Wiping away his tears and gently consoling Lakṣmaṇa, Rāma, the joy of the Raghava dynasty, spoke with determination: “Listen to me, gentle brother. I am resolved to follow our father’s command. This alone is the path of righteousness.” At this moment, the story turns to the twenty-fourth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Seeing Rāma so steadfast in his decision to obey his father, Kausalyā, her voice choked with emotion, addressed her son with words of virtue and sorrow. “He who has never known suffering, who is devoted to righteousness, and who speaks kindly to all—how will my son, born of Daśaratha, survive by gleaning his food in the forest? He, whose servants and attendants enjoy well-cooked meals, how will this Rāma now live on roots and fruits? Who could believe, upon hearing it, or 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 pleasing to all, are now going to the forest.” She continued, her grief deepening, “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 my exhaustion from sighs will only increase my suffering. Deprived of you here, 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, the best among men, Rāma, replied to her, seeing her overwhelmed with grief. “Deceived by Kaikeyī and abandoned by you when I have gone to the forest, the king surely will not survive. Indeed, for a woman to abandon her husband is sheer cruelty—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 her son, the auspicious Kausalyā, deeply pleased with her blameless child, replied, “So be it.” Rāma, foremost among the upholders of righteousness, then spoke again to his mother, who was still 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.” Hearing this, Kausalyā, loving her son dearly and her face filled 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—” She wept, and Rāma, also weeping, replied: “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 and speaks kindly 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 the highest desire when I return.” “If the best among the righteous preserves his life—” so spoke Rāma, as Kausalyā, her eyes brimming with tears, replied, “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, the queen, with utmost resolve, saw Rāma determined to dwell in the forest. She spoke auspicious words to her noble son and became desirous of his welfare. Now begins the twenty-fifth canto. Having dispelled her distress and touched pure water, Rāma’s mother, thoughtful and composed, performed auspicious rites.