Although it was by Kaikeyī’s will alone that Rāma was chosen to dwell in the forest, the noble Sītā, ever adorned, resolved to accompany Rāghava into exile. Let the princess, said the elders, go attended by the best of vehicles and servants, with all manner of garments and arrangements—for she was not bound by the boon granted to Kaikeyī. As Sītā, seemingly unprotected though watched over, donned the simple garment of bark, the people of Ayodhyā cried out in anguish, “Shame on you, Daśaratha!” The king, deeply troubled by their outcry, lost faith in life, in righteousness, and in his own honor. With a heavy heart, the great king of the Ikṣvāku line sighed deeply and spoke to his wife, Kaikeyī: “Sītā should not go to the forest clad in this garment of kuśa grass. She is delicate, youthful, and accustomed only to comfort. My revered teacher has spoken truly—she is not fit for the rigors of the forest. “This ascetic daughter of Janaka does nothing to harm anyone. Standing here among the people, wearing bark, she appears senseless—like a wandering mendicant. Let the daughter of Janaka cast off these bark garments. Never before have I 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 kept. But you, out of childishness, have accepted this—do not let it consume you, as fire consumes dry reeds. If Rāma has ever wronged you, O wicked one, what harm has this gentle Vaidehī shown you? With eyes wide as a startled deer, gentle in nature and noble in mind, what harm could Janaka’s daughter ever have done to you? “Surely, O wicked one, sending Rāma into exile is enough for you. Why do you commit these further pitiful and sinful acts? I have already promised, as you demanded in front of all, when you spoke of Rāma’s consecration. Now, by exceeding that, you seek to go to hell, for you even wish to see Maithilī clad in bark.” As his father spoke thus, Rāma, ready to depart, with head bowed, addressed him: “This is my mother, Kausalyā—righteous, renowned, aged, and noble. She does not blame you, my lord. O giver of boons, you should honor her—now bereft of me and plunged into a grief she has never known. Please care for her, so she does not perish from sorrow 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, she does not abandon her life and go to Yama’s abode.” Hearing these words of Rāma and seeing him clothed as an ascetic, King Daśaratha and his wife lost consciousness, overwhelmed by grief. The king, tormented, could not look at Rāghava, nor speak to him, his mind overpowered by sorrow. For a moment the great-armed king lost awareness, lamenting and thinking only of Rāma. He mourned, “Surely, in some past life I must have separated many calves from their mothers, or harmed living beings; that is why this has come upon me now. Yet, even though my time has not come, my life does not leave my body; though tormented by Kaikeyī, death does not claim me. I see before me my son, shining like fire, standing there, having set aside his princely robes for the garb of an ascetic. All these people are distressed because of Kaikeyī alone, who, seeking her own gain, has resorted to deceit.” His senses overwhelmed by tears, the king could only utter “Rāma” once, unable to say more. After a moment, regaining consciousness, his eyes filled with tears, he spoke to Sumantra: “Harness the chariot, drawn by the finest horses, and bring it here. Take this noble one far from the city into the countryside. Thus, it seems, this is the reward for virtue among the virtuous: that a noble hero is sent into exile in the forest by his own father and mother.” Hearing the king’s command, Sumantra, swift in action, yoked the adorned chariot with excellent horses and came at once. Bowing with joined palms, the charioteer announced to the prince that all was ready. The king then summoned one responsible for managing wealth, and, wise in time and place, always pure in resolve, instructed him: “Quickly bring for Vaidehī these excellent garments and great ornaments, counting out enough for the years ahead.” Thus addressed, the man went to the treasury, brought everything at once, and quickly gave all to Sītā. Adorned with those splendid ornaments, noble Vaidehī set out for the forest, her beauty undiminished. Thus adorned, she shone forth in the house like the sky at dawn, illuminated by the rising sun. Embracing her with both arms, her mother-in-law, weeping, smelled the head of Maithilī and spoke these words to her beloved daughter.