Sita, her heart filled with love and resolve, spoke to Rama with gentle firmness. “The hardships of forest life you have described, my beloved, I do not see as faults at all. Out of affection for you, I view them as virtues. The wild creatures—deer, lions, elephants, tigers, sharabhas, camels, wild boars, and all the other animals that roam the forest—will flee at the sight of you, O Raghava. They have never seen your form before, and all are surely afraid of you. By the command of our elders, I must go with you. If I am to be separated from you, Rama, then I would rather give up my life here and now. Even Indra, king of the gods, could not harm me when I am by your side, O Raghava. A woman cannot survive, bereft of her husband—you yourself have shown me this truth. Moreover, O wise one, I once heard from learned brahmanas in my father’s house that I was destined to dwell in the forest. Hearing this prophecy from those holy men, O mighty one, I have always longed for forest life. It is said that I must receive the command to live in the forest, and now that time has come. With you, my husband, I will go—there is no other way for me, my beloved. I will fulfill that command, and let the prophecy of the brahmanas prove true. I am well aware that many hardships await in the forest, O hero, and that only those with untrained minds find them unbearable. As a maiden in my father’s house, I once heard a gentle, ascetic woman speak of forest dwelling before my mother, and since then I have longed for such a life with you. I have pleaded with you many times before, O lord, to let me accompany you to the forest, for I yearn to be with you. I am prepared, O Raghava, for the journey; the life of a hero in the forest appeals to me. With a pure heart and out of love, I will remain sinless, following my husband, for the husband is the highest deity for a wife. Even after death, O blessed one, our union will endure, for so the sacred teachings of the brahmanas declare. In this world, the woman whom a man receives from his fathers, through the sacred rite of water and according to his own dharma, remains his even after death. So why, from your own household, do you not wish to take me, your virtuous and devoted wife? Surely, you ought to take me, who is faithful, destitute, and equal with you in happiness and sorrow, O descendant of Kakutstha—one who shares your joys and pains. If you refuse to take me, who is thus afflicted, then I shall choose death—by poison, fire, or water. Thus, Sita pleaded with Rama in many ways, earnestly desiring to accompany him. Yet the mighty-armed Rama did not consent to take her to the lonely forest. Distressed by his refusal, Maithili’s eyes filled with tears, and she wept bitterly, her sorrow pouring forth like rain upon the earth. Seeing Sita so troubled, Rama, descendant of Kakutstha, sought to comfort her. Wishing to dissuade her, he spoke many gentle words to Vaidehi, who was seized by grief and anger. Consoled by Rama’s words, Sita, daughter of Janaka, spoke once more, determined to go with him. Greatly distressed, she addressed Raghava with a blend of affection and pride: “What did my father, the king of Mithila, think when he accepted you as his son-in-law? Did he see a woman in the form of a man? If people say out of ignorance that Rama lacks great energy, they are mistaken, for you shine like the sun. What have you done to deserve such trouble, or what fear do you have, that you would abandon me, your wife who has no other refuge? Know me to be like Savitri, devoted to Satyavan, the heroic son of Dyumatsena—always acting according to your will. I will never, in my mind, look upon any man but you, O faultless one. I would rather follow you, Raghava, than bring disgrace upon my family by acting otherwise. Yet you wish to give your wife, who is pure and has lived with you since youth, to others, like a dancer, O Rama. To the one for whose sake you strive, and to whom you have spoken rightly, you should always be obedient and compliant, O faultless one. Without taking me, you should not set out for the forest; whether it be asceticism, wilderness, or heaven, let me be with you. Nor will I feel any weariness on the path, as I follow behind you, just as I do 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. The dust raised by the great wind, falling 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? Whatever leaves, roots, or fruits you bring me, whether little or much, I will consider as sweet as nectar. There, in the forest, I will not remember my mother, father, or home, as I delight in the seasonal flowers and fruits with you.” Thus did Sita, steadfast and loving, express her unwavering devotion and longing to share Rama’s exile, her words glowing with faith, courage, and the deepest affection.