Rāma, reflecting on the duties and realities of kingship, explained to Sītā that rulers may even forsake their own sons if they act harmfully, and instead accept capable individuals, even if they are outsiders. He urged her, “Therefore, O blessed one, remain here, devoted to the king, delighting in righteousness towards Bharata, and steadfast in truth and vows. I must go to the great forest, dearest, 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.” As the tale continues in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa, Sītā—Vaidehī, who was cherished and gentle—became angry out of deep love. She addressed Rāma, her husband, saying, “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.” She 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.” Sītā implored him, “Casting away jealousy and anger, as one discards water left after drinking, lead me, O hero, with confidence—there is no sin in me. 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.” She expressed her determination: “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.” She declared, “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. With unwavering devotion and a heart attached to you, separated from you, I am resolved to die; take me, kindly grant my request, and by me your burden will not be increased.” Though Sītā spoke thus, full of righteousness, Rāma, the foremost of men, did not wish to take her. He spoke many words to dissuade her, addressing her sorrow over dwelling in the forest. The narrative continues. Rāma, loving righteousness and seeing Sītā’s virtue, still did not resolve to take her, pondering the hardships of the forest. Then, comforting her whose eyes were stained with tears, the righteous one spoke these words to persuade her to stay: “Sītā, you are of noble lineage and always devoted to righteousness; remain here and practice virtue so that my mind may be at ease. Sītā, you must do as I tell you, O gentle one; listen, for there are many dangers in the forest for those who dwell there.” He explained, “Sītā, let go of this intention for forest dwelling; the wilderness is called so because it is full of dangers. I speak this out of concern and wise counsel; I never know happiness there, only sorrow always in the forest. The roars of lions, born from mountain streams and living in mountain caves, are painful to hear; thus, the forest is distressing. Wild animals, fearless and intoxicated, play in deserted places; seeing them, Sītā, the forest is therefore sorrowful. The rivers, filled with crocodiles, are muddy and hard to cross; even for elephants, the forest is more difficult and full of suffering. The paths are overgrown with thorny vines, echoing with the cries of peacocks, lacking water and exceedingly hard—thus, the forest is full of hardship. One sleeps on beds of leaves, broken and scattered on the ground, weary from toil at night—therefore, the forest is even more painful.” Thus, Rāma and Sītā stood, each expressing their devotion, concern, and resolve, as the moment of departure drew near, their hearts filled with love and duty.