As the preparations for exile continued, Sita, the noble daughter of Janaka, took up a single piece of bark in her hand. Unaccustomed to such attire and feeling embarrassed, she placed it awkwardly around her neck, standing there amidst the gathering, her gentle nature exposed to all. Observing her discomfort, Rama—foremost among the righteous—quickly approached and, with his own hands, tied the bark garment over Sita’s fine silk clothes, ensuring she was properly clad for the journey ahead. The sight of Rama himself fastening the rough bark upon Sita moved the women of the royal inner apartments to tears. They wept openly, their hearts aching for the princess. Turning to Rama, who shone with innate splendor, they pleaded, “Dear child, this noble lady is not meant for such a forest dwelling. By your father’s command, you must go to the lonely woods; let us at least be satisfied by seeing her remain here, O Lord. Go to the forest with Lakshmana as your companion; this blessed lady is not fit to live the life of an ascetic. Grant us this request, son—let Sita, radiant as she is, remain behind. You, who are ever devoted to righteousness, do not wish to stay yourself.” Hearing their words, Rama, son of Dasharatha, gently but firmly tied the bark garment on Sita, who matched him in virtue and character. As Sita stood thus attired, the venerable royal priest, his eyes brimming with tears, stepped forward to restrain her and addressed Kaikeyi directly. “You have gone too far, evil-minded Kaikeyi, disgrace of your lineage! Having deceived the king, you disregard what is right. Sita, who lacks the training for such hardship, must not go to the forest, O Queen—her proper duties to Rama can be performed here. For all who are married, their wives are their very selves; considering her as his own self, Rama will protect the earth.” The priest continued, “Now, as Vaidehī prepares to depart for the forest with Rama, we will follow them if this city is to be abandoned. The guards, too, will go wherever Raghava journeys with his wife, along with all his people, the kingdom, the city, and its attendants. Bharata and Shatrughna, clad in bark, will dwell in the forest as well, following their elder brother Kakutstha. With the earth emptied of its people and only trees remaining, you alone will rule, wicked one, standing against the people’s welfare. For that will not be a kingdom where Rama is not king; the forest where Rama dwells will become the true kingdom. Bharata does not wish to rule a land not granted by his father, nor to live with you as a son, if he is indeed Dasharatha’s child. Even if you rise from earth to sky, he, who knows the conduct of his ancestors, will not act otherwise.” The priest’s words grew even more pointed: “Thus, by your greed for your own son, you have wronged him; in this world, there is no one who is not devoted to Rama. Today, Kaikeyi, you will see even beasts, wild animals, birds, and trees all turning toward Rama as he departs. O queen, give the finest ornaments to your daughter-in-law, removing the bark garment—for Vasiṣṭha forbade that garment, saying it should not be given to her. You have chosen only Rama’s residence in the forest, daughter of the king of Kekaya; yet Sita, always adorned, will live there with Raghava. Let the princess go, well attended by the best vehicles and servants, with all kinds of garments and arrangements—she is not bound by your grant of the boon.” As the thirty-eighth chapter begins, the people, witnessing Sita—protected yet as if unprotected—struggle into the bark garment, cried out in anguish, “Shame on you, Dasharatha!” The king, deeply distressed by their outcry, lost faith in life, virtue, and his own honor. Sighing heavily, the Ikṣvāku king spoke to his wife, “Kaikeyi, Sita should not go wearing a garment of kuśa grass. She is delicate, young, and always accustomed to comfort; my teacher has truly said she is not fit for the forest. She does nothing for anyone, this ascetic daughter of the best king; standing in the midst of the people, wearing bark, she appears senseless, like some wandering mendicant. Let the daughter of Janaka cast off these garments of bark; I have never before made such a vow. Let the princess go to the forest as she wishes, taking all her ornaments and treasures.” He continued, his voice breaking, “By me, unworthy of life, a cruel vow has been made and strictly kept. But you, out of childishness, have accepted this; do not let it burn you up, as fire consumes a dry reed. If Rama has ever done you, O wicked one, any wrongful or improper act, what harm has this gentle Vaidehi shown you? With eyes wide as a startled deer, gentle in nature and noble in mind, what harm could Janaka’s daughter ever do to you? Surely, O wicked one, sending Rama into exile is enough for you. Why do you commit these further pitiful and sinful acts?” He reminded her, “I have already promised, as you demanded, O queen, in the presence of all, when you spoke of Rama’s consecration. Now, by exceeding that, you wish to go to hell, since you even want to see Maithili dressed in bark-cloth.” As his father spoke thus, Rama, prepared for the forest, bowed his head and addressed him with humility: “This is my mother Kausalya, righteous and renowned, aged and of noble character; and, my lord, she does not blame you. O giver of boons, you should honor her—now bereft of me, plunged into an ocean of grief, facing a sorrow she has never known before.” Thus, in that moment, the hearts of all present were filled with sorrow, as the noble Sita, Rama, and the royal household faced the pain of separation and the heavy consequences of Kaikeyi’s demands.