Lakṣmaṇa, his heart ablaze with fierce loyalty, stood before Rāma and made a solemn vow: “O hero, I promise you—I will not seek the glory of heroic deeds for myself, nor pursue fame. Instead, I will protect your kingdom as steadfastly as the shore guards the ocean’s waves. Go forth, brother, and perform your consecration with all the auspicious rites; devote yourself to your duties. Leave to me the task of restraining the fiery ambitions of the other kings—I alone will quell their threats.” With passion, Lakṣmaṇa declared, “These 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—my arms, bow, headband, and arrows—exist to crush the enemy. I seek nothing excessive from those who stand against me. Armed with a sword sharp as lightning’s flash, I do not consider any foe, even one wielding the thunderbolt, as my equal. Struck by my sword, the earth will be littered with the heads, arms, hands, and thighs of elephants, horses, charioteers, and warriors, making the ground impassable. My enemies, struck by the edge of my blade, will fall blazing to the earth like thunderclouds torn by lightning. With my fingers protected by leather guards, and with bow and arrows in hand, who could consider himself truly a man while I stand among men? With my arrows, I will strike down many united in purpose—even if alone, I will lay low multitudes, targeting the vital points of men, horses, and elephants. Today, the power of my weapons will be shown; I will render the king powerless and establish your authority, 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 fit for deeds—especially for repelling those who 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, for I am your servant.” Rāma, wiping away his tears and repeatedly consoling Lakṣmaṇa, spoke with gentle resolve, enhancing the glory of the Raghava line: “Hear me, gentle one. I am resolved to follow my father’s command; this is the path of righteousness.” Now begins the twenty-fourth chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Seeing Rāma’s unwavering determination to obey his father, Kausalyā, her voice choked with tears, spoke words filled with righteousness and sorrow: “He who has never known suffering, who is devoted to dharma 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 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, 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, Kausalyā, auspicious and greatly pleased with her blameless son, replied, “So be it.” Rāma, foremost among the upholders of righteousness, again spoke 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 gently: “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.” He continued, “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. Even one who does not bow or has ceased worshipping the gods should still serve her husband, delighting in what pleases and benefits him.” Thus, Rāma gently guided his mother toward the path of duty, even as sorrow weighed upon their hearts, upholding righteousness above all.