As the sudden misfortune unfolded, Rama spoke to Lakshmana with a calm, reflective heart. “Lakshmana,” he said, “destiny, which is beyond all thought and grasp, does not spare any living being. Clearly, calamity has struck not only me, but also her—my mother. Who, gentle Lakshmana, can truly contend with fate? No matter what action we take, only what is destined comes to pass. Even the great sages, those who have practiced fierce austerities, are compelled by fate; they abandon their intense vows and fall prey to desire and anger. Whatever arises unexpectedly, interrupting what has already been begun without any forethought—that, surely, is the work of fate. Understanding this, I restrain myself with my own mind. Though my consecration has been hindered, I feel no distress. Therefore, do not grieve; follow my example and swiftly withdraw the preparations for my consecration. With these very jars, Lakshmana, which were prepared for my royal consecration, I will instead use them to perform the vow-bath of an ascetic. Or else, what need have I for these royal items? 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, life in the forest is of great merit. Let there be no suspicion towards you in this obstruction to my kingship, nor toward my younger mother; it is fate that has intervened, not my father in any way. You know well how powerful destiny is.” As Rama spoke these words, the story turns to the next chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Lakshmana, overcome by sorrow and anger, entered Rama’s presence with his head bowed. His brow furrowed, and he breathed heavily like an enraged serpent in its hole. Lakshmana’s face, fierce with a frown, was as hard to look upon as that of an angry lion. He shook his clenched fist like an elephant shaking its trunk, tilting his head and letting his neck fall. Looking askance at his brother, Lakshmana spoke, his voice trembling: “This great agitation of yours has arisen in vain. Out of concern for a fault in righteousness and excessive regard for public opinion, how could someone like you, so steadfast, speak in this way? How is it that you, a valiant Kshatriya, speak so feebly about fate, as if it were powerless and pitiable? How can you not suspect wrongdoing in those two? There are 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. He who is able to overcome fate by human effort does not despair, even when afflicted by misfortune through destiny. Today, people will see the power of fate and of human effort; today the distinction between destiny and human action will become clear. Today, people will see fate overcome by my effort—those who saw your consecration for the kingdom thwarted by destiny. Like a mighty elephant gone mad, unrestrained even by the goad, I will chase down fate and turn it back with my own effort. Not even all the guardians of the worlds, nor all three worlds together, could prevent your consecration today, Rama—much less your father. Those by whom your exile to the forest, O king, was arranged—they will themselves dwell in the forest for fourteen years. Fate’s power cannot match the strength of one intoxicated with might; my fierce effort will prevail, bringing suffering to the enemy. After a thousand years have passed and the rule of noble sons is complete, only then should you go to the forest—never now. For, according to the custom of ancient royal sages, forest dwelling is prescribed only after entrusting the people to sons who care for them like their own children. But if, out of concern for confusion in the kingdom with many princes, you, righteous Rama, do not wish the kingship for yourself— I vow to you, hero, that I will not seek the world of heroes; I will protect your kingdom as the shore protects the ocean. Perform your consecration with auspicious rites and be engaged there; I alone will forcibly restrain the fire of the other kings. These two arms are not for ornament, nor is the bow for decoration; my headband is not for adornment, nor are my arrows for mere display.” Thus, Lakshmana poured out his heart, fiercely loyal and determined, as the brothers stood at the crossroads of fate and duty.