Sītā, steadfast and devoted, approached Rāma with a heart full of love and resolve. She spoke to him tenderly, “O hero, I will always serve you, disciplined and observing chastity, delighting with you 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, once I am resolved, I cannot be turned back. I will subsist only on fruits and roots, never causing you 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, 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 spoke many words to dissuade her, addressing her sorrow over dwelling in the forest. The twenty-eighth chapter is to be heard. Rāma, loving righteousness and knowing Sītā’s virtue, 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. 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. 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. The trees are thorny, and there are kuśa and kāśa grasses, O beautiful one, with tangled branches in the forest—thus, the forest is full of hardship. There are many bodily hardships and various fears for one dwelling in the wilderness—thus, the forest is 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, it is not fitting for you to go to the forest; there is no safety for you there. As I consider, I see the forest brings many dangers.” But when Rāma, the great-souled one, did not decide to take her to the forest, Sītā did not heed his words, and then, deeply distressed, she spoke to Rāma. This is the twenty-ninth chapter in the Ayodhyākāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa.