The King listened to Rama’s words with profound attention, his heart heavy with the sense that this might be the last conversation with his beloved son, now standing before him as a paragon of ascetic virtue and walking sanctity. Though he longed to speak, no words escaped his lips, his mind engulfed in a trance-like state amidst the serene presence of the ascetic trio. His thoughts, burdened with remorse and bitter reflections, drifted through the turbulent waves of memory: “In my fervor for conquest, I may have torn countless children from their parents, their grief returning to me now, as if the universe repays every deed twofold, as the wise have always warned. Life is bound by time; it neither hastens nor delays at the whim of mortal desires. I must endure this fragmented existence, for the decrees of destiny are unassailable. Kaikeyi’s treachery has unleashed untold calamities, not only upon my house but upon the countless souls tethered to it. For all my years of grandeur, I failed to foresee the devastation wrought by selfish motives. Could I have discerned this beforehand, I would have enacted laws to prevent such ruin and elevated humanity beyond such suffering.”
Gripped by this storm of despair, Dasaratha issued a command to Sumantra: “Prepare the finest chariot, sturdy and swift, capable of traversing the roughest terrains. Escort this ascetic trio to the borders of Ayodhya.” Even as he gave this order, his heart broke. “What cruel twist of fate,” he thought, “that a brave, noble, and virtuous son must be exiled to the forest, stripped of his wealth and glory by the very parents who are sworn to protect him. What message does this send to the world, that goodness is met with such cruel reward? Yet, in my blindness, I fail to grasp the divine design woven into this sorrow.”
Sumantra, meticulous in his task, selected strong, untiring horses from the rugged Malva hills and a chariot of single-mold craftsmanship for easy maneuvering through treacherous paths. Dasaratha summoned his loyal treasurer, Dhanapala, and instructed him to provide garments and ornaments resilient to the harsh forest climate. These were presented to Sita, who, adorned with these gifts, shone resplendently, her radiance surpassing even the lamps of Kaikeyi’s palace.
Kausalya embraced Sita, her voice steady despite her grief: “Sita, there are moments when even the most devoted wife may find herself at odds with her husband. But you, O daughter of Janaka, are above such trivialities. Your father raised you with unparalleled grace and wisdom, and it is the fortune of the Ikshvaku dynasty to call you its own. Your devotion and virtue illuminate our lineage. Though my heart trembles at the thought of parting, I entrust my son to you, knowing that your purity of heart will shield him through all trials. Guard him, as eyelids guard the eye.”
Sita, understanding the depth of Kausalya’s words, replied with serene conviction: “Respected Mother, your wisdom fills me with strength. I know the sacred duties of a wife, as taught by the ancients. Dharma flows through my veins, as light resides in the moon and rays in the sun. Just as a lyre cannot sing without its strings or a chariot cannot move without its wheels, so too am I inseparable from Rama. Father, mother, and siblings provide limited sustenance to a woman, but a husband elevates her to boundless heights. How, then, could I ever forsake Rama? Fear not, for our bond is eternal. Bless me, and let your mind find peace.”
Kausalya, comforted by Sita’s words, felt her strength return, her heart filled with divine assurance. Rama, with reverence, circled his mother and said, “Mother, do not grieve. Fourteen years will pass swiftly, as if in a dream. I will fulfill my vow and return to you with honor. Until then, care for my father, and let your prayers guide me.” He then turned to the other women of the royal household, folded his hands, and spoke with humility: “If I have ever wronged you through carelessness or pride, knowingly or unknowingly, I beg your forgiveness. Pardon me for any disrespect I may have shown.”
Overwhelmed by Rama’s impeccable courtesy and selflessness, the women wept and prayed for his safety, invoking Lord Vishnu to protect him in the wilderness. The once jubilant halls of Kaikeyi’s palace, resounding with music and hymns, now echoed with sorrowful wails, the air thick with despair. Yet even in this atmosphere of grief, Rama’s conduct shone like a beacon of virtue, exemplifying the highest ideals of duty, compassion, and respect.
As the chariot was prepared, the intricate designs of fate unfolded, revealing profound lessons in human decency and divine purpose. Rama, the Maryada Purushottama—the perfect embodiment of virtue—stood as a testament to the unyielding grace and dignity with which one must face the trials of life, leaving an indelible mark on all who bore witness.