As Rāma prepared to depart for the forest, his mother Kausalyā was overcome with sorrow. She spoke to him, her voice trembling with grief, saying, “This wind, which should be as dear to me as my own kin, brings only the pain of lamentation. Fanned by my weeping and tears, it seems to offer oblations to the blazing fire of my sorrow. The great smoke of my anxious tears, born from the worry over your leaving, will consume me, my son. The exhaustion of my sighs will only deepen my suffering. Bereft of you here, this boundless and 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 anguished words from his mother, Rāma, the best of men, replied gently to her, seeing how overwhelmed she was by grief. He said, “Deceived by Kaikeyī and abandoned by you when I have gone to the forest, the king surely will not survive. For a woman, to abandon her husband is an act of sheer cruelty; such a thing must never 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, you must serve him; that is your eternal duty.” Thus addressed by her blameless son, the auspicious Kausalyā, greatly pleased with Rāma’s righteousness, replied, “So be it.” But Rāma, ever steadfast in dharma, 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 I have spent these fifteen years in the great forest with utmost joy, I shall abide by your word.” Kausalyā, loving her son dearly and her face wet with tears, spoke again 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.” As she wept, Rāma, also weeping, replied, “If your mind is set on my departure, out of regard for my father, remember: for a living woman, her husband is her deity and lord. Today, for both you and me, the king is our ruling master. We are not without protector, for the wise king, lord of the people, is ours. Bharata, too, is righteous and speaks 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, Kausalyā’s eyes brimmed with tears. Afflicted by grief for her son, she replied, “My mind cannot accept your departure, my child.” Yet, gathering her strength, she continued, “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, 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, with utmost resolve, the queen saw Rāma determined to dwell in the forest. She spoke auspicious words to him, who possessed noble qualities, and became desirous of his welfare. Now, listen to the twenty-fifth canto. Having dispelled her distress and touched pure water, Rāma’s mother, thoughtful and composed, performed auspicious rites. She said, “You cannot be restrained, O best of the Raghu lineage; go now, and return swiftly, and abide by the path of the virtuous. The dharma you uphold with affection and discipline, O tiger among the Raghus, may that dharma protect you. Those to whom you bow, my son, among the gods and in their temples, may they protect you in the forest along with the great sages. The weapons given to you by the wise Vishvāmitra, may they always protect you, endowed with virtues. Through service to your father, and likewise to your mother, and by truth, O mighty-armed one, may you live long and be safeguarded. May the sacred fires, kusha grass, altars, shrines, the seats of the Brāhmaṇas, mountains, trees, shrubs, lakes, birds, serpents, and lions protect you, O best among men. May the Sādhyas, the Viśvedevas, the Maruts with the great sages, may Dhātā, Vidhātā, Pūṣā, Bhaga, and Aryaman grant you auspiciousness.” Thus, with blessings and sorrow interwoven, Kausalyā sent forth her beloved son, praying for his safety and his swift return.