As Rāma prepared to depart for the forest, Sītā stood before him, her resolve shining in her eyes. “O Rāghava,” she said, “if you set out today for that difficult forest, I will go before you, clearing the way—treading down the grass and thorns so your path is smooth. Cast away any jealousy or anger toward me, as one discards water left after drinking. Lead me with confidence, O hero; there is no fault in me. “No matter where we are—atop a palace, in a flying chariot, or moving through the sky—in every place, the shade of a husband’s feet is the highest shelter for a wife. My mother and father have instructed me in many ways, but now, there is nothing more for them to say. I must act as I have resolved. “I will go to the wild forest, devoid of men, filled with many kinds of deer and frequented by tigers. I shall dwell happily there, just as I did in my father’s house, caring nothing for the three worlds, thinking only of my devotion to you. 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, your own wife! Therefore, I will go with you to the forest today, without doubt. O greatly fortunate one, once I am resolved, I cannot be turned back. “I will always subsist on fruits and roots; 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 the mountains, ponds, and lakes. With you as my wise protector, I will fearlessly behold the lotus ponds, filled with swans and cranes, blooming beautifully. Joined with you, O hero, I wish to happily see them and perform ablutions in those ponds, always devoted to you. “With you, O wide-eyed one, I will delight in supreme happiness—together for a thousand years, or even a hundred. 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, if 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 with him. He spoke many words to dissuade her, addressing her sorrow over the prospect of dwelling in the forest. Rāma, who loved righteousness, saw Sītā’s steadfastness and virtue, but his mind could not resolve to take her, for he pondered the hardships of the forest. Comforting her, whose eyes were stained with tears, the righteous one spoke gently, seeking to persuade her to remain behind. “Sītā,” he said, “you are of noble lineage and always devoted to righteousness. Remain here and practice virtue, so that my mind may be at ease. O gentle one, you must do as I tell you. Listen, for there are many dangers in the forest for those who dwell there. “Let go of this intention for forest dwelling, Sītā. The wilderness is called so because it is full of dangers. I speak this out of concern and wise counsel; I have never known happiness there, only sorrow always in the forest. “The roars of lions, born from mountain streams and living in 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. “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. “Many serpents, of various forms, O beautiful one, roam the paths boldly—therefore, the forest is even more painful. Snakes dwelling in rivers, moving along their winding courses, block the way—thus, the forest is even more difficult. Moths, scorpions, insects, and biting flies always torment the weak—thus, the forest is entirely full of suffering.” Thus, Rāma tried to dissuade Sītā, painting for her the true hardships of the forest, out of deep concern and love for her well-being.