Sītā, with deep conviction and unwavering devotion, spoke to Rāma, expressing her resolve to accompany him into exile. She explained, “O noble one, father, mother, brother, son, and daughter-in-law—each enjoys their own merits and pursues their own destinies. But a wife alone partakes in her husband's destiny, O best of men; thus, 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.” Her voice steady, Sītā continued, “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. 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. My parents have instructed me in many ways; now, there is nothing more to say to me—I must act as I have resolved.” She painted a vivid picture of the forest, “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 there, 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!” Her determination was clear. “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.” Sītā’s words overflowed with love, “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. 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 addressed her sorrow over dwelling in the forest, speaking many words to dissuade her. Now begins the twenty-eighth chapter. Rāma, loving righteousness and knowing Sītā’s virtue, did not resolve to take her, pondering the hardships of the forest. Comforting her, whose eyes were stained with tears, the righteous one spoke gently 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. Let go of this intention for forest dwelling; the wilderness is called so because it is full of dangers.” He spoke 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.” He described the daily trials, “One sleeps on beds of leaves, broken and scattered on the ground, weary from toil at night—therefore, the forest is even more painful. 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. Contentment must be maintained with whatever is obtained, O Maithili, and with whatever food is found in the forest—thus, Sītā, the forest is full of hardship. There is intense wind, darkness, and constant hunger; and great dangers here—therefore, the forest is even more painful.” Thus, Rāma sought to persuade Sītā to remain behind, explaining the many hardships and dangers of the forest life, his heart full of concern for her well-being.