As the preparations for Rama’s consecration as heir were underway, Rama turned to Lakshmana and spoke with gentle resolve: “Lakshmana, these very jars, already filled for the royal ceremony, shall now serve for the vow-bath of an ascetic. Or perhaps, what need have I for all this royal paraphernalia? The water I draw myself will suffice for the bath required by my vow.” He urged Lakshmana not to be troubled by the sudden reversal of fortune, saying, “Whether it is the kingdom or the forest, the forest life brings great merit. Do not suspect Lakshmana in this obstruction to my kingship, nor my younger mother. Fate has intervened, not my father in any way—you know well how powerful destiny is.” And now, as the story unfolds in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa, Lakshmana, with his head bowed, entered the midst, his mind seized by both sorrow and anger. The best of men, Lakshmana, furrowed his brow and breathed heavily, like a great serpent enraged in its hole. His 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, and tilted his head to the side and upward, letting his neck fall. Glancing at Rama with the front of his eyes, Lakshmana spoke: “This great agitation of yours has arisen in vain.” Lakshmana continued, his voice trembling with emotion: “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,” Lakshmana argued, “then, Raghava, the boon would have been granted to them long ago, and it would have been proper. I cannot bear, O hero, the initiation of another’s consecration, 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?” Lakshmana questioned. “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,” Lakshmana declared, “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.” Lakshmana’s determination burned bright: “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.” Lakshmana proclaimed, “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 the 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, he continued, “If, out of concern for the confusion of the kingdom with many princes, you, righteous Rama, do not wish the kingship for yourself—then 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.” Lakshmana’s resolve was fierce: “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. All these four—arms, bow, headband, and arrows—are for crushing the enemy; nor do I desire anything excessive from one considered my foe. With a sword of sharp edge, shining like a flash of lightning, I do not consider any enemy, even one armed with the thunderbolt, as equal to me.” He described the devastation he would bring: “Crushed by the blows of my sword, the earth will be covered with the heads, arms, hands, and thighs of elephants, horses, charioteers, and warriors, making it impassable. Struck by the edge of my sword, my enemies will fall blazing to the ground like thunderclouds with lightning. With my fingers protected by leather guards and my bow and arrows in hand, how could any man consider himself a man while I stand among men? With my arrows, I will strike down many who are united in purpose, and even if alone, I will lay low multitudes, targeting the vital points of men, horses, and elephants.” Thus, Lakshmana’s words thundered with loyalty and determination, as he sought to defend Rama’s right and honor, refusing to let fate or unrighteousness prevail.