Lakṣmaṇa, his eyes blazing with resolve, stood before Rāma and declared, “These arms of mine, this bow, my headband, and these arrows exist only to crush our enemies. I seek nothing more from those who oppose us. With my sword—sharp and gleaming like a flash of lightning—I do not consider any adversary, even one wielding the thunderbolt, as my equal. Under the blows of my sword, the earth itself would be littered with the severed heads, arms, hands, and thighs of elephants, horses, charioteers, and warriors, making the ground impassable. Struck by my blade, enemies would fall blazing to the earth, as thunderclouds fall with their lightning. “With my fingers guarded and my bow and arrows ready, who among men could claim true manhood while I stand among them? With my arrows, I will strike down many united foes, and even if I stand alone, I shall lay low multitudes, aiming at the vital points of men, horses, and elephants. Today, I will show the true power of my weapons; I will render the king powerless and establish your authority, my lord. Today is the day for sandalwood paste, for laying aside armlets and riches, for protecting friends. “These arms of mine are fit, O Rāma, for great deeds—especially to drive away those who would obstruct your consecration. Tell me, who must fall by my hand today? Who, though not your friend, boasts of life, fame, and followers? Command me, and this earth will be yours. I am your servant—order me as you will.” Rāma, wiping away his tears and gently consoling Lakṣmaṇa, the very glory of the Raghu line, spoke with calm resolve, “Listen, gentle brother—I am determined to follow our father’s command. This is the path of righteousness.” Thus begins the twenty-fourth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Seeing her son so steadfast in his resolve to obey his father, Kausalyā, her voice choked with tears, spoke these words, heavy with sorrow and righteousness: “He who has never known suffering, who is devoted to dharma and speaks kindly to all—how will my son, born of Daśaratha, live by gleaning in the wild? He, whose servants and attendants ate well-cooked food—how will this Rāma now survive on roots and fruits in the forest? Who could believe this, and who would not be afraid, that the virtuous and beloved son of the king, a scion of the Kakutstha line, 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 once felt like kin, now brings me only the pain of lamentation, fanned by my weeping and tears, as if offering oblations to the fire of my sorrow. The great smoke of my anxious tears, born from worry over your departure, will consume me, my son, and the exhaustion of sighs will only add to my suffering. Deprived of you, this boundless, intense fire of grief will burn me up, just as the sun scorches the undergrowth at winter’s end. Just as a cow follows her calf, 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. For a woman, to abandon her husband is sheer cruelty; such a thing must not be done, 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, service to him must be performed—this is the eternal duty.” Thus addressed by Rāma, the auspicious Kausalyā, greatly pleased with her blameless son, replied, “So be it.” Yet Rāma, foremost among those devoted to righteousness, again spoke to his mother, who was still deeply distressed, “Both you and I must carry out the command of our father. The king is husband, teacher, highest lord, and master of all. But after spending these fifteen years in the great forest with joy, I shall abide by your word.” So addressed, Kausalyā, loving her son dearly, her face streaming with tears, spoke in 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—” And 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 our ruling master. We are not without protector, for the wise king, lord of the people, is ours; and Bharata too is righteous and kind to all. “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. This is the eternal duty of a woman, declared in the Veda and in the world, and always observed in fire-rites and by the noble-minded towards the gods. “O Lady, for my sake, let the gods be worshipped and the Brāhmaṇas honored; thus, wait for the time, longing for my return. Steadfast, with regulated diet, devoted to serving your husband, you will obtain your highest desire when I return.” Thus, with gentle firmness and unwavering devotion, Rāma guided his grieving mother, upholding the path of dharma even amidst sorrow and trial.