After the sacred rites had been performed for peace and well-being, the revered preceptor carefully arranged the external oblation with the remaining sacrificial materials. He then gathered honey, curds, clarified butter, and spoke auspicious words, inviting the assembled Brahmins to recite blessings for Rāma’s safe journey into the forest. Rāma’s illustrious mother, Kausalyā, offered the chief Brahmin a generous fee, expressing her gratitude. Turning to her son, Rāghava, she spoke words of blessing: “May the blessing that was bestowed upon Indra, the thousand-eyed lord revered by all the gods, when he slew Vṛtra, be yours. May the blessing Vinatā once gave to Suparṇa when he sought the nectar become your blessing. May the blessing that Aditi gave to the wielder of the thunderbolt as he struck down the demons at the birth of nectar be yours. May the blessing present when Viṣṇu, of incomparable brilliance, took his three great strides, O Rāma, become your blessing. May the seers, the oceans, the islands, the Vedas, the worlds, and the directions, O mighty-armed one, bestow upon you auspicious blessings.” Having completed the remaining rites for her son, the radiant Kausalyā anointed Rāma, whose eyes were broad and beautiful, with fragrant substances. She performed a protective rite for him with well-prepared, healing, and auspicious herbs, reciting sacred mantras over him. Though her heart was heavy with sorrow, she spoke as if delighted, her words conveying only the outward speech, not the true feelings within. Bowing to her son, smelling his head, and embracing him, Kausalyā said, “Go, Rāma, may you attain your desire and travel happily. May I see you, my child, returned to Ayodhyā, healthy and fulfilled in all aims, walking again the royal paths. Freed from all sorrowful thoughts, my face shining with joy, I shall see you returned from the forest, like the full moon newly risen. I shall see you again, Rāma, seated on an auspicious throne, returned from the forest, having fulfilled your father’s command. Having returned from the forest, endowed with blessings, always fulfill the wishes of my daughter-in-law, and go forth, my son. The hosts of gods led by Śiva, the great sages, beings, and celestial serpents whom I have worshipped—may they, and the directions, wish you well as you set out for the forest, O Rāghava.” Her eyes overflowing with tears, Kausalyā completed the blessings according to the rite, circumambulated Rāghava, and embraced him again and again, gazing at him intently. Rāma, having been circumambulated by his mother, bowed repeatedly and pressed her feet in reverence. Radiant with the glory of her blessings, he then departed for Sītā’s dwelling. Thus concludes the twenty-fifth chapter of the Ayodhyākāṇḍa in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. Now begins the twenty-sixth. Having bowed to Kausalyā and taken leave of his mother, Rāma, steadfast in righteousness and determined to depart for the forest, stood firm on the path of duty. As he moved along the royal road, thronged with citizens, the royal son shone forth, stirring the hearts of the people with his virtues. Meanwhile, Vaidehi—Sītā—devoted to austerity, heard none of the commotion. Her heart remained fixed only on the impending consecration for the heir-apparency. Having performed her divine duties, grateful and with a joyful mind, the princess, well-versed in royal conduct, awaited the outcome. Rāma entered his own splendidly adorned house, filled with delighted people, his face turned slightly downward out of modesty. Sītā rose, trembling, and saw her husband afflicted with sorrow, his senses disturbed by anxious thoughts. Seeing her, Rāma, the righteous one, could not contain the grief in his heart and became visibly distraught. Observing him—pale-faced, sweating, and unresentful—Sītā, tormented by sorrow, asked, “What is this now, my lord? Today, the auspicious day of Brihaspati joined with Pushya, is declared by learned Brahmins, O Raghava; why are you troubled in mind? Your charming face, usually shaded by a white umbrella like sea-foam, does not shine forth today. Nor is your lotus-eyed face fanned by the two chief fly-whisks, bright as the moon and swan, as is customary. The eloquent bards and heralds, delighted, do not appear today to praise you, O bull among men, nor do the Sutas and Magadhas recite auspicious verses. The Brahmins, masters of the Vedas, do not anoint your head with honey and curds as prescribed, as they would for one consecrated. All the citizens and chiefs of the guilds, adorned, do not wish to follow you, nor do the townspeople and countryfolk. Why does your foremost flower-adorned chariot, yoked with four swift horses adorned with gold, not go before you? Nor do I see your splendid elephant, honored for all auspicious marks, dark as a rain cloud or mountain, leading your procession, O hero. Nor do I see your beautiful golden-embellished royal seat placed in front, as you, O hero, proceed at the head. Now that the consecration is prepared, why is this with you? Your face shows an unfamiliar color, and no joy is seen.” To her, as she lamented in this way, the delight of the Raghus spoke: “Sītā, my father there is sending me to the forest. Born in a great family, knower and follower of righteousness, listen, Jānakī, to how this has now come to me in due course.