With gentle words, Sītā sought to comfort Rāma, saying, "Do not be anxious, my Lord. In the forest, we shall find peace and delight, surrounded by gentle deer and the sweet calls of many birds." She spoke with conviction, affirming, "My father is honored as a deity, even among the gods. Therefore, as if fulfilling a divine command, I will carry out my father's word." She continued, "When fourteen years have passed, O best of kings, you will see me returned. Let go of this sorrow." Seeing Daśaratha overwhelmed, she gently reproached him, "You, O tiger among men, who should restrain others’ tears, why have you yourself succumbed to distress?" With firm resolve, Sītā declared, "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." She assured him, "O King, 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, today I do not desire the imperishable kingdom, nor the earth with all its enjoyments, nor even Maithilī herself. I would not choose anything by binding you to falsehood; let truth be your vow." With a serene heart, she concluded, "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." Hearing her unwavering words, King Daśaratha, overcome by calamity and pain, embraced his son. Overwhelmed, he lost consciousness, fell to the ground, and did not move at all. All the assembled queens wept, except for Kaikeyī; Sumantra too, shedding tears, fainted, and everywhere arose cries of lamentation. Now, listen to the next sarga. Suddenly, Sumantra, the royal charioteer, shook his head, sighing repeatedly. He ground his hand in his palm and gnashed his teeth, his eyes bloodshot with anger and losing their usual color. Overcome by wrath, he was seized by terrible distress. Observing the king’s agony, Sumantra addressed Kaikeyī with words sharp as arrows, shaking her very heart. His voice thundered, harsh and unmatched, as he spoke words that pierced all her vital points. He rebuked her, "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 here, O Queen, more grievous than yours. I consider you a husband-slayer, and ultimately, a destroyer of your lineage." He continued, "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." He reminded her, "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." Sumantra’s words grew sterner, "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?" He exclaimed, "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." With a metaphor, he said, "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." He recalled, "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, the illustrious one, your father heard the sounds of many creatures and laughed repeatedly." Sumantra recounted the tale, "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.'" He continued, "Thus addressed by his beloved, the king of Kekaya spoke to him truthfully about granting that boon. Then that boon-giver replied to the king, 'Let this not be spoken of, O lord of the earth, whether it leads to death or destruction.' Hearing those words, the king, his mind pleased, at once dismissed your mother and enjoyed himself like Kubera." Sumantra concluded, "In the same way, you too, on a path followed by the wicked, out of delusion, are seizing this false resolve, O you who see evil. And here, this common saying appears true to me: 'Men follow after their fathers, women after their mothers.'" Thus, the palace echoed with grief, reproach, and the heavy weight of destiny, as Rāma’s departure loomed and the hearts of Ayodhyā were torn with sorrow and indignation.