When King Dasharatha saw Sita, the noble daughter of Janaka, clad in rough garments of bark, he was overcome with sorrow. He said, “Let Janaka’s daughter cast off these ascetic clothes. I have never before made such a vow, nor asked this of her. Let the princess go to the forest as she wishes, adorned with her ornaments and treasures.” He continued, his voice trembling, “It is I, unworthy of life, who made this cruel vow and have kept it strictly. But you, out of childish innocence, have chosen to share in this hardship. Do not let it consume you, like fire devours a dry reed.” Turning to Kaikeyi, Dasharatha pleaded, “If Rama has ever done you any wrong, O wicked one, tell me—what harm has this gentle Vaidehi, Sita, ever shown you? With eyes wide and innocent as a startled deer, gentle in nature and noble in mind, what offense could Janaka’s daughter possibly have given you?” He went on, his grief deepening, “Surely, O cruel one, sending Rama into exile is enough for you. Why do you seek to commit these further pitiful and sinful deeds? I have already promised, as you demanded, before everyone, when you spoke of Rama’s consecration. Now, by insisting on more, you only hasten your own ruin, wishing even to see Maithili dressed in bark-cloth.” As Dasharatha spoke thus, Rama, prepared to depart for the forest, bowed his head and addressed his father. “This is my mother, Kausalya, righteous, renowned, aged, and noble in character. My lord, she does not blame you. O giver of boons, please honor her—now bereft of me, plunged into an ocean of grief, facing a sorrow she has never known. You, who are to be revered, must care for her so she does not perish from grief for her son. Thinking of me, that devoted woman will live only because of you. Please support my mother, who is like Indra’s own 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.” Now begins the thirty-ninth chapter of the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, in the Ayodhya section. When King Dasharatha heard Rama’s words and saw him dressed as an ascetic, he and his wife were overcome and lost consciousness. Tormented by grief, the king could neither look at Rama nor speak to him, his mind overwhelmed by sorrow. For a moment, the great-armed king, thinking only of Rama, was oblivious to the world. In his anguish, Dasharatha lamented, “Surely, in some past life, I must have separated many calves from their mothers or harmed living beings. That is why this suffering has come upon me. Yet, though my time has not come, my life does not leave my body. Though tormented by Kaikeyi, death does not come to me. I see before me my son, radiant as 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, seeking her own gain, has resorted to this deceit.” Having spoken thus, his senses overwhelmed by tears, Dasharatha could only utter “Rama” once, unable to say more. But after a moment, regaining consciousness, his eyes filled with tears, the king spoke to Sumantra, his trusted charioteer: “Harness the chariot, drawn by the finest horses, and bring it here. Take this noble one far from the city, into the countryside. This, it seems, 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 horses and brought it forth. Bowing with joined palms, he announced its arrival to Rama. Meanwhile, Dasharatha, wise in time and place and always pure in resolve, summoned an attendant and said, “Quickly bring for Vaidehi these excellent garments and splendid ornaments, counting out enough for the years ahead.” The attendant went at once to the treasury and brought everything quickly to Sita. That noble Vaidehi, adorned with many beautiful ornaments, prepared to set out for the forest, her limbs radiant with their splendor. Thus beautifully adorned, Sita made the house shine like the sky at dawn, illuminated by the rising sun. Her mother-in-law, Kausalya, weeping, embraced Sita with both arms, smelling the crown of her head, and spoke these words: “In this world, women, though always honored by their dear ones, often do not support their husbands when they fall from fortune; they are unfaithful. Such is the nature of women: having once enjoyed happiness, at the slightest misfortune, they turn away and abandon even their own. Women are ever untruthful, fickle, hard-hearted, and cruel; their minds are set on evil, and their affections last but a moment. Neither family, nor deeds, nor learning, nor gifts, nor even affection—nothing holds the hearts of women, for their hearts are inconstant. But for women who are steadfast in virtue, truth, and learning, the husband alone is the highest sanctity. You must not disregard your husband who has departed to the forest; whether he is wealthy or destitute, he remains your god above all.” Sita, understanding these words imbued with righteousness and purpose, stood before her mother-in-law, joined her palms, and replied, “I will do everything, noble lady, that you instruct me. I know how a wife should conduct herself toward her husband, and I have heard it as well.” Thus, with sorrow and steadfastness, the royal family prepared for Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana’s departure into exile, each bound by duty and love, their hearts heavy yet resolute in righteousness.