As the news of Rāma’s impending exile spread, a sense of disbelief and dread gripped all who heard it. Who could imagine that the virtuous and beloved son of the king—descendant of the noble Kakutstha line—would be sent away from his home? Surely, fate’s power over the world was absolute, for Rāma, so dearly cherished by all, was now preparing to depart for the forest. Kausalyā, Rāma’s mother, felt the pain of separation so deeply that even the gentle breeze, which once brought comfort, now only fanned the fire of her sorrow, as if her tears were offerings to that relentless blaze. The smoke of her anxious weeping, born from worry over Rāma’s departure, threatened to consume her, and the exhaustion from her ceaseless sighs only intensified her suffering. Deprived of her son, she felt that the boundless fire of grief would burn her up, just as the sun scorches the dry undergrowth at winter’s end. In her anguish, Kausalyā declared that she would follow Rāma wherever he went, just as a cow follows her calf. Hearing these heartfelt words, Rāma, the best among men, gently replied to his mother, who was overwhelmed by grief. He explained that, deceived by Kaikeyī and abandoned by both Rāma and Kausalyā, the king would surely not survive Rāma’s absence. For a woman to abandon her husband, he said, was an act of great cruelty; such a thing must not be done, not even in thought, for it is condemned. Rāma urged his mother to serve the king, the lord of the world and their family’s scion, for as long as he lived, for this was the eternal duty. Hearing Rāma’s wise counsel, the auspicious Kausalyā, pleased with her blameless son, agreed, saying, “So be it.” But Rāma, ever steadfast in righteousness, continued, reminding her that both mother and son must obey their father’s command, for the king was husband, teacher, highest lord, and master of all. He assured her that after spending fifteen years in the forest with utmost joy, he would return and fulfill her wishes. Yet Kausalyā, loving her son dearly and her face streaming with tears, spoke again in anguish: “O Rāma, I cannot bear to live among these co-wives; take me with you to the forest, like a wild doe.” If Rāma’s mind was set on leaving out of duty to his father, then, as she wept, Rāma—also moved to tears—responded, “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.” He urged Kausalyā always to care for the welfare of the aged king, for the woman who is devoted to vows and fasting is most excellent. If a woman does not follow her husband, she falls into misfortune, but by serving her husband, she attains the highest heaven. Even those who do not bow to the gods should still serve their husbands, delighting in what pleases and benefits them. This is the eternal duty of a woman, declared in the Veda and observed in fire-rites and by the noble-minded toward the gods. Rāma asked his mother, for his sake, to worship the gods and honor the Brāhmaṇas, waiting patiently for his return. Steadfast, with regulated diet, and devoted to serving the king, she would obtain the highest desire when Rāma returned. If the best among the righteous preserves his life, then, as Rāma spoke these words, Kausalyā’s eyes brimmed with tears. Afflicted by grief for her son, Kausalyā spoke, “My mind cannot accept your departure, my child.” Yet, recognizing that time cannot be turned back, she urged Rāma to go forth with single-mindedness, blessing him: “May you always be blessed, O noble one.” She promised that when Rāma returned, having fulfilled his vow and duty to his father, she would sleep in supreme happiness, free from fatigue. She cautioned Rāma that the path of death is always difficult to discern, urging him to heed her words. “Go now, mighty-armed one, and return safely; you will delight me with gentle and pleasing words.” She imagined the day when Rāma would return from the forest, and she might see him, her child, clad in matted hair and bark garments. Thus, the queen, with utmost resolve, saw Rāma’s determination to dwell in the forest. She spoke auspicious words to him, desiring only his welfare. Now listen to the twenty-fifth canto. Having dispelled her distress and touched pure water, Rāma’s mother, thoughtful, performed auspicious rites. She acknowledged that Rāma could not be restrained, urging him to go and return swiftly, abiding by the path of virtue. The dharma he upheld with affection and discipline, she prayed, would protect him. Those to whom he bowed among the gods and in their temples, she hoped, would guard him in the forest, along with the great sages. The weapons given to him by the wise Vishvāmitra, she wished, would always safeguard him, for he was endowed with virtue. And through service to his father, to his mother, and by truth, she prayed that Rāma, mighty-armed, would live long and be protected.