Lakṣmaṇa, filled with righteous indignation, spoke ardently to Rāma: “It is only the weak and those lacking in valor who surrender themselves to fate, accepting whatever comes their way. But heroes—those who hold self-respect—never simply bow to destiny. One who can overcome fate through his own effort does not give in to despair, even when misfortune, decreed by destiny, befalls him. “Today, the world shall witness the true measure of fate and of human endeavor; today, the distinction between destiny and human action will be made clear. Those who saw your consecration for the kingdom thwarted by fate will now behold fate itself overcome by my effort. Like a mighty elephant gone mad, unrestrained even by the goad, I shall pursue fate and drive 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—certainly not your father alone. Those who arranged your exile to the forest, O king, will themselves be made to dwell in the forest for fourteen years. Fate’s power cannot rival the might of one intoxicated with strength; my fierce effort shall prevail, and the enemy shall suffer for it. “Let a thousand years pass, and let the noble sons’ rule be complete—only then should you go to the forest, never now. According to the custom of 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 the confusion that may arise in the kingdom with so many princes, you, righteous Rāma, do not wish the kingship for yourself— “I vow to you, O hero, that I will not seek the world of heroes for myself; I shall protect your kingdom as the shore guards the ocean. Go, perform your consecration with auspicious rites and be engaged there; I alone will restrain the fire of the other kings by force. “These two arms of mine are not for ornament, nor is my bow for mere display; my headband is not for adornment, nor are my arrows for show. All these—arms, bow, headband, and arrows—are meant for crushing the enemy; I desire nothing excessive from any who are deemed my foes. With my sword, sharp-edged and shining like lightning, I do not regard any enemy, even one armed with the thunderbolt, as my equal. “Crushed by the blows of my sword, 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 split by lightning. “With my fingers protected by leather guards and my bow and arrows in hand, how could any man claim manhood while I stand among men? With my arrows, I will strike down many who are united in purpose; even if I stand alone, I will lay low multitudes, targeting the vital points of men, horses, and elephants. “Today, the power of my weapons will be seen by all; I shall render the king powerless and establish your authority, my lord. Today is the time for sandalwood paste, for the removal of armlets, for the relinquishing of riches, and for the protection of friends. My two arms are indeed fit, O Rāma, for performing great deeds—especially for repelling those who would obstruct your consecration. “Tell me, Rāma, who today shall be struck down by me—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.” As Lakṣmaṇa spoke with such passion, Rāma, the enhancer of the Raghu line, gently wiped away his brother’s tears and consoled him again and again. With calm resolve, he said, “Listen to me, gentle one. My mind is made up to follow my father’s command; this, indeed, is the path of righteousness.” Now, as the next chapter of their story unfolded, Kausalyā, Rāma’s mother, seeing her son determined to obey his father’s order, addressed him with a voice choked by tears and heavy with 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 roots and fruits in the wilderness? “Who could believe such a thing 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, guiding 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 pain and lamentation, fanned by my weeping and tears, as if offering oblations into the fire of my 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. Just as a cow follows her calf when it departs, so too, my child, will I follow you wherever you go.” Hearing these anguished words from his mother, Rāma, the best of men, replied to her, who was overwhelmed with grief: “Deceived by Kaikeyī and abandoned by you when I have gone to the forest, the king surely will not survive. Indeed, for a woman, to abandon her husband is an act of sheer cruelty; such a thing must not be done by you, not even in thought, for it is to be condemned. As long as my father, the lord of the world and scion of Kakutstha, lives, let service to him be performed, for that is the eternal duty.” Thus addressed by her blameless son, the auspicious Kausalyā, greatly pleased, replied, “So be it.