Lakṣmaṇa, filled with fierce resolve, spoke to Rāma with unwavering loyalty. “With my arrows,” he declared, “I will strike down multitudes, even if I stand alone against those who unite against us. None shall withstand me, whether they be men, horses, or elephants; I will target their vital points and lay them low. Today, the true power of my weapons will be revealed. I will render the king powerless and establish your rightful authority, my lord. This is the time for sandalwood paste and for setting aside armlets and riches, for protecting our friends above all else. My arms are ready, Rāma—fit for great deeds, especially for driving away those who would obstruct your consecration. Tell me, who shall I strike down? Who, though not your friend, boasts of life, fame, and loyal followers? Command me, and I will bring this earth under your sway, for I am your servant.” Seeing his brother’s fierce devotion, Rāma, the enhancer of the Raghava line, gently wiped away Lakṣmaṇa’s tears and comforted him with kindness. “Hear me, gentle one,” he said, “I am resolved to follow my father’s command. This, indeed, is the righteous path.” Now begins the twenty-fourth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Kausalyā, seeing her son determined to obey his father’s will, spoke with a voice choked by tears, her words full of righteousness. “He who has never known suffering, who is devoted to righteousness and speaks kindly to all—how will my son, born of Daśaratha, survive by gleaning in the forest? He whose servants and attendants eat well-cooked food—how will this Rāma now live on roots and fruits in the wilderness? 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, who are so pleasing to all, are now going to the forest. Even the 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 his mother’s anguished words, Rāma, the best of men, replied gently 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, the auspicious Kausalyā, greatly pleased with her blameless son, replied, “So be it.” Yet Rāma, ever steadfast in righteousness, spoke again 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.” But Kausalyā, loving her son dearly, her face streaming 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 moved to tears, 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. 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 the highest desire when I return.” As Rāma spoke these words, her eyes brimming with tears, Kausalyā, afflicted by grief for her son, replied, “My mind cannot accept your departure, my child.” “O hero,” she continued, “surely time is unyielding and cannot be turned back. Go, my son, with single-mindedness—may you always be blessed, O noble one. When you return, I will be free from fatigue; when you, O illustrious one, come back, having fulfilled your vow and accomplished your purpose, and having discharged your duty to your father, I will sleep in supreme happiness. The path of death, my son, is always difficult to discern in this world; whoever urges you, O Raghava, heed my words.” Thus, the hearts of mother and son, bound by love and dharma, struggled with the pain of parting, even as they upheld the path of righteousness.