When Sītā heard Rāma’s words, she was taken aback and questioned him, “What is this you are saying, Rāma? Surely, you do not speak these words seriously. Hearing them, O best of men, it seems as if you are making sport of me.” She continued, her voice steady though her heart was full, “Such unworthy and disgraceful words should not pass your lips, O prince—not among heroes, sons of kings, and those skilled in weapons and missiles.” Sītā then spoke with unwavering conviction, “O noble one, father, mother, brother, son, and daughter-in-law—all pursue their own destinies, each enjoying the fruits of their own actions. But a wife 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 ultimate refuge—here or hereafter; the husband alone is always their path.” Her devotion shone as she declared, “If you set out for the difficult forest today, 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. 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.” She recalled her upbringing, “My mother and father have instructed me 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.” With gentle determination, she continued, “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! 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.” Sītā promised, “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.” Her love was steadfast, “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.” She concluded with unwavering resolve, “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, the foremost of men, Rāma, did not wish to take her. He spoke many words to dissuade her, addressing her sorrow over the prospect of dwelling in the forest. Now begins the next chapter. Rāma, ever righteous and loving of dharma, saw Sītā’s steadfastness and knew her virtue, yet still he hesitated to take her, pondering the hardships of the forest. Then, comforting Sītā, whose eyes were stained with tears, the righteous one spoke gentle words to persuade her to remain. “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. Sītā, let go of this intention for forest dwelling; the wilderness is called so because it is full of dangers.” Rāma spoke with care and concern, “I say this out of love 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.” He described the hardships further, “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.” He explained the life they would face, “Day and night, one must be content, with self-restraint, living on fruits fallen from trees—thus, Sītā, the forest is full of hardship. Fasting must be observed as long as life endures, O Maithili, and one must bear matted hair and wear garments of bark. Rites for the gods and ancestors must be performed according to rule, and arriving guests must always be honored. A thrice-daily bath must be performed at the proper times, always with discipline by those dwelling there—thus, the forest is even more difficult. Offerings must be made with flowers gathered by oneself, according to the Vedic rite upon the altar—thus, Sītā, the forest is full of hardship.” Thus spoke Rāma, his heart full of love and concern, seeking to protect Sītā from the many trials that lay ahead in the forest.