When Rāma entered his own splendidly adorned house, filled with delighted people, his face was turned slightly downward out of modesty. Sītā, noticing his arrival, rose up trembling. As her eyes met her husband’s, she saw that he was stricken with sorrow, his senses disturbed by anxious thoughts. The righteous Rāghava, seeing his beloved, could no longer contain the grief in his heart, and his distress became plain upon his face. Observing her husband, pale-faced, sweating, and without resentment, Sītā was herself tormented by sorrow and gently asked, “What is this, my lord? Today is the auspicious day of Bṛhaspati joined with Puṣya, as declared by the learned Brahmins, O Rāghava. Why, then, are you so troubled in mind?” She continued, “Your charming face, which is usually shaded by the hundred-ribbed white umbrella like sea-foam, does not shine forth today. Nor is your lotus-eyed face fanned by the two chief fly-whisks, bright as the moon and swan, as is customary. I do not hear the delighted bards and heralds praising you, O bull among men, nor do the Sūtas and Magadhas recite auspicious verses. The Brahmins, masters of the Vedas, are not anointing your head with honey and curds as prescribed for one about to be consecrated. The citizens and chiefs of the guilds, adorned for celebration, do not wish to follow you, nor do the townspeople and countryfolk gather as before. Why is your foremost flower-adorned chariot, yoked with four swift horses and adorned with gold, not leading your way? Nor do I see your splendid elephant, honored for all auspicious marks, dark as a rain cloud or mountain, at the head of your procession, O hero. Nor do I see your beautiful, golden-embellished royal seat placed in front, as you proceed at the head. Now that your consecration is prepared, why is this shadow upon you? Your face is unfamiliar, and no joy is seen.” As Sītā lamented thus, the delight of the Raghus spoke to her, his voice gentle: “Sītā, my father is sending me to the forest. Born in a great family, a knower and follower of righteousness, listen, Jānakī, to how this has come to pass. Long ago, my father, King Daśaratha, true to his word, granted two great boons to Kaikeyī, my mother. Now, as my consecration was being prepared and the king was set to install me, she has claimed her promise, and bound by righteousness, my father is fulfilling it. By his command, I must dwell in the Daṇḍaka forest for fourteen years, and Bharata is appointed to the heir-apparency. “So I have come to see you as I set out for the lonely forest. In Bharata’s presence, you must never speak of me. Men endowed with prosperity do not tolerate praise of others; therefore, my virtues must not be spoken of before Bharata. The everlasting heir-apparency has been given to him by the king; he must be especially honored by you, Sītā, and so too the king. And I, upholding that promise to my teacher, will go to the forest today itself; be steadfast, O resolute one. “When I have gone, O auspicious one, to the forest frequented by sages, you must devote yourself to vows and fasting, O blameless one. Rise early, and perform worship of the gods as prescribed; bow to Daśaratha, my father, lord of the people. My mother Kausalyā, aged and worn by sorrow, putting righteousness first, deserves your special honor. You must always bow to my other mothers as well; with affection, devotion, and service, they are all as mothers to me. You must especially regard Bharata and Śatrughna as equal to brothers and sons, for they are dearer to me than life. Never do anything displeasing to Bharata; for he, O Vaidehī, is king of the land and the family. Kings, when honored by good conduct and diligently served, are pleased, but are angered in the opposite case. Kings may even abandon their own sons if they act harmfully, and they accept capable people, even if they are outsiders. “Therefore, O blessed one, remain here, devoted to the king, delighting in righteousness towards Bharata, and steadfast in truth and vows. I shall go to the great forest, dear one; but you must stay here, O beautiful lady. Just as you have never done wrong to anyone, so you must act according to my word.” Now, listen to the next sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Thus addressed, Vaidehī, who was worthy of affection and spoke sweetly, became angry out of love and spoke these words to her husband: “What is this you are saying, Rāma? Surely these words are spoken lightly. Hearing them, O best of men, I think you are mocking me. Such unworthy and disgraceful words should not be spoken by you, O prince, among heroes, sons of kings, and those skilled in weapons and missiles. “O noble one, father, mother, brother, son, and daughter-in-law—all enjoy their own merits and pursue their own destinies. But a woman alone partakes in her husband’s destiny, O best of men; therefore, I too have been instructed to dwell in the forest. For women, neither father, nor son, nor self, nor mother, nor friends are the way—here or hereafter; the husband alone is always their path.