As Rama stood before his father, awaiting the king’s untroubled consent to his journey, King Dasaratha, his heart tormented and bound by the boons he had granted to Kaikeyī, spoke to his beloved son about the exile to the forest. “O Raghava,” Dasaratha lamented, “deluded by Kaikeyī’s request, I am helplessly bound. You alone should be king in Ayodhya today, restraining me from this grievous act.” Thus addressed, Rama, ever righteous and respectful, bowed low with joined palms and replied gently to his father, “O King, may you rule this earth for a thousand years! I have no desire for the kingdom. I will dwell in the forest, content and without longing. After fourteen years in exile, I will return and once again clasp your feet, O lord of men, when my vow is fulfilled.” But Dasaratha, weeping and distressed, bound by the fetter of truth and urged by Kaikeyī, spoke with anguish to his cherished son. “For your welfare, your growth, and your safe return, my dear child, I pray you travel without fear or obstruction. O delight of the Raghus, I know your mind is resolute in truth and righteousness, and your resolve cannot be turned back. Yet, my son, do not depart tonight under any circumstances—let me spend at least this one day in your presence.” The king’s voice trembled as he continued, “What you are doing, beloved Raghava, is truly difficult. For my sake, you have accepted the life of the forest. But this does not please me, my son—by truth I swear, O Raghava. I have been deceived by a woman as destructive as fire hidden beneath ashes. The misfortune that has come upon me, you now seek to overcome, compelled by Kaikeyī, who is steadfast in her resolve yet unrighteous in her conduct. Yet, my son, it is not surprising that you, my eldest, strive to keep your father free from falsehood.” Rama, hearing his father’s sorrowful words, turned to his brother Lakṣmaṇa and spoke in sadness, “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 all 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 you have spoken. I will dwell in the forest for fourteen years with the forest-dwellers; do not hesitate—let the earth be given to Bharata.” He continued with unwavering resolve, “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. I do not desire the kingdom, nor happiness, nor the earth, nor any of these pleasures, nor heaven, nor even life itself. You alone I desire in truth, O best of men, not falsehood; by your truth and virtue, I swear this before you. Nor is it possible for me, father, to remain even for a moment; bear this grief, for my resolve will not change.” “O Raghava, I have indeed been told by Kaikeyī to go to the forest, and I replied, ‘I will go.’ I am now faithfully upholding that truth. Do not be anxious, O Lord; we shall enjoy ourselves in the forest, peaceful and filled with gentle deer, resounding with the calls of many birds. For my father is regarded as a deity, even among the gods themselves, O dear one. Therefore, as if it were the command of the gods, I shall carry out my father’s word. When fourteen years have passed, O best of kings, you will see me returned; let go of this sorrow. You, O tiger among men, who ought to restrain all these tears, why have you yourself succumbed to distress?” “The city, the kingdom, and the land itself I relinquish; let them be given to Bharata. I, obeying your command, shall go to the forest to dwell for a long time. Let Bharata rule over this land, with its mountains, cities, and groves, which I have relinquished; let him govern well within its auspicious borders. Whatever you have said, O King, so let it be. My mind is not drawn so much to great pleasures or even to what is dear to myself, as it is to carrying out your command, esteemed by the noble. May your sorrow on my account depart, O faultless one.” “Therefore, O faultless one, today I do not desire the imperishable kingdom, nor the earth with all its enjoyments, nor even Maithilī. I would not choose anything by binding you to falsehood; let truth be your vow. Living in the forest, eating fruits and roots, seeing the mountains, rivers, and lakes, entering the forest with its wondrous trees, I shall be happy; may you find peace.” Overwhelmed by calamity and pain, the king embraced his son, then lost consciousness and fell to the ground, unmoving. All the assembled queens wept, save for Kaikeyī; Sumantra, too, overcome with grief, fainted, and everywhere cries of lamentation rose. Listen now to the thirty-fifth sarga. Suddenly, King Dasaratha shook his head, sighing again and again, grinding his hand in his palm and gnashing his teeth. His eyes, bloodshot with anger, lost their usual color; seized by terrible distress, he was overcome by wrath. Observing the king’s troubled mind, the charioteer Sumantra, with words as sharp as arrows, spoke in a manner that seemed to pierce Kaikeyī’s heart.