Sita, Rama, and Lakshmana approached King Dasharatha with reverence, touching his feet and folding their hands in humility. They circumambulated him, seeking his blessings, and then turned to Queen Kausalya to receive her permission, which she granted with tender grace. Lakshmana, with folded hands, then faced his mother, Sumitra, who spoke words of wisdom and resolve:
“My son, I give you, my blessing. Remember, your path is to stand by Rama, your elder brother, through fortune or misfortune, joy or despair. To support one’s elder brother is the dharma of a younger sibling—a principle the righteous hold dear. Be it in yajnas, battles, or acts of generosity, the Royal Code holds steadfast to this virtue. You have chosen well, and I am pleased. Protect Rama and Sita with vigilance. Treat Rama as your father Dasaratha, and Sita as myself. See the forest as your Ayodhya. With your mind aligned to this path, peace shall follow you wherever you tread.”
Her words, brimming with motherly love and royal wisdom, fortified Lakshmana’s resolve.
Thereafter, Sumantra, the venerable charioteer, approached Rama and said, “O Prince of renown, accept my humble salutation. Mount the chariot, and command me where I should take you. You must fulfill Kaikeyi’s boon and dwell in the forest for fourteen years. Let us now commence the journey.”
With grace and poise, Sita ascended the chariot, followed by Rama and Lakshmana. King Dasharatha, envisioning the long exile ahead, arranged forest attire for Sita and armaments—armor, tridents, bows, arrows, swords, and shields—for the brothers, all carefully placed in their accustomed spots on the chariot. Sumantra, skillful and swift, loosened the reins, and the horses galloped smoothly, their hooves silent yet swift.
As the chariot began its course, the citizens of Ayodhya were overcome with despair. The air was heavy with sorrow, and the once-proud elephants and horses of the city grew restless and agitated. The people ran behind the chariot, crying out: “O charioteer, slow down! Let us behold Rama once more; this is our final chance!”
Amidst the grief, one lamented: “Kausalya is blessed to endure this separation. How does she survive, awaiting her son’s return after fourteen years?” Another exclaimed, “Sita, the epitome of virtue, accompanies Rama even in his direst hour, a paragon of loyalty and strength.” And yet another added, “Lakshmana, the truest of brothers, stands firm by Rama, a shining example of fraternal devotion.”
Their sorrowful cries filled the air as Dasaratha, frail and overwhelmed by grief, staggered from the palace to catch a final glimpse of the departing chariot. The royal women followed, their wails rising to the heavens. Rama, sensing the anguish of his parents and subjects, urged Sumantra to hasten.
“Sumantra,” Rama said, “I cannot bear to witness their sorrow. If the king asks why, you did not stop, tell him you could not hear his call amidst the clamour.”
Heeding Rama’s command, Sumantra sought the citizens’ permission and urged the horses to greater speed. Behind them, Dasaratha stood trembling, drenched in sweat, his gaze fixed on the fading silhouette of the chariot. His courtiers and queens surrounded him, their tears flowing unabated, as they watched their beloved Rama disappear into the horizon.
This parting was a moment of profound pathos—a convergence of emotions both devastating and transcendent. Bound by dharma and destiny, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana embarked upon their noble exile, their resolve unshaken. The weight of the divine mission ahead infused their steps with purpose, even as the beauty and complexity of fate’s design revealed itself in hues both sombre and sublime.
Thus, in steadfastness and sacrifice, the trio journeyed onward, their bond fortified for the greater cause, their path illuminated by the light of righteousness.