and mother? Even if your resolve and their will are determined by fate, still, you ought to disregard it; yet, even that does not please me. He who is weak and lacking in valor follows fate; but heroes, who are self-respecting, do not submit to destiny.