Sītā, with unwavering resolve and deep devotion, spoke to Rāma. She declared that she would be as happy living in the forest as she was in her father’s house, caring nothing for the grandeur of the three worlds, thinking only of her love and duty to her husband. She promised to serve him always, disciplined and chaste, and to delight with him, O hero, in the honey-scented woods. Sītā reminded Rāma that he was capable of protecting others in the forest—how much more so her, his wife, whom he honored. Therefore, she insisted, she would accompany him to the forest that very day, her resolve unshakable and not to be turned back. She assured Rāma that she would live on fruits and roots, never causing him distress, always dwelling by his side. Sītā said she would walk ahead of him, eat only after he had eaten, and then wish to see the mountains, ponds, and lakes. With Rāma as her wise protector, she would fearlessly behold the lotus ponds, filled with swans and cranes, blooming beautifully. Joined with him, she wished to happily see those places, perform ablutions in the ponds, and remain ever devoted. With him, O wide-eyed one, Sītā would find supreme happiness, whether for a thousand years or even a hundred, so long as they were together. She would never transgress; even heaven did not appeal to her. If heaven were possible without Rāma, O Rāghava, O tiger among men, she would not desire even that. She declared her willingness to go to the forest, though it was exceedingly difficult and filled with deer, monkeys, and elephants. She would dwell there as in her father’s house, holding his feet, with his approval. With unwavering devotion and a heart attached to him, she could not bear separation; if parted from him, she was resolved to die. She pleaded that he grant her request, assuring him that she would not increase his burden. 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 and spoke many words to dissuade her. The next chapter began, and Rāma, loving righteousness and recognizing Sītā’s virtue, still did not resolve to take her, pondering the hardships of forest life. Comforting her, whose eyes were stained with tears, the righteous one spoke words to persuade her to stay. He said, “Sītā, you are of noble lineage and always devoted to righteousness. Remain here and practice virtue, so that my mind may be at ease. 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 so called because it is full of dangers.” Rāma explained that he spoke out of concern and wise counsel; he never found happiness there, only sorrow always in the forest. The roars of lions, born from mountain streams and living in mountain caves, were painful to hear, making the forest distressing. Wild animals, fearless and intoxicated, played in deserted places; seeing them, the forest was sorrowful. He described the rivers, filled with crocodiles, muddy and hard to cross—even for elephants, the forest was more difficult and full of suffering. The paths were overgrown with thorny vines, echoing with the cries of peacocks, lacking water and exceedingly hard—thus, the forest was full of hardship. One must sleep on beds of leaves, broken and scattered on the ground, weary from toil at night—making the forest 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. Rāma continued, saying fasting must be observed as long as life endures, 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—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, and with whatever food is found in the forest—thus, Sītā, the forest is full of hardship. He described the intense wind, darkness, constant hunger, and great dangers present—making the forest even more painful. Many serpents, of various forms, roamed the paths boldly—making the forest even more painful. Snakes dwelling in rivers blocked the way—thus, the forest is even more difficult. Moths, scorpions, insects, and biting flies always tormented the weak—thus, the forest is entirely full of suffering. The trees were thorny, and there were kuśa and kāśa grasses, with tangled branches—thus, the forest was full of hardship. There were many bodily hardships and various fears for one dwelling in the wilderness—thus, the forest was always full of suffering. Anger and greed must be abandoned, and the mind set on austerity; one must not fear what is fearful—thus, the forest is always full of hardship. Therefore, Rāma concluded, it was not fitting for Sītā to go to the forest; there was no safety for her there. As he considered, he saw the forest brought many dangers. But when Rāma, the great-souled one, did not decide to take her to the forest, Sītā did not heed his words. Deeply distressed, she then spoke again to Rāma.