Having taken leave of his mother Kausalya with deep reverence, Rāma, resolute in his righteousness, prepared himself to depart for the forest, standing unwavering on the path of duty. As he made his way along the royal road, radiant and dignified, the people of Ayodhyā gathered in throngs, their hearts moved by his noble virtues. Meanwhile, Sītā—Vaidehī—immersed in her daily austerities, remained unaware of these events. Her heart was fixed entirely on the anticipation of Rāma’s consecration as heir-apparent. Having completed her divine rituals, she waited with gratitude and joy, well-versed in the ways of royal life, for the outcome of what she believed was a day of great fortune. Rāma then entered his own splendidly adorned house, filled with delighted people. Out of modesty, he kept his gaze lowered. At that moment, Sītā rose to greet him, but she trembled as she saw her husband’s sorrowful face, his mind clearly troubled and his senses disturbed by anxious thoughts. Seeing her, Rāma—so steadfast and righteous—could not hide the grief weighing on his heart, and his distress became visible. Observing her beloved, pale-faced and sweating, yet without resentment, Sītā was herself tormented by sorrow. She asked him, “What is this, my lord? Today is the auspicious day of Brihaspati joined with Pushya, as declared by the learned Brahmins, O Rāghava. Why are you so troubled in mind?” She continued, “Your charming face, which is usually shaded by the white umbrella with a hundred ribs, like sea-foam, does not shine today. Nor is your lotus-eyed face fanned by the two chief fly-whisks, bright as the moon and the swan, as is customary. The eloquent bards and heralds, who delight in singing your praises, are not present 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 follow you, nor do the townspeople and countryfolk accompany you. Why does your chariot, adorned with flowers and yoked to four swift horses with golden trappings, not go before you? Nor do I see your splendid elephant, marked with all signs of auspiciousness, 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 proceed at the head. Now that the consecration is prepared, why is this happening? Your face is unfamiliar, and no joy can be seen.” As Sītā lamented in this way, Rāma, the delight of the Raghus, spoke to her: “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. My father, King Daśaratha, true to his word, once granted two great boons to Kaikeyī, my mother. Now, as the preparations for my consecration were underway, she has claimed those boons, and my father, bound by righteousness, is fulfilling his promise. By his command, I must dwell for fourteen years in the Daṇḍaka forest, while Bharata is appointed as heir-apparent. “I have come to see you as I set out for the lonely forest. In Bharata’s presence, you must never speak of me, for men endowed with prosperity do not tolerate praise of others; therefore, my virtues must not be spoken of before Bharata. The everlasting heir-apparency has been given to him by the king; he must be especially honored by you, Sītā, and so too the king. “I, upholding my promise to my father, will go to the forest today itself; be steadfast, O resolute one. When I have gone to the forest frequented by sages, you must devote yourself to vows and fasting, O blameless one. Rise early, perform worship of the gods as prescribed, and bow to Daśaratha, my father and lord of the people. My mother Kausalyā, aged and worn by sorrow, deserves your special honor, for she always puts righteousness first. You must also bow to my other mothers with affection, devotion, and service, for they are all as mothers to me. “Especially regard Bharata and Śatrughna as equal to brothers and sons, for they are dearer to me than life. Never do anything displeasing to Bharata; for he, O Vaidehī, is now the king of the land and the family. Kings, when honored by good conduct and diligent service, are pleased, but are angered in the opposite case. Kings may even abandon their own sons if they act harmfully, and they accept capable people, even if they are outsiders. “Therefore, O blessed one, remain here, devoted to the king, delighting in righteousness towards Bharata, and steadfast in truth and vows. I shall go to the great forest, dear one; but you must stay here, O beautiful lady. Just as you have never done wrong to anyone, so you must now act according to my word.” Now begins the twenty-seventh sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Thus addressed, Sītā—Vaidehī—who was worthy of all affection and spoke sweetly, became angry out of love and said to her husband, “What is this you are saying, Rāma? Surely these words are spoken lightly. Hearing them, O best of men, I think you are mocking me.