When Dharma Walks Ahead of Power >>>>> Simplified and faithful rendering of the Adi Kavya-36 >>>>> Rama’s Departure from Ayodhya Human Cost of Truth : Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 When Dharma Walks Ahead of Power

Simplified and faithful rendering 

of the Adi Kavya-36

Rama’s Departure from Ayodhya

Human Cost of Truth

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

The preceding episode of the Ayodhya Kanda concluded with Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana completing their inner preparation for exile through charity, restraint, and moral resolve, and thus, demonstrating that renunciation in the Ramayana is never abrupt, impulsive, or careless, but deeply responsible and inwardly mature. What follows in this chapter is the outward unfolding of that resolve, as private determination confronts public emotion and familial bonds are tested by the weight of truth.

This section narrates the immediate prelude to Rama’s departure and exile into the forest, to be undertaken along with his brother Lakshmana and his wife Sita Devi, a moment where dharma moves from principle to practice. Here, Valmiki does not merely describe a prince leaving a city, but he presents a society witnessing the cost of righteousness when promises override power, and when personal affection yields to ethical obligation. Fathers and mothers grieve, ministers protest, citizens lament, and yet the course of truth remains unaltered. For contemporary readers, this episode speaks directly to moments when doing what is right is neither popular nor painless, but still necessary.

When Dasharatha, moved purely by paternal affection, instructed his minister Sumantra to arrange for a large military contingent to follow Rama into the forest, Rama firmly but respectfully declined the offer. He made it clear that exile could not coexist with royal protection. Subsequently, at the insistence of Kaikeyi, jute-cloths befitting sages and ascetics were brought for the three. Rama and Lakshmana accepted these coarse garments with quiet dignity and wore them without hesitation. In doing so, Rama silently affirmed that renunciation is not merely about leaving behind comforts, but about consciously refusing privileges that dilute the very meaning of sacrifice.

Sita Devi, however, felt momentarily unsettled and uneasy at the thought of wearing the ascetic garments. Observing her hesitation, Rama approached her gently and demonstrated how the jute-cloths were to be worn, fastening them over her silken attire. This simple yet deeply symbolic act, of a husband guiding his wife into a life of hardship, moved the women present in the palace chamber to tears. Earlier, when Rama had heard of Dasharatha’s decision to send an army with him, he had questioned its purpose, asking how royal forces could accompany one who had already renounced pleasures, severed attachments, and resolved to live on forest fare like a nomad. The episode reminds modern readers that true transformation demands inner consistency, that, one cannot cling to symbols of security while claiming to embrace a path of self-denial.

Rama compared his father’s decision to send an army with him to the act of abandoning a noble, well-trained elephant while clinging instead to the rope that binds it. He further remarked, with gentle irony, that if he were truly to live in the forest for fourteen years, he should be provided not with soldiers and luxuries, but with the garb of the destitute, along with a shovel and a basket befitting one who survives on forest life. Taking his words literally and without compassion, Kaikeyi shamelessly brought two pieces of bark made of kusa grass and commanded Rama to discard his finely woven garments and clothe himself in them. Here, the gulf between dharma-inspired renunciation and power-driven cruelty becomes starkly visible, reminding us how authority, when devoid of empathy, can turn obedience into humiliation.

Rama at once donned the garb of an ascetic, and Lakshmana followed his brother without a moment’s hesitation. When it came to Sita, Rama himself stepped forward and gently assisted her, fastening the bark garments over her silken robes. At this sight, the women assembled in the palace chamber broke down in tears. The garments made of kusa grass, coarse in texture, measure roughly three arm-lengths when worn, one piece tied across the chest, another in front near the knees, and a third at the back. The deliberate description of these garments underscores the physical and emotional distance between royal luxury and ascetic austerity, making Sita’s transition all the more poignant.

Overwhelmed with grief, the women implored Rama not to take Sita with him to the forest. Yet, even as their voices trembled with distress, Rama continued fastening the bark garment, resolute in honoring Sita’s unwavering resolve. Witnessing this, the Chief Priest Vasistha intervened and sternly rebuked Kaikeyi. Addressing her as one who was evil-minded, who had exceeded all bounds, and who had brought disgrace upon her lineage, he declared that she was neither upholding righteous standards nor guiding the king along the path of dharma. At this moment, the voice of moral authority rises above royal command, reminding every age that power must ultimately answer to conscience.

Vasistha declared to Kaikeyi that Princess Sita would not proceed to the forest but would instead ascend the throne that rightfully belonged to Rama. Affirming that Sita was inseparable from Rama, indeed, his very self, Vasistha asserted that she was fully qualified to rule the earth in his stead. He further proclaimed that if Sita herself chose to accompany Rama to the forest, then all of them would follow her, and even the city of Ayodhya would move with her.

According to these principles, there exists no distinction between husband and wife; therefore, the wife may legitimately occupy the throne in place of her husband. The words of the Ramayana themselves, Vasistha affirmed, possess the authority of the Vedas, and to seek further proof of them would be like lighting a lamp to reveal the sun. This assertion speaks powerfully to modern sensibilities, affirming moral equality and shared responsibility within marriage, even while rooted in ancient dharmic thought.

Vasistha further suggested that Bharata and Shatrughna, clad in garments of bark, would join their elder brother Rama in forest life. Turning sharply toward Kaikeyi, he remarked that she alone might then be left to rule a kingdom emptied of people and rendered desolate, for a land where Rama does not reign cannot truly be called a kingdom at all. He warned her that even if she were to leap from the earth to the sky, Bharata, who was well versed in the traditions and moral legacy of his father’s dynasty, would never act in accordance with her wishes. In essence, Vasistha made it clear that there was no one in the world who was not devoted to Rama. Leadership, the passage reminds us, derives legitimacy not from position but from the trust and devotion it commands.

Having spoken thus, Vasistha prevented Sita from wearing the bark garments brought by Kaikeyi. He instructed that Sita be adorned daily, decorated with ornaments, and permitted to accompany Rama to the forest in dignity, traveling in excellent conveyances, attended by servants, and provided with all necessary apparel and accessories. He emphasized that Kaikeyi had never demanded Sita’s exile when she sought her boons, and therefore had no authority to impose such humiliation upon her. Yet, despite these powerful words spoken by Vasistha, the royal preceptor, and who was unrivalled in influence and foremost among Brahmanas, Sita remained unwavering in her resolve to follow her husband in every circumstance. Here, personal conviction quietly surpassed even authoritative protection, revealing devotion as a freely chosen path rather than an imposed obligation.

Notwithstanding Vasistha’s forceful words, when Sita proceeded to wear the garments of kusa grass at Kaikeyi’s command, appearing momentarily helpless despite the protection of her husband, and amid the loud protests of those present against Kaikeyi’s conduct, King Dasharatha felt as though he had lost all interest in life, religious merit, and royal dignity. Breathing heavily, he spoke out in anguish, laying bare his heart. He declared that Sita did not deserve to wear such coarse bark garments and asserted that she, delicate and long accustomed to comfort, was not suited to the hardships of forest life. At this point, Dasharatha’s anguish reflected the inner collapse of authority when moral responsibility was overshadowed by forced obligation.

Dasharatha further stated that Sita, the daughter of King Janaka, had committed no offence whatsoever that would warrant her wearing the bark of trees. He emphasized that he had made no such pledge earlier, and therefore she should be permitted to accompany Rama joyfully, fully provided with all necessary and valuable possessions. He lamented that a cruel vow had been extracted from him on oath, one so grievous that he felt unworthy of continuing to live. He also made it clear that the insistence on hermit’s robes for Sita had arisen solely from Kaikeyi’s childish obstinacy. The passage exposed how literalism devoid of compassion can turn promises into instruments of cruelty.

Dasharatha went on to say that even if Rama had committed some slight offence against Kaikeyi, Sita had done nothing to deserve such treatment. To go beyond what he had originally consented to, he argued, was wholly unjust. In this context, Andhra Valmiki Vavilikolanu Subbarau (Vasudasa Swamy), in his faithful Telugu rendering of the Sanskrit Valmiki Ramayana, undertaken with the same number of verses as the original shlokas, offers an interpretive remark on this episode. His observation as detailed below, helps bridge textual fidelity with ethical reflection, allowing later generations to grasp both the letter and the spirit of the narrative.

‘It has already been affirmed that Sita Devi is a Pativrata (Faithful and dutiful to Husband) and equal in conduct to her husband. If such an exemplary devoted wife were to see her husband donning garments of bark-fiber, how could she herself wear silk robes? Would that not amount to a breach of her vow? Dharma itself answers in the negative. For even if she were to wear silk garments, she would not be doing so out of sensual desire, nor seeking pleasure or enjoyment. Precisely because, she is a Pativrata, equal in conduct, Sita, despite repeated objections and prohibitions by elders like Vasiṣṭha, gladly chose to wear the bark garments alone.’

Thus, overwhelmed by grief, the king saw no end to his suffering. Saturated with intense devotion to his son and deeply wounded by the unfolding events, Dasharatha collapsed upon the ground. Rama, even as he stood on the threshold of exile, approached his father with humility, bowed his head, and sat beside him, offering words of consolation. Rama gently reminded him that his mother Kausalya was advanced in age, of unblemished character, and would never harbor resentment toward her husband. In this moment, Rama’s concern extended beyond his own hardship, revealing leadership rooted in empathy rather than self-pity.

Rama urged Dasharatha to care for Kausalya with even greater tenderness, for she had been deprived of his presence, submerged in sorrow, and unfamiliar with such overwhelming affliction. He emphasized that she now needed her husband’s affection more than ever, especially as she endured the pain of her son’s departure to the forest. The passage quietly underscored a timeless truth: in times of collective crisis, responsibility shifts toward protecting the most emotionally vulnerable.

Hearing Rama’s words and beholding him clad in bark-fiber garments, Dasharatha once again lost consciousness. Consumed by grief, he could neither look upon Rama nor speak to him directly. For a time, he lay insensible, tormented by remorse and absorbed entirely in thoughts of his son. He uttered Rama’s name only once, his voice choked by tears, and could say no more. Regaining consciousness at last, he instructed Sumantra to prepare a chariot, strong and well-fitted, yoked with excellent horses, and to convey Rama, the noble prince, beyond the boundaries of Ayodhya. Here, the final act of a broken father became an irreversible turning point, sealing exile not merely as a royal decree, but as a lived human tragedy.

Sumantra departed and soon returned with a finely adorned chariot, yoked to superb horses, and made ready for the journey. Thereupon, the king summoned the officer in charge of the treasury and instructed him to bring for Sita garments of great worth and ornaments of the finest quality, that are to be sufficient for all the years she was to spend in exile. The command was promptly carried out, and the treasures were placed before her. As she prepared to depart for the forest, Sita adorned her graceful limbs with those exquisite jewels, illuminating the palace like the rising sun brightens the sky.

Embracing Sita and inhaling the fragrance of her head in a gesture of deep affection, her mother-in-law Kausalya imparted to her words of righteous counsel. Even at the edge of renunciation, dignity and grace were preserved, not as indulgence, but as expressions of inner worth. Kausalya said to her: ‘Women who are dishonest, though constantly cherished by their husbands, lose respect for them when adversity arises, including poverty. Having once enjoyed happiness, such women abandon their husbands, that was the nature of the ignoble.’

‘Young women who are evil-minded were untruthful in disposition, driven by passion, and difficult to comprehend. Their aversion arises in a moment. Neither noble birth, nor personal accomplishment, nor learning, nor gifts, nor even pleasures can secure the hearts of such women, for their minds lack stability. But women who are firmly grounded in good conduct, truthfulness, sacred learning, and inner tranquility regard their husbands alone as the most sacred presence in their lives.’ The counsel, though severe in expression, seeks not condemnation but discernment, urging steadfastness of character over the fluctuations of circumstance.

Andhra Valmiki, Vavilikolanu Subbarau (Vasudasa Swamy), in his Telugu rendition of Valmiki’s Ramayana, offers an interpretive comment on this passage, clarifying that the description is not meant to apply to all women, but is contextually directed at a particular type. He wrote: ‘Not all women behave in this manner. Such actions are attributed only to women like Kaikeyi, who are fickle-minded, unstable in their hearts, and dull-witted. When one wishes to firmly fix a pillar, it must first be shaken well from side to side in the pit and only then secured tightly. In the same way, Kaushalya began by describing the characteristics of wicked women in order to warn others, not to behave like Kaikeyi. Thereafter, she went on explaining the qualities of a virtuous and exemplary woman who is worthy of emulation.’

Perceiving that Kausalya’s words were imbued with the essence of righteousness, Sita responded with composed humility, affirming that she would conduct herself exactly as her mother-in-law desired toward her husband. She added that she had long been familiar with these principles and was incapable of deviating from the path of virtue. Sita then declared: ‘A father bestows in limited measure, a mother too in limited measure, and even a son gives in moderation, but a woman offers herself entirely to her husband, who is the giver of boundless purpose. Having learned the special and general duties of a wife from noble women, how could I ever disregard my husband, who is regarded as a deity by women?’ Sita’s words reveal devotion not as submission, but as a conscious moral alignment freely chosen.

Hearing Sita’s resolve, Kausalya was overcome with emotion and began to weep. Rama then approached his mother and gently urged her not to grieve, requesting instead that she take special care of his father. He consoled her by saying that the fourteen years of exile would pass as swiftly as sleep, and that she would soon see him return in full strength, surrounded by well-wishers. Here, Rama offered hope not by denying suffering, but by placing it within a larger horizon of time and purpose.

Having spoken thus, Rama cast a thoughtful glance upon his three hundred and fifty stepmothers and offered his respectful salutations to them as well. Thereafter, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana bowed at the feet of Dasharatha and circumambulated him reverently with folded palms. After taking leave of the king, Rama and Sita bowed together before Kausalya. The gestures of farewell reaffirm that reverence for elders remains intact even when destiny demands separation.

Lakshmana then bowed to Kausalya and next to his own mother, Sumitra, who, weeping yet resolute, offered him her final counsel. She told him that she had granted him permission to dwell in the forest with his elder brother Rama and urged him never to neglect him. Whether in adversity or in prosperity, she said, Rama alone must be his refuge. Declaring that it should become a guiding principle for the world that the younger brother remains subject to the elder, she instructed Lakshmana to regard Rama as Dasharatha himself, to look upon Sita as his own mother, to consider the forest as Ayodhya, and to depart with a peaceful heart. Sumitra’s counsel transforms exile into belonging, redefining home not as a place, but as the presence of righteousness.

Andhra Valmiki, Vavilikolanu Subbarau (Vasudasa Swamy), in his Telugu rendition of Valmiki’s Ramayana, offers an interpretive comment on this passage, and wrote that: {{Sumitra instructed Lakshmana in dharma so that, if he were to face hardships while following Sri Rama, he would not be overcome by thoughts of his parents or of Ayodhya. She advised him to relinquish attachment to Dasharatha, saying that Dasharatha’s love was ‘conditional’ (Sopadhika), and that one should not rely upon or cling to relationships that are conditional in nature.

She further stated that, Sri Rama is your natural and unconditional father. Therefore, your love should rest entirely with him. Do not be attached to me. Even if you have great affection for me, and I for you, of what use is it? Can I relieve your suffering? Hence, maintaining a maternal attachment toward me yields no real benefit. Janaki is, by her very nature, your mother. Even a single act of reverence to her will ensure your protection, ‘Janaki who becomes gracious upon surrender.’

Sumitra continued and said that, Ayodhya without Sri Rama is no better than a forest, wherever he resides, that place alone is Ayodhya. Therefore, affection toward us brings no gain. The place where Sri Rama dwells is the destination you should seek. All the virtues present in Dasharatha exist in Sri Rama; thus, when Sri Rama stands before you, there is no need to recall Dasharatha at all. The happiness you would experience in Ayodhya will be equally present in the forest. Through the constant companionship of Sri Rama, you will attain uninterrupted fulfillment even in the wilderness.

In this context, some argue that Lakshmana’s conduct was severe. In seeking permission for his forest exile, Lakshmana did not go to the houses of Sumitra or Urmila. Sri Rama himself instructed Lakshmana only to obtain his mother’s consent and made no mention of seeking his wife’s approval; he merely told him to inform his well-wishers and return quickly, said Sumitra. Be that as it may, in Valmiki’s Ramayana, the name of Urmila appears only in the Bala Kanda and nowhere else. Perhaps, in the narrative world Valmiki intended to present, her role was not considered essential.

In reality, between Sita and Urmila, it was Urmila who endured greater suffering. Sita attained greater renown due to the force of circumstances; without events such as her abduction, she may not have achieved such fame. Being with her husband, she did not experience physical hardship to the same extent. In contrast, Urmila, separated from her husband during his exile, renounced all comforts, abandoned adornment, and lived in constant meditation upon him. It must therefore be said that Urmila endured deeper mental anguish than even Sita}}.

Sumantra then requested Rama to ascend the chariot, assuring him that he would drive swiftly to whatever destination Rama chose. With quiet restraint, Sumantra also reminded him that the fourteen years of forest life were to be regarded as having already begun. Adorned with the precious ornaments presented by her father-in-law, Sita mounted the chariot first. Rama and Lakshmana then followed, quickly taking their places in the chariot, which gleamed like fire and was richly decked with gold. The moment marks the formal crossing from royal life into exile, where ceremonial grandeur stands in poignant contrast to the renunciation it carries.

With the help of attendants, weapons and sturdy armor covered in leather were placed securely in the center of the chariot. Sumantra then urged the horses forward, their speed likened to the force of the wind. As Rama departed for the long forest sojourn, a wave of stunned silence and faintness swept through the city. The strength of the people seemed to drain away, and Ayodhya resounded with tumult, its elephants in rut trumpeting loudly and the ornaments of horses rattling sharply. Stricken by unbearable anguish, the city itself appeared to surge forward after Rama. Collective grief here becomes a public emotion, revealing how deeply moral leadership binds a community.

Running alongside the chariot, leaning toward its sides and rear, their tear-filled faces fixed upon Rama, the people cried aloud to Sumantra to halt and proceed slowly. They begged for a final glimpse of Rama’s face, knowing that it would soon become painfully rare. In their anguish, they praised the virtues of Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana, as well as the noble character of Kausalya. Tears flowed freely, unrestrained by decorum. At that moment, King Dasharatha too emerged from the palace, surrounded by women overwhelmed with grief. The people’s lament shows that the loss of a righteous leader is felt not as political change, but as personal bereavement.

On seeing his father and the surging crowd, Rama instructed the charioteer to drive the chariot swiftly forward, even as the people cried out for it to stop. Caught between conflicting commands, the charioteer stood momentarily paralyzed. Valmiki poignantly observes that the dust raised on the road was soaked and silenced by the falling tears of the citizens. After their cries reached a crescendo, many collapsed in overwhelming agony, while tears poured from the eyes of women like unceasing streams. Overcome by grief, Dasharatha too fell to the ground. The imagery captures collective sorrow as a force capable of stilling even the earth itself.

Glancing back, Rama beheld his father Dasharatha, stricken with sorrow and confusion, and his mother Kausalya following on foot along the road. Bound firmly by the cord of righteousness, Rama could not bring himself to gaze openly upon them. Seeing his parents, who were worthy of chariots, long accustomed to comfort, and undeserving of such suffering, but walking behind him, Rama once again instructed the charioteer to drive faster. He could not bear the sight of their anguish. Here, restraint becomes an act of compassion, as Rama preferred distance to spare both himself and his parents further pain.

Again and again, Rama saw Kausalya running after the chariot, crying out ‘Oh Rama! Oh Sita! Oh Lakshmana!’ her tears flowing unchecked as she staggered forward like one dancing in distress. Dasharatha shouted ‘Stop’ while Rama insisted ‘Proceed,’ leaving Sumantra torn between obedience and pity. Yielding to Rama’s command, the charioteer drove the horses still faster, even as the people struggled to follow.

Though the citizens eventually turned back in body, their minds remained fixed upon Rama, and their tears showed no sign of abating. The Ministers advised King Dasaratha that, they should not follow Rama to a long distance except to wish him to come back after the exile so that they may see him. Hearing their words, Dasaratha felt miserable, stopped short, staring at his wife, at his son Rama, with his whole body sweaty and wearing a dejected look. The passage lays bare the human cost of righteousness when duty demands separation from love.

Thus ends one of the most heartrending passages of the Ayodhya Kanda, where Rama’s departure from Ayodhya transforms exile from a legal decree into a collective human tragedy. The city did not merely watch him go, but it ran after him, wept for him, and collapsed in his absence. Dasharatha’s fall, Kausalya’s anguished pursuit, and the citizens’ helpless cries together revealed that righteousness, while morally luminous, can cast long shadows of sorrow.

Yet, it is precisely here that Rama’s greatness becomes most evident. He did not turn back, not out of hardness of heart, but because compassion itself demanded restraint. By choosing distance, he spared his parents prolonged suffering and by choosing exile, he preserved the sanctity of truth. Power, in this moment, stands stripped of authority, while dharma alone commands obedience. Rama taught that leadership was not measured by how many follow you, but by how firmly you stand when you must walk alone.

This episode prepared the ground for what was ahead. Ayodhya had lost its prince in body, but gained an enduring moral compass. As the narrative moves forward into forest life, the reader understands that Rama had already relinquished the throne within himself. What follows is not merely a journey through the wilderness, but the unfolding of ethical leadership, where sacrifice becomes strength, obedience becomes freedom, and truth, though costly, remains victorious across time.

>>>>Photographs courtesy Rama Bhakta Vijaya Raghava Dasu

{{From my Published Book ‘Simplified and Faithful Rendering of the Adi Kavya’

Valmiki Ramayana: The Greatest Epic (Bala and Ayodhya Kandas)}}

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