Rāma, son of King Daśaratha, spoke to Sītā with gentle gravity. He explained that his father, true to his word, had once granted two great boons to Kaikeyī, Rāma’s mother. Now, as preparations for Rāma’s consecration were underway and the king was about to install him as heir, Kaikeyī had invoked those boons. Bound by righteousness, Daśaratha was fulfilling his promise. Rāma told Sītā, “By my father’s command, I must dwell for fourteen years in the Daṇḍaka forest, and Bharata has been appointed as heir-apparent. That is why 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 blessed with prosperity do not tolerate praise of others; therefore, my virtues must not be spoken of before Bharata.” He continued, “The everlasting heir-apparency has been given to him by the king. He must be specially honored by you, Sītā, and so too the king. I, upholding the promise to my teacher, will go to the forest today itself. Be steadfast, O resolute one. When I have gone to the forest frequented by sages, you must devote yourself to vows and fasting, O blameless one. Rise early, perform worship of the gods as prescribed, and bow to Daśaratha, my father, lord of the people. My mother Kausalyā, aged and worn by sorrow, putting righteousness first, deserves your special honor. Always bow to my other mothers as well; with affection, devotion, and service, they are all as mothers to me. 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.” Thus begins the twenty-seventh sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Hearing Rāma’s words, Sītā—Vaidehī, worthy of affection and sweet of speech—became angry out of love and spoke to her husband. She asked, “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.” Sītā continued, “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. If you set out today for the difficult forest, O Rāghava, I will go before you, treading down the grass and thorns. Casting away jealousy and anger, as one discards water left after drinking, lead me, O hero, with confidence—there is no sin in me.” She declared, “Whether at the top of a palace, in a flying chariot, or moving through the sky, in every situation, the shade of the husband’s feet is best for the wife. I have been instructed by my mother and father in many ways; now, there is nothing more to say to me—I must act as I have resolved. I will go to the difficult forest, devoid of men, filled with many kinds of deer and frequented by groups of tigers. I will dwell happily in the forest, just as in my father’s house, caring nothing for the three worlds, thinking only of my devotion to my husband. Serving you always, disciplined and observing chastity, I will delight with you, O hero, in the honey-scented woods. You, Rāma, are able to protect even others in the forest—how much more so me, O giver of honor!” Sītā’s resolve was unwavering. “Therefore, I will go with you to the forest today, without doubt; O greatly fortunate one, I cannot be turned back once I am resolved. I will always subsist on fruits and roots, without doubt; I will not cause you any distress, dwelling with you constantly. I will walk ahead of you, and eat only after you have eaten; afterwards, I wish to see mountains, ponds, and lakes. With you as my wise protector, I will fearlessly behold everywhere the lotus ponds, filled with swans and cranes, blooming beautifully. Joined with you, O hero, I wish to happily see them; I will perform ablutions in those ponds, always devoted to you. With you, O wide-eyed one, I will delight in supreme happiness; thus, for a thousand years or even a hundred, together with you. I will not transgress; even heaven does not appeal to me. If residence in heaven were possible without you, O Rāghava, O tiger among men, I would not desire even that. I will go to the forest, though it is exceedingly difficult, filled with deer, monkeys, and elephants; I will dwell there as in my father’s house, holding your feet, with your approval.” Thus, Sītā spoke—her love, resolve, and devotion shining forth, determined to share Rāma’s destiny in the forest, unwavering in her dharma.