At that moment, an attendant respectfully announced to King Daśaratha, “Here stands your son, the tiger among men, at the door—having given away wealth to the Brāhmaṇas and all his dependents.” With gentle words, he continued, “May you be well! Let Rāma, steadfast in truth, see you now. Having taken leave of all his friends, he wishes to see you before he departs. He will go to the great forest—see him, O lord of the earth, he who is adorned with all royal virtues, just as the sun is adorned with its rays.” Hearing this, King Daśaratha—truthful in speech, righteous, deep as the ocean and pure as the sky—replied, “Sumantra, bring here all my wives who are present. Surrounded by them, I wish to see Rāghava.” Sumantra, the charioteer, passed through the inner chambers and addressed the royal women: “The noble king summons you; go to him at once.” Thus instructed by Sumantra on the king’s command, all the women, having received their lord’s order, began to make their way to the palace. Among them, three and a half hundred women with coppery eyes, who had taken vows, gently surrounded Kausalyā and departed together. When the king’s wives had gathered, Daśaratha, observing their arrival, spoke again to Sumantra: “Bring my son to me.” Sumantra promptly brought Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā to the presence of the lord of the earth. As Rāma approached, palms joined in reverence, the king—distressed and surrounded by his wives—swiftly rose from his seat. Overcome by grief, the lord of men rushed toward Rāma, but his sorrow was so great that he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Rāma and the mighty Lakṣmaṇa hurried to their father’s side, finding him senseless and stricken with sorrow. At that moment, a tumult arose within the royal palace as thousands of women cried out, “Alas, Rāma!” The sound of their lamentations mingled with the clatter of their ornaments. Embracing both Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, the women, together with Sītā, gently placed the weeping king upon a couch. After a moment, as the king regained consciousness, Rāma, his hands joined and eyes brimming with tears, spoke with deep emotion: “I take leave of you, great king, lord of us all. As I depart for the Dandaka forest, may you see me safe. Please grant permission to Lakṣmaṇa, and let Sītā follow me to the forest. Though I have urged them with many true reasons to stay, they do not wish to remain behind. 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 his father’s untroubled consent, the king, his heart heavy, spoke regarding Rāma’s dwelling in the forest: “O Rāghava, deluded by Kaikeyī’s boon, I have been bound. You alone today should be king in Ayodhyā, restraining me.” But 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 again clasp your feet, O lord of men, at the end of my vow.” 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 safe 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. 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.” Hearing his distressed father’s words, Rāma sorrowfully spoke to 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. Let your sorrow depart, do not be overwhelmed with tears; the mighty ocean, lord of rivers, is never disturbed.