When King Daśaratha expressed his grief, he spoke to Rāma, his eldest son, acknowledging that it was not at all surprising that Rāma, in his steadfastness, wished to keep his father free from the stain of falsehood. Upon hearing his distressed father’s words, Rāma turned to his brother Lakṣmaṇa and spoke with sorrow in his heart. He reflected aloud, “What virtues will I truly gain today, and who will grant them to me tomorrow? Therefore, I choose only to depart, renouncing all desires.” He declared his intention to relinquish the earth itself—with all its provinces, people, wealth, and grain—so that it might be given to Bharata. Rāma’s resolve to dwell in the forest was unwavering; the boon Daśaratha had once promised Kaikeyī in battle must be fulfilled. He insisted that the boon be granted in full, urging his father to be true to his word, promising to carry out his command exactly as spoken. “I shall dwell in the forest for fourteen years among the forest-dwellers,” Rāma said. “Do not hesitate—let the earth be given to Bharata. I have no desire for the kingdom, nor for happiness or 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.” He repeated that he did not desire the kingdom, nor happiness, nor the earth, nor any pleasures, not even heaven or life itself. “It is you alone that I truly desire, 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 there will be no change in my resolve.” Rāma reminded his father that Kaikeyī had herself requested him to go to the forest, and he had given his word: “I will go.” Now, he was faithfully upholding that truth. He urged Daśaratha not to be anxious. “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 a divine command, I shall carry out my father’s word.” He soothed his father further: “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?” Rāma then declared once more, “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.” He continued, “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, King Daśaratha embraced his son, lost consciousness, fell to the ground, and did not move at all. All the assembled queens wept, except for Kaikeyī; Sumantra too, weeping, fell into a faint, and everywhere there arose cries of lamentation. Now, listen as the story continues. Suddenly, Sumantra, the charioteer, shaking his head and sighing repeatedly, ground his hand into his palm and gnashed his teeth. His eyes, bloodshot with anger, lost their usual color; overcome by wrath, he was seized by terrible distress. Observing the king’s troubled mind, Sumantra spoke to Kaikeyī with words sharp as arrows, seeming to shake her very heart. His words, thunderous and harsh, were unmatched—like thunderbolts, they struck at Kaikeyī. “You, for whom King Daśaratha has abandoned his own wife—he who is the lord of all the world, both moving and unmoving—there is no act here, O Queen, more grievous than yours. I consider you a husband-slayer, and ultimately, a destroyer of your lineage. By your deeds, you torment one who is like Indra, unconquerable; like a mountain, unshakable; like the great ocean, unperturbed.” He admonished her: “Do not look down upon King Daśaratha, your husband and benefactor; for a husband’s wish is for women more important than even a hundred million sons. Just as, upon the king’s death, kingdoms pass according to age, so you wish to deprive the lord of the Ikshvaku line of his due.” Sumantra continued, “Let your son Bharata become king and rule the earth; we will go wherever Rāma goes. No Brahmin should dwell in your realm; today you are about to commit such an unrighteous act. Surely, we will all follow the path that Rāma takes, abandoned by all relatives, Brahmins, and the virtuous. What joy will you, O Queen, find in gaining the kingdom, when you are intent on committing such a disgraceful deed? I see it as a wonder that the earth does not split open at once for one whose conduct is like yours. Even the terrible, blazing, awe-inspiring rods of the great Brahmarshis, created for cursing, do not harm one who stands firm on sending Rāma to exile.” Thus, amidst grief and turmoil, the court resounded with sorrow and righteous outrage, as Rāma’s resolve shone ever brighter in the darkness that had descended upon Ayodhyā.