Amid the tempestuous atmosphere, Kausalya, engulfed in anguish, speaks incoherently and paces with a heavy heart. She implores Sumantra, her voice trembling, to take her to the forest without delay, exclaiming, “My soul longs to see Rama, Sita, and the dutiful Lakshmana!”
With calm demeanor and hands folded in respect, Sumantra replies, “O noble queen, do not let grief, obsession, and sorrow cloud your wisdom. Rama is destined to dwell in the forest, free from worldly attachments. Lakshmana, steadfast in mind, body, and soul, serves Sita and Rama with unwavering devotion. Sita, though raised in royal splendor, thrives in the forest without a trace of regret or discontent. She embraces the ascetic life with the same joy she once found in palace gardens. Her spirit, attuned to Rama’s presence, transforms the wilderness into a haven more blissful than heaven itself.
“Even amidst the forest, Sita’s curiosity brings her joy—observing trees, flowers, and fruits, befriending birds and animals. I recall her dancing with the breeze, running after butterflies, and mimicking the songs of birds. Her childlike wonder finds solace in the natural world, and her devotion to Rama fills her mind with divine thoughts, steadying her in all circumstances. She draws transformative energy from Rama’s presence, making the forest life a desirable one.”
Despite Sumantra’s eloquent assurances, Kausalya’s grief remains unassuaged. Turning to the king, she laments, “O King, though the three worlds may laud your virtues, my sorrow for my sons and Sita is immeasurable. How can Sita, so delicate, endure the harshness of the forest? Accustomed to the finest foods and soothing music, how will she survive on roots and fruits amidst the roars of wild beasts and the hissing of serpents? Rama and Lakshmana, once resting their heads on silken pillows, now sleep on grass. My heart must be made of diamond to endure such anguish!
“O King, you, who sent my son to the forest, lack compassion. Even if Rama returns after fourteen years, will he reclaim the throne? He, like the sacrificial tools used in a yajna, will not accept power tainted by another’s rule. His self-respect knows no bounds; his anger, if provoked, could shatter mountains. Had he chosen to display his strength, none could withstand him. You discarded such a son—does this align with dharma?
“A woman depends first on her husband, then on her son, and lastly on her relatives. I have lost the first in you, the second by exile, and the third by fate. You have closed all doors of solace for me. In doing so, you have destroyed the kingdom, the counsel of ministers, the citizens, and your own legacy. Only Bharata and Kaikeyi remain unscathed.”
Kausalya’s tirade, unbridled and relentless, overwhelms the ailing king. Her words, born of profound grief and logic untamed by consequence, reflect the depth of her despair. She embodies the anguish of a mother robbed of her son, a queen bereft of hope, and a woman grappling with the cruel hand of fate. Her lament, though harsh, is a natural expression of a heart broken by loss and an unyielding love for her dear ones.
