As the moment of departure drew near, Lakṣmaṇa spoke with fierce resolve. “Today,” he declared, “is the time for sandalwood paste, for the removal of armlets, for the relinquishing of riches, and for the protection of friends.” His arms, strong and ready, he offered to Rāma: “These two arms of mine are fit, O Rāma, for deeds—especially for repelling those who would obstruct your consecration. Tell me, who shall be struck down by me today—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 consoling Lakṣmaṇa again and again, spoke gently yet firmly, enhancing the glory of his lineage: “Hear me, gentle one. I am resolved to follow my father’s command; this, indeed, is the righteous path.” Listen now to 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 of righteousness. She lamented, “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.” Her sorrow found voice in the very elements. “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, 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.” Upon hearing his mother’s anguished words, Rāma, the best of men, replied to her, though she 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.” Rāma, ever steadfast in 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.” Kausalyā, loving her son dearly and 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.” 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. 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.” If the best among the righteous preserves his life—thus addressed by Rāma, her eyes brimming with tears—Kausalyā, afflicted by grief for her son, spoke to him: “My mind cannot accept your departure, my child. O hero, surely the 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. Go now, mighty-armed one, and return safely; you will delight me, my son, with gentle and pleasing words. Perhaps now is the time when you will return from the forest, and I may see you, my child, wearing matted hair and bark garments.” Thus, in the midst of sorrow and duty, Rāma and his mother exchanged words of love, resolve, and righteousness, as the path to the forest beckoned ever nearer.