As fate would have it, the inexorable power of destiny was at work in Ayodhyā. Even Rāma, beloved of all and the joy of his people, was now preparing to depart for the forest, compelled by events beyond anyone’s control. In the palace, Kausalyā, Rāma’s mother, was overwhelmed by sorrow. She felt as if the very wind—usually so familiar and comforting—now brought her only anguish, fanning the flames of her grief as her tears flowed endlessly, like offerings poured into the fire of her sorrow. Her anxious tears, born from deep worry over Rāma’s impending exile, seemed to rise like thick smoke, threatening to consume her. Each sigh only deepened her suffering, and she confessed to her son that, deprived of his presence, this boundless fire of grief would burn her up, just as the harsh sun scorches the undergrowth at winter’s end. She declared that she would follow him, just as a cow follows her calf—her love for him was that deep and instinctive. Hearing these words, Rāma, the best among men, gently replied to his mother, who was lost in grief. He told her that, deceived by Kaikeyī and abandoned by her when he had gone to the forest, their father, the king, would surely not survive such pain. Rāma reminded Kausalyā that for a woman, abandoning her husband—even in thought—was an act of great cruelty, never to be done. He urged her to continue serving their father, the lord of the world and scion of the Kakutstha line, as long as he lived, for that was the eternal duty. Kausalyā, auspicious and pure-hearted, was pleased by her son’s blameless words and replied, “So be it.” Yet Rāma, ever devoted to righteousness, spoke again to his deeply distressed mother. He said that both of them must obey the command of their father, for the king was not only husband but also teacher, lord, and master of all. Rāma assured her that after spending fifteen years in the forest with joy, he would return and fulfill her wishes. But Kausalyā, her love for her son unshaken, spoke through her tears, “O Rāma, I cannot bear to live among my co-wives without you. Take me with you to the forest, like a wild doe follows her young.” Seeing her resolve, Rāma, also weeping, replied gently, for his mind was set on fulfilling his father’s command. He reminded her that, for a living woman, her husband is her highest deity and lord, and that for both of them, the king was their master and protector. He reassured her that they were not without guardianship, for the wise king and righteous Bharata would look after her and the kingdom. Rāma then instructed his mother to always act for the welfare of the aged king, for a woman devoted to vows and fasting is most excellent. He explained that if a woman does not follow her husband, she falls into misfortune, but by serving him, she attains the highest heaven. Even if one neglects worship of the gods, a woman must serve her husband, delighting in what pleases and benefits him. This, he said, was the eternal duty of women, as declared in the Veda, observed in fire-rites, and upheld by the noble-minded and by the gods. He entreated her, “For my sake, let the gods be worshipped and the Brāhmaṇas honored. Wait patiently for my return, longing for me. Be steadfast, regulate your diet, and devote yourself to serving your husband. When I return, you will attain your highest desire.” Yet, as he spoke these words, Kausalyā’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she confessed that her heart could not accept his departure. With great effort, she composed herself and said, “O hero, surely time is unyielding and cannot be turned back. Go, my son, with single-mindedness—may you always be blessed.” She promised that when he returned, having fulfilled his vow and duty to his father, she would find rest and happiness again. She cautioned him that the path of death is always uncertain, and urged him to heed her words. “Go now, mighty-armed one, and return safely; you will delight me with your gentle and pleasing words. Perhaps soon you will return from the forest, and I will see you again, my child, clad in matted hair and bark garments.” Thus, the queen, resolute and wishing only for Rāma’s welfare, saw her son determined to dwell in the forest. She spoke auspicious words to him, her heart filled with hope for his safe return. Having dispelled her distress, Kausalyā purified herself with sacred water and, her mind composed, performed auspicious rites for Rāma’s wellbeing. She acknowledged that he could not be restrained and urged him to go forth, return swiftly, and always follow the path of virtue. She prayed that the dharma he upheld with such love and discipline would protect him, and that the gods to whom he bowed, both in temples and at home, would watch over him in the forest, along with the great sages. She invoked the weapons given to Rāma by the wise Viśvāmitra, praying that they would always protect her virtuous son. She blessed him, saying that through his service to his father and mother, and by his devotion to truth, he would live long and be safeguarded. She called upon the sacred fires, kusha grass, altars, shrines, the seats of the Brāhmaṇas, mountains, trees, shrubs, lakes, birds, serpents, and lions to protect Rāma, the best among men, as he journeyed into the unknown.