Lakṣmaṇa, his heart burning with anguish, turned to Rāma and spoke with passionate intensity. “O hero,” he pleaded, “I cannot bear to witness the consecration of another, especially when it has begun in a manner despised by the people. Forgive me for speaking so. Even that sense of righteousness, O wise one, which has led your mind into doubt and confusion, is hateful to me, for it only brings you distress and bewilderment. “How can you, by your own will, obey a command from your father that is unrighteous and worthy of blame, especially when it is given under the sway of Kaikeyī? This division and suffering have arisen from wickedness, yet you do not recognize it, and that brings me even greater sorrow. Your attachment to righteousness, in this case, is misplaced. “The world condemns this kind of rigid adherence to righteousness. How could you, even in thought, serve those two—called father and mother—who act only for their own gain and have become your enemies? Even if fate itself determines your resolve and their will, you should still disregard it. But even that does not bring me peace. “It is the weak and those lacking in valor who surrender to fate. But true heroes, those who respect themselves, do not submit to destiny. He who can overcome fate by his own effort does not lose heart, even when misfortune strikes. Today, people will witness the true power of both fate and human effort—today, the difference between destiny and determined action will become clear. “Let all see, today, fate itself conquered by my own effort—let those who saw your consecration thwarted by destiny behold this. Like a mighty elephant gone mad, unrestrained even by the goad, I will pursue fate and turn it back with my own strength. Not even all the guardians of the worlds, nor all three worlds together, could prevent your consecration today, Rāma—much less your father. “Those who arranged your exile to the forest, O king, will themselves dwell in the forest for fourteen years. The force of fate is nothing compared to 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—not now. For, according to the ancient royal sages, forest dwelling is prescribed only after entrusting the people to sons who care for them as their own children. “But if, out of concern for confusion in the kingdom among many princes, you, righteous Rāma, do not wish for the kingship yourself—then I vow to you, O hero, that I will not seek the glory of a hero’s world; I will protect your kingdom as the shore protects the ocean. “Proceed with your consecration, perform all the auspicious rites, and devote yourself to your role. I alone will restrain the fire of the other kings who might oppose you. These two arms of mine are not for ornament, nor is my bow for decoration. My headband is not for adornment, nor are my arrows for mere display. “All these—my arms, bow, headband, and arrows—are for crushing the enemy; I do not desire anything excessive from those I consider foes. With my sword, sharp and gleaming like lightning, I do not consider any enemy, even one armed with the thunderbolt, as my equal. “Crushed by my sword’s blows, the earth will be strewn 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, who could call himself a man while I stand among men? With my arrows, I will strike down many who are united in purpose; even alone, I will lay low multitudes, aiming at the vital points of men, horses, and elephants. “Today, the power of my weapons will be truly displayed. I will render the king powerless and establish your authority, O lord. Today is the time for sandalwood paste, for the removal of armlets, for the relinquishing of riches, and for the protection of friends. “These two arms of mine, O Rāma, are indeed fit for action—especially for driving away those who would obstruct your consecration. Tell me, who today shall fall by my hand—who, though not your friend, boasts of life, fame, and loyal followers—so that this earth may come under your sway? Command me as you wish, for I am your servant.” Hearing these words, Rāma, wiping away Lakṣmaṇa’s tears and gently consoling him again and again, spoke with calm resolve. “Listen to me, gentle one. I am determined to follow my father’s command; this, indeed, is the path of righteousness.” Now begins the twenty-fourth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Seeing her son so determined to obey his father’s command, Kausalyā, her voice choked with tears, spoke these words, filled with righteousness and sorrow. “He who has never known suffering, who is devoted to righteousness and speaks kindly to all beings—how will my son, born of Daśaratha, live by gleaning in the forest? He whose servants and attendants eat well-cooked food—how will this Rāma now eat only roots and fruits? “Who could believe this upon hearing it, and who would not be afraid—that the virtuous and beloved son of the king, a descendant of Kakutstha, is being exiled? Surely, fate is powerful in this world, directing all things; for you, Rāma, so pleasing to all, are now going to the forest. “This wind, which is like your own kin, brings me only the pain of lamentation, fanned by my weeping and tears, as if offering oblations to the fire of sorrow. The great smoke of anxious tears, born from my worry over your departure, will consume me, my son, and the exhaustion of sighs will only increase my suffering. Deprived of you here, my son, this boundless, intense fire of grief will burn me up, just as the sun scorches the undergrowth at the end of winter.