As the people of Ayodhya gathered, their hearts full of devotion for Rāghava, they spoke with one voice: “Wherever Rāma goes, let that forest become our city, and let this city, abandoned by us, become the forest.” Their love was so great that they declared, “Let all the burrowing animals, the wild beasts, the birds of the slopes, even the elephants and lions, flee from the woods in fear of our coming. Let them take up what we leave behind, and leave for us what we inhabit—the grass, the meat, the fruit, and the wild creatures. Let Kaikeyī, with her sons and kin, possess Ayodhya; we will live joyfully in the forest with Rāghava.” Rāma heard these many impassioned words from the people, yet his mind remained unshaken and steadfast. Resolute, he walked toward his mother’s palace, his stride majestic and powerful, reminiscent of an intoxicated elephant, his presence radiant like the peak of Mount Kailāsa. Entering the royal residence—home to disciplined heroes—he saw Sumantra, the charioteer, standing nearby, his face clouded with sorrow. Though Rāma himself was not afflicted, he lingered among the grieving people, and with a gentle smile, made ready to see his father, determined to fulfill his father’s command as duty required. But before approaching the sorrowful king, Rāma paused, noticing Sumantra, who stood ready to announce him. Out of unwavering devotion to his father’s will and having resolved to enter the forest, Rāma said to Sumantra, “Announce my arrival to the king.” Sumantra bowed and quickly went to the king. The king, troubled in mind and heavy with grief, sighed deeply. Sumantra found him like the sun shrouded in red, like fire covered in ash, like a lake drained of water. With joined palms, the charioteer gently awakened the wise but sorrowful king, who grieved only for Rāma. Sumantra bowed low and, in a voice faint with fear and gentleness, said, “Here stands your son, the tiger among men, at the door. He has given away his wealth to the Brāhmaṇas and all his dependents. May you be well! Let Rāma, steadfast in truth, see you. Having taken leave of all his friends, he now wishes to see you. He will go to the great forest—see him, O lord of the earth, adorned with all royal virtues, like the sun with its rays.” The king, ever righteous and as deep as the ocean, replied, “Sumantra, bring here all my wives who are present. Surrounded by them all, I wish to see Rāghava.” Sumantra passed through the inner chambers and said to the women, “The noble king summons you; come without delay.” Hearing this command, the royal women began to make their way to the king’s palace. Among them, three and a half hundred women with coppery eyes, having taken vows, gently gathered around Kausalya and departed. When the king saw that his wives had arrived, he said to Sumantra, “Bring my son to me.” Sumantra then brought Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā swiftly to the presence of the king. As Rāma approached with joined palms, the king, distressed and surrounded by women, rose quickly from his seat. Overcome by grief, the lord of men rushed toward Rāma, but his sorrow was so great that he fell to the ground, unconscious. Rāma and the mighty Lakṣmaṇa hurried to their father, who lay senseless from sorrow. A tumult of cries arose among the thousands of women in the palace, their voices mingled with the clamor of ornaments, all wailing, “Alas, Rāma!” They embraced both Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, and together with Sītā, gently placed the weeping king upon the couch. After a moment, as the king regained consciousness, Rāma, overwhelmed by tears and sorrow, stood with joined palms and spoke, “I take leave of you, great king, lord of us all. As I depart for the Dandaka forest, may you see me safe. Grant permission to Lakṣmaṇa, and let Sītā follow me; though restrained by many true reasons, they do not wish to stay. Grant permission to all of us, O giver of honor, casting off your grief—Lakṣmaṇa, myself, and Sītā, just as the Lord of creatures does for his children.” As Rāma awaited his father’s untroubled consent, the king, his heart aching, spoke: “O Rāghava, deluded by Kaikeyī’s boon, I have been bound; you alone should be king in Ayodhya, restraining me.” Rāma, best of the righteous, bowed with joined palms and replied skillfully, “O king, you should rule the earth for a thousand years; I desire no kingdom and will dwell in the forest. After spending fourteen years in exile, I will again clasp your feet, O lord of men, at the end of my vow.” Thus, with unwavering resolve and devotion, Rāma prepared to fulfill his father’s command, upholding dharma above all else.