Sumantra was commanded to harness the chariot, drawn by the finest horses, and bring it forward, so that the noble prince might be taken far from the city into the countryside. Reflecting on this, it seemed that among the virtuous, this was the reward for virtue: that a noble hero would be sent into exile in the forest by his own father and mother. Upon hearing the king’s command, Sumantra, swift and attentive, yoked the adorned chariot with its excellent horses and made his way to the palace. After joining the golden-adorned chariot to the splendid steeds, he announced its readiness to the prince, bowing respectfully with joined palms. Meanwhile, the king, urgent and wise in both timing and circumstance, summoned an attendant responsible for the treasury. He instructed him to quickly bring for Vaidehī—Sītā—the finest garments and splendid ornaments, carefully counting out enough for the years ahead. Obedient to the king’s request, the attendant went to the treasury, gathered all the necessary items, and promptly delivered them to Sītā. Adorned with those various beautiful ornaments, Sītā, noble Vaidehī, prepared herself for the journey to the forest, her limbs beautified by the gifts. Thus adorned, Sītā made the house glow, much like the dawn sky illuminated by the rising sun. Her mother-in-law, Kausalyā, weeping, embraced Sītā with both arms, smelling her head affectionately, and spoke heartfelt words: “In this world, women, though always honored by their dear ones, do not support their fallen husbands; they are unfaithful. Such is the nature of women: once having 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 son who has departed to the forest; whether he is wealthy or destitute, he remains your god among all.” Sītā, 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. Noble lady, you should not try to persuade me by improper means; I am incapable of deviating from righteousness, just as light cannot depart from the moon. A lute cannot be played without strings, nor can a chariot move without wheels; even a woman with a hundred sons cannot find happiness without her husband. A father gives in measure, a brother gives in measure, a son gives in measure; but who would not honor the husband, the giver of the immeasurable? Thus, having become devoted to the highest virtue and the teachings of righteousness, how could I, noble lady, ever disregard my husband, for to a woman the husband is divine.” Hearing Sītā’s words, which touched her heart, Kausalyā, pure in spirit, suddenly shed tears born of both sorrow and joy. Seeing her, with joined palms, highly honored among mothers, Rāma, supremely righteous, spoke gently to his mother: “Mother, do not be sorrowful; you should look upon my father. Even the period of my stay in the forest will soon come to an end. Fifteen years will pass for you as if in sleep, and you will see me here again, surrounded by friends.” Having spoken these words to his mother, Rāma looked upon the hundreds of mothers gathered there. Then, the son of Daśaratha, afflicted as they were, addressed his mothers with joined palms, speaking words grounded in righteousness: “Whatever harshness has occurred, even unknowingly, through living together, I ask you all to forgive me; I entreat you.” A sound arose among them, like the cry of cranes, as Rāghava spoke thus to the king’s wives. The house of Daśaratha became as it once was, resounding like drums, cymbals, and thunderclouds—filled with lamentation and grief, plunged into misfortune, and exceedingly sorrowful. Let the fortieth chapter be heard. Then, Rāma, Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa, with hands joined in reverence, circled the king, sorrowful, performing the ritual circumambulation. Having received the king’s permission, the righteous Rāghava, together with Sītā, bewildered by grief, bowed to his mother. Lakṣmaṇa, following his brother, bowed to Kausalyā, and once more, he grasped the feet of his own mother, Sumitrā. His mother, weeping, spoke to Saumitri as he bowed, wishing him well, and kissed Lakṣmaṇa, the mighty-armed, on the head. She said, “You are sent for dwelling in the forest, devoted to your dear ones; do not be careless, my son, as you follow your brother Rāma. Whether in adversity or prosperity, this is your path, O blameless one; it is the dharma of the virtuous to be obedient to the elder. This conduct is fitting for this noble lineage, eternal: giving, initiation in sacrifices, and self-sacrifice in battle.” Having thus spoken to Lakṣmaṇa, Sumitrā, who loved Rāghava, repeatedly urged him, “Go, go.