Rama, his heart steadfast and guided by dharma, spoke with gentle firmness to those around him. “Righteousness,” he declared, “is the highest principle in this world. Upon righteousness, truth itself stands firm. Even my father’s command springs from righteousness and is most noble. O hero, when one has pledged to the words of a father, mother, or a Brahmin, one who abides in righteousness must never disregard them in vain.” He turned to Lakshmana, his voice unwavering. “For this reason, I cannot go against my father’s command a second time. Urged by Kaikeyi, I am bound by his word. So, abandon this resolve of yours, though it springs from the noble duty of a warrior. Instead, take refuge in righteousness, not in harshness. Let your mind follow mine in this path.” Having spoken thus to his beloved brother, Rama, the elder of Lakshmana, joined his palms, bowed his head, and addressed his mother Kausalya with deep reverence. “Grant me your permission, Mother, as I prepare to leave for the forest. You are as dear to me as my own life. Please perform the auspicious rites for my journey. Having fulfilled my vow, I shall return from the forest to Ayodhya, just as King Yayati, once abandoned, returned again to heaven. Bear your grief within your heart, Mother. Do not give in to sorrow. I will return from the forest, having fulfilled my father’s command.” He continued, “By you, by myself, by Vaidehi, by Lakshmana, and by Sumitra, we must all abide by our father’s command. This is the eternal law. So, Mother, gather what is needed for my journey and restrain your sorrow. Since my mind is set on dwelling in the forest, let me follow this path in righteousness.” Hearing these words—so steadfast, so unwavering in their commitment to dharma—Queen Kausalya, as if returning to life from the depths of despair, looked upon Rama and spoke again. “Just as your father is to you, so am I—your teacher, by duty and by love. I do not permit you, my son, to leave me, so deeply afflicted as I am. What is life to me without you? What is the world, or even the nectar of immortality? A single moment with you is dearer to me than all the world of the living.” Rama, hearing his mother’s sorrowful lament, was overcome with deeper grief, as if a mighty elephant, driven by torches, plunged further into darkness. He saw his mother, nearly senseless with pain, and Lakshmana, tormented by anguish. Yet, steadfast in righteousness, Rama spoke words fitting for the moment. “Lakshmana, I know well your devotion and valor. But since my intention is not being considered, do not, along with my mother, distress me with such deep sorrow.” He continued, “In this world, righteousness, wealth, and desire—all arise from the fruits of righteousness. All who dwell here, without doubt, are as obedient as a devoted wife with her sons. One should pursue that in which all are united, from which righteousness arises. For one who seeks only personal gain becomes hated, and self-indulgence is never commendable. Who, after considering what is right, would fail to carry out the task assigned by a teacher, king, father, or elder, whether out of anger, joy, or desire?” Rama’s voice was gentle but firm. “I am not able to fulfill my father’s promise entirely as it should be, for he is our teacher by command, the husband of the queen, and the very path of righteousness. While the king, who is the embodiment of dharma, still lives and follows his own path, how could the queen accompany me, like a woman bereft of her husband? Do not be angry with me, O queen, as I go to the forest. Offer me your blessings, so that when my time is complete, I may return, just as Yayati returned by truth.” He added, “I do not seek great fame for the sake of the kingdom. In this brief span of life, O queen, today I choose the lesser earth, but not unrighteously.” Having thus sought to comfort his mother, Rama, resolute in his decision to depart for Dandaka, earnestly instructed his younger brother and, in his heart, circumambulated his mother. Now, let the twenty-second chapter be heard. Rama then approached Lakshmana, his dear friend and brother, who stood nearby, deeply distressed and burning with indignation, his eyes blazing like a furious lord of elephants. Rama, ever steadfast in spirit, spoke to Lakshmana with composure, restraining himself with courage. Suppressing his own anger and sorrow, relying on fortitude alone, he set aside humiliation and embraced the highest joy. He said, “Whatever has been prepared for my consecration, let all that be quickly withdrawn. Carry out this task without delay. O Saumitri, the efforts made for my consecration must now be directed toward its cancellation. Let us act so that our mother, whose mind is troubled by my consecration, may not remain anxious. I cannot endure, even for a moment, the pain of suspicion arising in her mind, O Saumitri. I do not recall ever, knowingly or unknowingly, doing anything slight or displeasing to my mothers or father. My father, who is truthful and steadfast in his vows, always devoted to truth, should be fearless, fearing only the consequences in the next world. If this act is not carried out, even for her, my mind would be troubled by the thought that truth is not upheld, and her anguish would afflict me.” “Therefore, Lakshmana, let us withdraw the arrangements for the consecration. I wish to go to the forest at once. Today, with my departure into exile, the king’s wife will have accomplished her purpose. Then let them consecrate her son Bharata, free from anxiety. When I have gone to the forest, wearing bark garments and matted locks, Kaikeyi will find peace of mind. The decision that has brought this about, and the mind so resolved, I ought not to disturb. I will depart into exile without delay. O gentle one, it is fate alone that must be seen in both my banishment and in the reversal of the kingdom that had already been bestowed.” Thus, Rama, unwavering in his adherence to righteousness and with a heart full of compassion and resolve, prepared to fulfill his father’s word, even as grief and love welled up within his family.