First, Sumantra, the charioteer, entered the king’s presence. With a respectful greeting, he wished victory to the king, but his voice was faint and gentle, tinged with fear. He announced, “Here stands your son, the tiger among men, at the door. He has given away his wealth to the Brāhmaṇas and all his dependents.” Sumantra continued, “May all be well with you, O king! Rāma, steadfast in truth, wishes to see you. He has already taken leave of his friends and now seeks your audience.” With a heavy heart, he added, “He is about to depart for the great forest—see him now, O lord of the earth. He stands before you, adorned with all royal virtues, like the sun surrounded by its rays.” Hearing these words, the king, righteous and truthful, as deep as the ocean and pure as the sky, replied to Sumantra, “Bring here all my wives, whoever are present. Surrounded by them, I wish to see Rāghava.” Sumantra then passed through the inner chambers and addressed the royal women, “The noble king summons you; go to him without delay.” Thus commanded, the women began to make their way to the palace, having received their lord’s order. Among them, three and a half hundred women with coppery eyes, who had taken vows, gently surrounded Kausalya and departed with her. When all the wives had gathered, the king observed their presence and spoke again to Sumantra, “Bring my son to me.” Sumantra then brought Rāma, along with Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā, quickly into the presence of the lord of the earth. As Rāma approached with joined palms, the king, distressed and surrounded by his wives, swiftly rose from his seat. Overcome by grief, the lord of men rushed towards his son, but as he reached him, his sorrow overwhelmed him and he fell to the ground, unconscious. Rāma and the mighty Lakṣmaṇa hurried to their father, finding him senseless with grief. Suddenly, a great tumult arose in the palace as thousands of women cried out, “Alas, Rāma!” The air was filled with their weeping and the clatter of ornaments. Embracing both Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, the women, together with Sītā, gently lifted the king and placed him, weeping, upon the couch. After a moment, as the king regained consciousness, Rāma, his hands folded and his heart overwhelmed by an ocean of tears and sorrow, spoke: “I take leave of you, great king, lord of us all. As I depart for the Dandaka forest, may you see me again, safe and sound. Grant permission also to Lakṣmaṇa, and let Sītā follow me to the forest. Though I have urged them with many true reasons to remain, they do not wish to stay behind. Grant permission to all of us, O giver of honor—Lakṣmaṇa, myself, and Sītā—casting off your grief, just as the Lord of creatures grants leave to his children.” Rāma awaited his father’s untroubled consent, and as he looked on, the king spoke to him about his dwelling in the forest. “O Rāghava, deluded by Kaikeyī’s boon, I have been bound. You alone should be king in Ayodhyā today, restraining me.” Thus addressed, Rāma, best of the righteous, bowed with joined palms and replied skillfully to his father, “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 return and again clasp your feet, O lord of men, when my vow is fulfilled.” The king, weeping and distressed, bound by the fetter of truth and urged by Kaikeyī, 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.” He continued, “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 concealed beneath ashes. The deception that has befallen me, you wish to overcome, being urged by Kaikeyī, who is steadfast in her resolve but unrighteous in conduct. Nor is it most astonishing, my son, that you, my eldest, wish to keep your father free from falsehood.” Having heard his distressed father’s words, Rāma sorrowfully spoke to his brother Lakṣmaṇa, “What virtues will I gain today, and who will grant them to me tomorrow? Therefore, I choose only to depart, renouncing all desires. This earth, with its provinces, people, wealth, and grain, I relinquish; let it be given to Bharata. My resolve to dwell in the forest will not waver today; the boon you granted to Kaikeyī in battle, O bestower of boons, must be fulfilled. Let it be given in full—be true to your word, O king; I will carry out your command exactly as spoken. I will dwell in the forest for fourteen years with the forest-dwellers; do not hesitate—let the earth be given to Bharata. I do not desire the kingdom, nor happiness, nor anything dear to myself, as much as I wish to carry out your command, O delight of the Raghus.