Seeing Rāma’s reluctance to accept the throne, fearing the confusion that might arise among the many princes of the kingdom, Lakṣmaṇa, ever righteous and devoted, addressed his elder brother with deep concern. “If, out of worry for the disorder that might come from the presence of so many royal heirs, you do not wish to rule, O Rāma, then I vow to you, hero, that I will not seek the glory of a warrior’s death. Instead, I will protect your kingdom as steadfastly as the shore holds back the ocean. Perform your consecration with all the auspicious rites; let your mind be at ease. I alone will restrain the fiery ambitions of the other kings. These two arms of mine are not for mere ornament, nor is my bow for display; my headband is not for adornment, nor are my arrows for show. All these—my arms, bow, headband, and arrows—exist only to crush the enemy, and I seek nothing more from those who oppose me. With my sword, sharp and gleaming like lightning, I do not consider any foe, even one armed with the thunderbolt, as equal to me. 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 the ground impassable. Struck by my sword’s edge, my enemies will fall blazing to the earth, like thunderclouds split by lightning. With my fingers protected by leather guards and my bow and arrows ready, who could call himself a man while I stand among men? With my arrows, I will strike down many who are united against us; even alone, I will lay low multitudes, targeting the vital points of men, horses, and elephants. Today, the power of my weapons will be revealed; I will render the king powerless and establish your authority, lord. This is the day for sandalwood paste, for the removal of armlets, for the relinquishing of riches, and for the protection of friends. My arms are fit, O Rāma, for performing deeds—especially for repelling those who would obstruct your consecration. Tell me, 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.” Rāma, wiping away his tears and repeatedly consoling Lakṣmaṇa, the enhancer of the Raghava line, spoke gently: “Hear me, gentle one, I am resolved to follow my father’s command; this, indeed, is the righteous path.” Now, listen to the twenty-fourth chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Seeing Rāma’s determination to obey his father’s command, Kausalyā, her voice choked with tears, spoke these righteous words. “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? He whose servants and attendants eat well-cooked food—how will this Rāma now eat roots and fruits in the forest? 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. Just as a cow follows her calf when it departs, so too, my child, will I follow you wherever you go.” Hearing these words spoken by his mother, the best of men, Rāma, 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, the abandonment of one’s husband is an act of sheer cruelty for a woman; 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 Rāma, the auspicious Kausalyā, greatly pleased with her blameless son, replied, “So be it.” Having thus spoken, Rāma, foremost among the upholders of righteousness, again addressed words to his mother, who was deeply distressed. “Both you and I must carry out the command of our father; for the king is husband, teacher, the highest, lord and master of all. But after spending these fifteen years in the great forest with utmost joy, I shall abide by your word.” Thus addressed, Kausalyā, loving her son dearly, her face filled with tears, spoke in great anguish. “O Rāma, I cannot bear to dwell among these co-wives; take me also, O Kakutstha, to the forest, like a wild doe. If your mind is made up to depart, out of regard for your father—” As she wept, Rāma, also weeping, spoke these words. “For a living woman, her husband is her deity and lord; today, for both you and me, the king is the ruling master. We are not without protector, for the wise king, lord of the people, is ours; and Bharata too is righteous, speaking kindly to all beings. Always act with care for the welfare of the aged king; the woman who is devoted to vows and fasting is the most excellent. If a woman does not follow her husband, she falls into misfortune; but by serving her husband, a woman attains the highest heaven.