Hearing Rama’s words, Sita was overcome with distress. Tears streamed down her face as she slowly began to speak to him. “The faults you have described about life in the forest,” she said, “out of my affection for you, I see them as virtues. Deer, lions, elephants, tigers, sharabhas, camels, wild boars, and all the other creatures that roam the forest—because they have never seen your form before, O Raghava, all of them will flee when they see you. Truly, all are afraid of you.” She continued, “I must go with you, as commanded by our elders. If I am separated from you, Rama, I will abandon my life here. Even Indra, the lord of the gods, could not harm me by force while I am near you. A woman bereft of her husband cannot survive, Rama; you have shown me such an example. Moreover, O wise one, I have heard from Brahmanas, long ago in my father’s house, that I must indeed dwell in the forest. Hearing this prophecy from learned Brahmanas at home, O mighty one, I have always been eager 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 Brahmana’s prophecy be true.” Sita acknowledged, “I know that many hardships are found in forest life, O hero, and are surely endured by those whose minds are untrained. When I was 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. I am prepared, O Raghava, for the journey; the forest life of a hero appeals to me. With a pure heart and out of love, I will remain free from sin, following my husband, for the husband is the highest deity. Even after death, O blessed one, my union with you will endure; for such is heard in the sacred teachings of renowned Brahmanas. In this world, the woman whom a man receives from his fathers, through water and according to his own duty, remains his even after death.” She pleaded, “Thus, from your own household, you do not wish to take me, a virtuous and devoted wife—by what reason here? You ought to take me, who is devoted, faithful, destitute, and equal in happiness and sorrow, O descendant of Kakutstha, one who shares your joys and pains. If you do not wish to take me, who is thus afflicted, to the forest, then I shall embrace poison, fire, or water for the sake of death.” Thus, Sita pleaded with Rama in many ways regarding her desire to accompany him, but the mighty-armed one did not consent to take her to the lonely forest. Having been thus spoken to, Maithili fell into anxiety, as if bathing the earth with warm tears flowing from her eyes. Seeing her troubled, Kakutstha, wishing to dissuade her, consoled Vaidehi, who was seized by anger, with many gentle words. Consoled by Rama, Maithili, the daughter of Janaka, spoke again to her husband, determined to go to the forest. Deeply distressed, Sita addressed Raghava, whose chest was broad, with affection and pride. “What did my father, the king of Mithila, think of you, Rama, upon receiving you as a son-in-law—did he see a woman in the form of a man? Alas, if people say out of ignorance that there is no great energy in Rama, it is false, for he shines like the sun. What have you done to be troubled, or what fear is there for you, that you wish to abandon me, who has no other refuge?” She declared, “Know me to be like Savitri, devoted to Satyavan, the heroic son of Dyumatsena, always acting according to your will. I will not, in my mind, look upon anyone but you, O faultless one; I would go with you, Raghava, as another would, bringing disgrace upon her family. You yourself wish to give your wife, who is pure, has lived with you since youth, to others, like a dancer, O Rama. To whom you have spoken what is proper, and for whose sake you strive, you should always be obedient and compliant to that person, O faultless one. Without taking me, you should not set out for the forest; whether it be asceticism, wilderness, or heaven, let it be with you.” Sita continued, “Nor will I feel any weariness on the path, as I follow behind you, just as in times of leisure and rest. The kusha grass, reeds, sharp-pointed stalks, and thorny trees along the way will feel to me, with you, as soft as cotton or deerskin. Beloved, the dust raised by the great wind that will fall upon me, I will regard as precious sandalwood paste. When I lie down on grassy patches in the forest, with bedding made of leaves, what could be more pleasant than that?” Thus, with unwavering devotion and love, Sita pleaded to accompany Rama into the forest, seeing every hardship as a joy so long as she was by his side.