Rāma entered the royal residence, a place where disciplined heroes dwelled, and there he saw Sumantra standing nearby, his face marked by dejection. Though Rāma himself was not afflicted by sorrow, he paused, waiting for those around him who were distressed. With a gentle smile, he made his way to see his father, intent on fulfilling his father’s command with unwavering duty. Yet, before approaching the sorrowful king, Rāma—the great-souled son of Ikṣvāku—paused for a moment, noticing Sumantra, who stood ready to announce his presence. Out of devotion to his father’s wishes and having firmly resolved to enter the forest, Rāghava said to Sumantra, “Announce my arrival to the king.” With lotus-like eyes, dark and incomparable, Rāma addressed the charioteer, “Tell my father I am here.” Sent by Rāma, Sumantra entered quickly and saw King Daśaratha, whose senses were clouded by grief and who sighed deeply. The king appeared like a sun reddened, like fire covered in ash, like a lake bereft of water. Awakening the wise but deeply troubled king, Sumantra, with joined palms, spoke gently, for the king’s mind grieved only for Rāma. First, Sumantra greeted the king with a wish for victory, then, with a fearful, faint, and gentle voice, he said, “Here stands your son, the tiger among men, at the door. He has given 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, truthful in speech, righteous, deep as the ocean and pure as the sky, replied, “Sumantra, bring here all my wives, whoever are present. Surrounded by them, I wish to see Rāghava.” Sumantra passed through the inner chambers and spoke to the women, “The noble king summons you; go there without delay.” Thus addressed, all the women began to proceed to the palace, obeying their lord’s order. Three and a half hundred women with coppery eyes, having taken vows, gently surrounded Kausalya and departed. When the wives had arrived, the king, observing them, spoke to Sumantra, “Sumanta, bring my son to me.” Sumantra then brought Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Maithili (Sītā) quickly to the presence of the lord of the earth. Seeing his son approaching with joined palms, the king, distressed and surrounded by women, rose swiftly from his seat. Overcome by grief, the lord of men rushed towards Rāma, reached him, and fell to the ground unconscious. Rāma and mighty Lakṣmaṇa quickly approached the king, who was afflicted by sorrow and appeared senseless. A tumult erupted among thousands of women in the royal palace, suddenly crying, “Alas, Rāma!” Their voices mingled with the sound of ornaments. Embracing Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa with his arms, they, together with Sītā, placed the weeping king on the couch. After a moment, seeing the king regain consciousness, Rāma, with joined palms and overwhelmed by an ocean of tears and grief, 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 to the forest; 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—as the Lord of creatures does for his children.” As Rāma awaited the king’s untroubled consent, Daśaratha spoke to him regarding his dwelling in the forest: “O Raghava, deluded by Kaikeyi’s boon, I have been bound; you alone today should be king in Ayodhya, restraining me.” Thus addressed, Rāma, best of the righteous, made obeisance with joined palms and replied skillfully, “You, O king, should rule the earth for a thousand years; I will dwell in the forest, desiring no kingdom. After spending fourteen years in the forest, I will again clasp your feet, O lord of men, at the end of my vow.” Weeping, distressed, bound by the fetter of truth, and urged by Kaikeyi, the king spoke to his beloved son: “For your welfare, growth, and return, dear father, go without anxiety on a safe and unobstructed path. Indeed, O delight of the Raghus, it is not possible to turn back the resolve of one such as you, whose mind is set on truth and righteousness. But now, my son, do not go tonight under any circumstances; let me spend at least this one day in your presence. What you are doing, beloved Rāghava, is truly difficult; for my sake, you have taken up the forest life in this way. But this does not please me, my son—by truth I swear, O Rāghava; I have been deceived by a woman as destructive as fire covered in ashes.” Thus, the palace was filled with sorrow and love, as Rāma prepared to fulfill his father’s command, holding steadfast to righteousness, while Daśaratha, his heart torn by grief and duty, pleaded for one last day with his beloved son.