Sītā, her heart resolute and filled with devotion, spoke to Rāma with gentle determination. “Rāma,” she said, “you are strong enough to protect even strangers in the forest—how much more so me, O bestower of honor! Therefore, without doubt, I will accompany you to the forest today. O greatly fortunate one, once I have resolved upon something, I cannot be turned back. “I will live on fruits and roots alone, never causing you distress, staying by your side always. I will walk ahead of you on the path, and only eat after you have eaten. Afterwards, I long to see the mountains, the ponds, and the lakes, together with you. With you as my wise protector, I will fearlessly behold the lotus-filled waters, where swans and cranes gather, blooming in their beauty. “Joined with you, O hero, I wish to happily see these sights; I will perform my ablutions in those ponds, always devoted to you. With you, O wide-eyed one, I will delight in supreme happiness, whether for a hundred years or a thousand, so long as we are together. I will never transgress your wishes; even the joys of heaven do not tempt me. If it were possible to dwell in heaven without you, O Rāghava, O tiger among men, I would not desire even that. “I am ready to go to the forest, though it is exceedingly difficult and filled with deer, monkeys, and elephants. I will dwell there as if in my father’s house, holding your feet, with your approval. My devotion is unwavering, my heart is bound to you; if I am separated from you, I am resolved to die. Take me with you, I beg you; I will not be a burden to you.” Though Sītā spoke thus, her words full of righteousness, Rāma, the foremost of men, did not wish to take her. He spoke many words to dissuade her, addressing her sorrow at the thought of forest life. Now begins the twenty-eighth chapter. Rāma, ever devoted to righteousness, listened to Sītā’s earnest plea, knowing her virtue. Yet, his heart was troubled as he considered the hardships of the forest, and he did not resolve to take her. Seeing her eyes stained with tears, he sought to comfort her, speaking words meant to persuade her to remain behind. “Sītā,” he said gently, “you are born 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 to dwell in the wilderness; it is called a forest because it is full of dangers. I speak out of concern and wise counsel. There, happiness is unknown to me; only sorrow is found in the forest. The roars of lions, born from mountain streams and living in mountain caves, are painful to hear—thus, the forest brings distress. Wild animals, fearless and intoxicated, roam deserted places. Seeing them, Sītā, the forest becomes a place of sorrow. “The rivers are filled with crocodiles, muddy and hard to cross—even elephants struggle there. The forest is more difficult still, full of suffering. The paths are overgrown with thorny vines, echoing with the cries of peacocks, lacking water, and exceedingly hard. One sleeps on beds of leaves, broken and scattered on the ground, weary from toil at night—thus, the forest is even more painful. “Day and night, one must be content, with self-restraint, living on fruits fallen from the 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 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, the forest is full of hardship. There is intense wind, darkness, and constant hunger, and great dangers abound—therefore, the forest is even more painful. “Many serpents, of various forms, O beautiful one, boldly roam the paths—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—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.” Yet, even though Rāma, the great-souled one, did not decide to take her to the forest, Sītā did not heed his words. Deeply distressed, she prepared to speak to Rāma again. Now begins the twenty-ninth chapter. Hearing Rāma’s words, Sītā, her face streaming with tears, deeply troubled, slowly spoke to him once more.