As King Daśaratha lay upon his bed, weakened and broken by grief, Queen Kausalyā, tormented by sorrow for her beloved son Rāma, approached him and spoke with anguish to the ruler of the earth. “O tiger among men,” she said, “now that Kaikeyī has poured out her venom against Rāghava, she will wander freely about, crooked in her ways, just like a serpent that has shed its old skin. Having exiled Rāma, the fortunate one, and fulfilled her selfish desire, that wicked woman will torment me again, like a venomous snake lurking in the house. “Now, in this city, Rāma will be reduced to going from house to house, begging for alms. At Kaikeyī’s whim, you would even grant my own son as a servant! Having cast Rāma down from his rightful position at her bidding, just as she pleased, he has been thrown away like an offering to demons at a sacrifice by the fire-priest. That heroic, broad-armed, bow-bearing lord, whose gait is like a king of serpents, surely now enters the forest with his wife Sītā and with Lakṣmaṇa. “What fate awaits those who have never known such sorrow, abandoned to the forest by your consent, at Kaikeyī’s urging? Deprived of all wealth, still in their youth, exiled at the very time when they should be enjoying the fruits of life—how will those wretched ones survive, living only on fruits and roots? If only this might be the end of my grief, if I could see Rāghava here, together with his wife and brother. “When will Ayodhyā, hearing that the two heroes have returned, become glorious again, its people rejoicing, its banners raised high? When, seeing those tiger-like men returning from the forest, will the city be filled with joy, like the ocean at the full moon? When will the mighty-armed hero, my son, enter the city of Ayodhyā, with Sītā before him in the chariot, like a great bull with his heifers? “When will the thousands of people on the royal road shower parched grain upon my two sons, the subduers of enemies, as they enter? When will I see my two sons, adorned with splendid earrings, entering Ayodhyā, their swords raised high, like twin-peaked mountains? When will the joyful maidens with flowers and the twice-born with fruits, circling the city, perform auspicious rites as they enter? “When will the righteous one, mature in wisdom and age, shining like a rain cloud, return, bringing delight like the good season? Without doubt, O hero, I believe that in the past, because of some miserly woman, mothers’ breasts were cut off when they wished to suckle their children. I have been made, like a cow by a lion, a loving mother deprived of her calf; by Kaikeyī, O tiger among men, I have been rendered helpless, like a cow whose calf has been taken by force. “How can I, who have but one son endowed with all virtues and learned in every scripture, endure life without my child? Indeed, I find no strength left in my life here, as I do not see my beloved son and the mighty Lakṣmaṇa. For today, a great and terrible fire, born of grief for my son, consumes me, just as the radiant sun scorches the earth with its rays in the heat of summer.” As Kausalyā lamented in this way, Sumitrā, steadfast in righteousness, approached her and spoke words of comfort and wisdom. “O noble lady,” she said gently, “your son is adorned with all good qualities and is foremost among men; what use is there in such lamentation and pitiful weeping? Your son, O noble one, has departed, giving up the kingdom—mighty as he is—performing a noble deed for his great-souled father who is true to his word. “Rāma, established in righteousness and supreme among men, follows the path practiced by the virtuous, which always yields fruit after death; he is never to be grieved for. Lakṣmaṇa, ever sinless, conducts himself with the highest virtue; compassionate to all beings, such a great soul will surely attain success. Though accustomed to comfort, Vaidehī follows your righteous son, knowing well the hardships of forest life. “He who upholds the banner of fame in the world, devoted to righteousness and truth—why should your son not attain the highest good? Clearly, recognizing Rāma’s purity and supreme greatness, even the sun’s rays should not scorch his body. At all times, the gentle and pleasant wind, emerging from the forests, will serve Rāghava, being moderate in heat and cold. At night, the cool moon, soothing and gentle, will embrace the sinless Rāma like a father, dispelling the heat as he touches him. “To whom the mighty Brahmā gave divine weapons, after seeing the lord of the Dānavas, son of Timidhvaja, slain in battle—such a hero, tiger among men, relying on his own strength, will dwell in the forest without fear, just as he would in his own house. Enemies who come within the range of his arrows meet their destruction; how then can the earth not remain under his rule? With the fortune, valor, and noble nature that belong to Rāma, once his forest exile ends, he will swiftly regain his own kingdom. “As the sun is to the sun, fire to fire, lord to lord, so is he supreme in splendor, glory, and forbearance. He is the foremost among gods and beings; O noble lady, what faults could there be in him, whether in the forest or in the city? Rāma, the best of men, together with the earth, with Sītā, and with prosperity, will soon be anointed with these three.” Thus, Sumitrā sought to soothe Kausalyā’s aching heart, reminding her of Rāma’s righteousness and destiny, and urging her to have faith that joy would yet return to Ayodhyā.