Seeing his father overwhelmed by sorrow and tears, Rāma spoke with gentle firmness, “Let your sorrow depart, do not be overcome by grief. Just as the mighty ocean, lord of rivers, remains undisturbed, so too should you remain steadfast. I do not desire the kingdom, nor happiness, nor the pleasures of the earth or heaven, nor even life itself. You alone I desire in truth, O best of men. I swear by your truth and virtue, I speak this before you: I seek only you, not falsehood. “It is not possible for me, Father, to remain even for a moment. Bear this grief, for my resolve will not change. Kaikeyī has indeed asked me to go to the forest, and I replied, ‘I will go.’ Now I am faithfully upholding that truth. Do not worry, O Lord; we shall enjoy ourselves in the forest, peaceful and filled with gentle deer, resounding with the calls of many birds. “My father is regarded as a deity, even among the gods themselves, O dear one. Therefore, as if it were a divine command, I will 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, which is esteemed by the noble. May your sorrow on my account depart, O faultless one. Therefore, 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 woods with their wondrous trees—I shall be happy. May you find peace.” Hearing these words, the king, overwhelmed by calamity and pain, embraced his son. Stricken with grief, he lost consciousness, fell to the ground, and lay unmoving. All the assembled queens wept, except for Kaikeyī; Sumantra, the charioteer, wept as well and fainted, and everywhere arose cries of lamentation. Now, listen to the next chapter. Then, suddenly, Sumantra shook his head, sighing again and again. He ground his hand in his palm and gnashed his teeth, his eyes bloodshot with anger, their usual color gone. Overcome by wrath, he was seized by terrible distress. Perceiving the king’s mind, the charioteer, with words sharp as arrows, seemed to shake Kaikeyī’s heart. With words like thunderbolts, harsh and unmatched, Sumantra spoke, piercing all the vital points of Kaikeyī: “She for whom you, King Daśaratha, have abandoned your own wife—he who is the lord of all the world, both moving and unmoving—there is no act, 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. “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. “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 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. Who, after cutting down a mango tree with an axe, would tend a neem tree? Even if watered with milk, it will not become sweet. I think your lineage is just like your mother’s; for it is said in the world that honey does not flow from a neem tree. “We know, as heard before, of your mother’s evil nature. Some benefactor once granted your father an excellent boon. From that boon, your father, the lord of the earth, gained the ability to understand the speech of all beings, including animals. Then, while lying on the bed of Jṛmbha, your illustrious father heard the sounds of many creatures and laughed repeatedly. “There, your mother, angered and desiring the noose of death, said to your father, ‘Tell me, I wish to know the reason for your laughter.’ The king replied, ‘O Queen, if I reveal to you the reason for my laughter, then I will die at once—of this there is no doubt.’ Yet your mother insisted, ‘Tell me, whether you live or die, you must not deceive me.’” Thus, in the palace, grief and anger mingled, and the hearts of all were shaken by the sorrowful events unfolding.