Seeing Sītā’s eyes brimming with tears, Rāma, ever righteous and compassionate, sought to comfort her. With gentle words, he tried to persuade her to remain behind, saying, “Sītā, you are born of noble lineage and ever devoted to righteousness. Stay here and pursue virtue, so that my mind may be at peace. Sītā, you must do as I ask, my gentle one. Listen: the forest is filled with dangers for those who dwell there. Let go of this intention to accompany me into the wilderness; it is called a wilderness because it teems with perils. I say this out of concern and wise counsel. In the forest, happiness is unknown to me—only sorrow abides there. The roars of lions, born from mountain streams and living in caves, are painful to hear; thus, the forest brings distress. Wild animals, fearless and intoxicated, roam deserted places, and their presence fills the forest with sorrow. The rivers are muddy, filled with crocodiles, and difficult to cross—even elephants struggle there. The forest is full of suffering. The paths are tangled with thorny vines, echoing with the cries of peacocks, lacking water, and exceedingly hard to traverse—thus, the forest is filled with hardship. At night, one must rest on beds of leaves scattered on the ground, weary from toil—this only increases the pain of forest life. Day and night, contentment and self-restraint are required, 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 matted hair and garments of bark must be worn. Rites for the gods and ancestors must be performed according to rule, and any guest who arrives 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, following the Vedic rite upon the altar—thus, Sītā, the forest is full of hardship. One must be content with whatever is found, O Maithili, and with whatever food the forest provides—thus, Sītā, the forest is full of hardship. There are fierce winds, darkness, constant hunger, and great dangers—therefore, the forest is even more painful. Many serpents of various forms, O beautiful one, wander boldly along the paths—thus, the forest is even more painful. Snakes dwelling in rivers, moving along their winding courses, block the way—making the forest 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 living 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. When I consider it, I see only many dangers in the forest. Despite Rāma’s gentle counsel and his resolve not to take her to the forest, Sītā did not heed his words. Deeply distressed, she spoke to Rāma. Hearing his words, Sītā, her face streaming with tears, slowly replied, “The faults you have mentioned about forest life—I see them as virtues, out of my love for you. The deer, lions, elephants, tigers, sharabhas, camels, wild boars, and all the other creatures that roam the forest—none have ever seen your form, O Rāghava. All of them, upon seeing you, will flee in fear; indeed, all are afraid of you. I must go with you, by the command of our elders. If I am separated from you, Rāma, I would have to abandon my life here. Even Indra, lord of the gods, could not harm me by force when I am near you. A woman bereft of her husband cannot survive; Rāma, you have shown me such an example. Moreover, O wise one, I have heard from brāhmaṇas, long ago in my father’s house, that I am destined to dwell in the forest. Hearing this prophecy from learned brāhmaṇas at home, O mighty one, I have always longed for forest life. It is said that I must receive the command for forest dwelling; so, with you, my husband, I will go—there is no other way, my beloved. I will fulfill that command and depart with you; the time has come—let the brāhmaṇa’s prophecy be true. I know that many hardships are found in forest life, O hero, and are surely endured by those whose minds are untrained. As a maiden in my father’s house, I heard of forest dwelling from a mendicant woman, gentle in conduct, before my mother here. You have been entreated by me many times before, O lord, for the journey to the forest, for I long to go with you.