May the blessings that Vinatā once bestowed upon Suparṇa, when he set out to seek the nectar, now rest upon you. May the same auspicious favor that Aditi granted to the mighty wielder of the thunderbolt, as he struck down the demons at the birth of the nectar, become your blessing as well. May the benediction that shone forth when Viṣṇu, radiant and incomparable, took his three great strides, O Rāma, be yours. Let the seers, the oceans, the islands, the Vedas, the worlds, and all the directions, O mighty-armed one, shower upon you every auspicious blessing. With these sacred invocations, Kausalyā, radiant and loving, completed the remaining rites for her son. She anointed Rāma, whose eyes were wide and luminous, with fragrant substances. Performing a protective rite, she used carefully prepared, healing, and auspicious herbs, reciting sacred mantras over him. Though her heart was breaking with sorrow, she spoke with the appearance of joy, her words belying the grief she truly felt. Bowing to her son, smelling his head, and embracing him tightly, the illustrious mother said, “Go, Rāma. May you attain your desire and journey happily. May I see you, my child, returned to Ayodhyā, healthy and fulfilled in all your aims, walking once more along the royal roads. Freed from all sorrowful thoughts, my face shining with joy, I shall behold you returned from the forest, like the full moon newly risen. I shall see you again, Rāma, seated upon an auspicious throne, returned from the forest, having fulfilled your father’s command. When you return, blessed and triumphant, always fulfill the wishes of my daughter-in-law. Now go forth, my son. May the hosts of gods led by Śiva, the great sages, all beings and celestial serpents whom I have worshipped—may they, and all the directions, wish you well as you set out for the forest, O Rāghava.” Her eyes streaming with tears, Kausalyā completed the blessings as prescribed by tradition. She circumambulated Rāghava, embracing him again and again, her gaze lingering on him with deep affection. After being thus honored by his mother, the illustrious Rāghava bowed repeatedly and pressed her feet in reverence. Radiant with the strength of her love and blessings, he then made his way to Sītā’s dwelling. Having bowed to Kausalyā and taken leave of his mother, Rāma, steadfast in righteousness and firm on the path of duty, prepared to depart for the forest. As he moved along the royal road, thronged with people, the royal son shone with his virtues, stirring the hearts of the citizens. Meanwhile, Sītā, devoted to austerity, was unaware of the sorrowful events unfolding. Her heart remained fixed on the joyful expectation of Rāma’s consecration as heir-apparent. Having performed her divine duties, grateful and joyful, the princess, skilled in royal conduct, awaited the outcome. Rāma entered his own splendidly adorned house, filled with delighted people. Yet, out of modesty, his face was slightly downcast. Sītā, rising up and trembling, saw her husband afflicted with sorrow, his senses disturbed by anxious thoughts. Seeing her, Rāghava could no longer contain the grief in his heart and became visibly distraught. Observing him, pale-faced, sweating, and without resentment, Sītā, tormented by sorrow, asked, “What is this now, my lord? Today is the auspicious day of Brihaspati joined with Pushya, as declared by the learned Brahmins, O Raghava. Why are you troubled in mind? Your charming face, usually shaded by the 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, who delight in praising you, do not appear today, 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 for one being consecrated. The citizens and chiefs of the guilds, adorned for celebration, do not wish to follow you, nor do the townspeople and countryfolk. Why does your 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. Nor do I see your beautiful golden-embellished royal seat placed in front as you proceed at the head. Now that the consecration is prepared, why do I see you thus? Your face shows an unfamiliar pallor, and no joy is seen.” To her, as she lamented in this way, Rāma, the delight of the Raghus, spoke gently: “Sītā, my father is sending me to the forest. Born in a great family, a knower and follower of righteousness, listen, Jānakī, to how this has come to pass. Long ago, my father Daśaratha, true to his word, granted two great boons to my mother Kaikeyī. Now, as my consecration was being prepared and the king was set to install me, she has claimed those boons, and that promise, bound by righteousness, must be fulfilled. For fourteen years I must dwell in the Daṇḍaka forest, by my father’s command, while Bharata is appointed as heir-apparent. So I have come to see you, as I set out for the lonely forest; in Bharata’s presence, you must never speak of me.” Thus, with the blessings of his mother and the sorrowful understanding of his beloved wife, Rāma prepared to fulfill his father’s command and depart for the forest, setting in motion the great destiny that awaited him.