Stricken with grief, Queen Kausalya poured out her sorrow, her heart heavy with loss. She likened herself to a loving mother cow, bereft of her calf by the force of a lion—helpless and forlorn, made so by Kaikeyi’s actions. “How can I, who have but one son—endowed with every virtue and learned in all the scriptures—bear to live without my child?” she lamented. “My strength is gone, for I no longer see my beloved son, nor the mighty Lakshmana. Today, a terrible fire, born of my grief for Rama, consumes me, just as the summer sun scorches the earth with its blazing rays.” At this moment, the noble and steadfast Sumitra, devoted to righteousness, approached Kausalya, who was lost in her lamentation. With gentle wisdom, Sumitra spoke, “O noble lady, your son shines with all good qualities and stands foremost among men. What purpose does such grief and pitiful weeping serve? Rama, mighty as he is, has renounced the kingdom, performing a noble deed for his great-souled father who keeps his word. He follows the path of virtue, which always bears fruit after this life; such a son is not to be mourned. “Lakshmana, ever sinless and compassionate to all beings, conducts himself with the highest virtue. Such a great soul will surely find success. And Vaidehi, though raised in comfort, follows your righteous son, fully aware of the hardships of forest life. Rama, who upholds the banner of fame in this world, devoted to righteousness and truth, will surely attain the fruits of his virtue. “Even the sun’s rays, recognizing Rama’s purity and greatness, should not scorch his body. At all times, the gentle wind from the forests will serve him, never too hot or too cold. At night, the cool and soothing moon will embrace sinless Rama like a father, dispelling the heat with its gentle touch. “Remember, it was to Rama that the mighty Brahma gave divine weapons after seeing the lord of the Dānavas, son of Timidhvaja, slain in battle. That hero, a tiger among men, will dwell in the forest without fear, just as he would in his own home. Enemies who come within the range of his arrows meet their end—how could the earth not remain under his rule? “With his fortune, valor, and noble nature, Rama will swiftly regain his kingdom once his exile ends. As the sun is to the sun, fire to fire, lord to lord, so is Rama supreme in splendor, glory, and forbearance. He is the foremost among gods and beings; what fault could there be in him, whether in the forest or in the city? “Rama, the best of men, together with the earth, with Sita, and with prosperity, will soon be anointed with all three. When he departed, the people of Ayodhya, struck by grief, shed tears born of sorrow. But what could be unattainable for him, the unconquered hero clad in bark and grass, as fortune follows Sita who is ever by his side? What could be beyond reach for one so skilled with the bow, who bears arrows and sword himself, and for whom Lakshmana goes ahead? “O lady, you will see him again, returned from the forest—abandon grief and delusion, for I speak the truth. You will again see your son, bowing at your feet with his head, like the risen moon. Seeing him re-enter Ayodhya, anointed and resplendent, you will quickly shed tears of joy. “Let there be no sorrow or pain, O lady; nothing inauspicious awaits Rama. Soon, you will see your son with Sita and Lakshmana. O sinless one, you must comfort all these people; why do you now harbor such distress in your heart? You are not meant for sorrow, O lady, whose son is Raghava, for none is greater than Rama, steadfast in righteousness. “Soon, you will see your son, surrounded by friends, bowing in respect, and you will shed tears of joy, like a rain cloud releasing its waters. Rama, the bestower of boons, will return to Ayodhya and gently press your feet with his soft, plump hands. Seeing your heroic son, accompanied by friends, bowing and paying homage, you will sprinkle him with tears of joy, as clouds shower rain upon a mountain.” Thus, Sumitra, with skill and gentle words, comforted Rama’s mother, and then fell silent. Hearing these words from Lakshmana’s mother, Kausalya’s grief melted away, vanishing like an autumn rain cloud that has spent its water. Now, the people of Ayodhya, devoted to the great-souled Rama whose valor was true, followed him as he departed for the forest. Although the king, their friend and protector, had already turned back out of duty, the citizens did not waver—they continued to follow Rama’s chariot, their hearts bound to him in love and loyalty.