Queen Kaikeyi was addressed with stern words: “Sita, lacking in proper conduct, should not go to the forest, O Queen. Let her remain here and fulfill her duties to Rama from within the palace.” The speaker continued, “For every married man, his wife is his own self; so, considering Sita as his very soul, Rama will protect the earth even from afar.” Yet, as Vaidehī—Sita—prepared to leave for the forest with Rama, the people declared, “We too will follow them from here, if this city is to be abandoned.” The resolve spread: the guards, the citizens, the kingdom, the city, and all its attendants—wherever Rāghava went with his wife, they would go as well. Even Bharata and Shatrughna, the devoted brothers, would don garments of bark and follow Kakutstha, their elder brother, dwelling with him in the forest. Then, with the earth emptied of its people and only trees remaining, Kaikeyi alone would rule—a ruler standing against the welfare of her subjects. “For that will not be a kingdom where Rama is not king; that forest will become the kingdom wherever Rama dwells.” Bharata, they said, would never wish to rule land not given by his father, nor would he live with Kaikeyi as a son if he is truly the king’s child. “Even if you, Kaikeyi, were to rise from earth to sky, Bharata, who knows the conduct of his ancestors, will not act otherwise.” The people accused Kaikeyi: “Out of greed for your own son, you have wronged Rama. In this world, there is no one who is not devoted to him. Today, Kaikeyi, you will see even the beasts, wild animals, birds, and trees all turn toward Rama as he departs.” They urged her, “O Queen, give the finest ornaments to your daughter-in-law, and remove the bark garment from her; but Vasiṣṭha, the sage, forbade that garment, saying it should not be given to her. For it was you, daughter of the king of Kekaya, who chose that only Rama should dwell in the forest. Still, Sita, always adorned, will live there with Rāghava.” “Let the princess go, well attended by the finest vehicles and servants, with all kinds of garments and arrangements; she is not bound by your grant of the boon.” As Sita, protected yet as if unprotected, put on the bark garment, all the people cried out in distress, “Shame on you, Daśaratha!” The king, pained by their outcry, lost faith in life, in virtue, and in his own honor. Sighing deeply, the noble 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.” He continued, “She has done nothing to harm 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.” “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, like fire consumes a dry reed. If Rama has ever done you, O wicked one, any wrongful or improper act, what harm has this lowly Vaidehī shown you here? With eyes wide like 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? I have already promised, as you demanded, O queen, in the presence of all, when you spoke about 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 thus lamented, Rama, ready to depart for the forest, stood with head bowed and spoke: “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. You, who are to be revered, should care for her so that she does not perish from grief for her son; for thinking of me, that devoted woman would live only because of you. You should support my mother, who is like Indra’s consort and now stricken with sorrow, so that while I dwell in the forest, worn down by grief, she does not abandon her life and go to the abode of Yama.” But when King Daśaratha heard Rama’s words and saw him dressed as an ascetic, the king, together with his wife, lost consciousness. Tormented by grief, the king could not even look at Rāghava, nor speak to him, his mind overwhelmed. For a moment, the great-armed king, overcome by sorrow, lost awareness, lamenting and thinking only of Rama. He thought to himself, “Surely, I must have separated many calves from their mothers in the past, or harmed living beings; that is why this has come upon me. Yet, even though the time has not come, my life does not leave my body; though I am tormented by Kaikeyi, death does not come to me. I see before me my son, shining like fire, standing there, having set aside his fine garments and taken on the ascetic’s attire—all these people are distressed because of that one Kaikeyi, who, striving for her own gain, has resorted to this deceit.