Sita, full of resolve and love, pleaded with Rama in many ways to let her accompany him to the forest. Yet, despite her earnest entreaties, the mighty-armed Rama would not consent to take her with him into the lonely wilderness. Hearing his words, Maithili—Sita—was overcome by anxiety. Tears, warm and unrestrained, flowed from her eyes, as if bathing the earth in her sorrow. Witnessing her distress, Rama, the noble Kakutstha, sought to dissuade her gently. He consoled Vaidehi, who was seized by anger and grief, speaking to her with many soft and comforting words. Consoled by Rama’s kindness, Sita, the daughter of Janaka, spoke again, her heart set on dwelling with him in the forest. Though greatly distressed, she addressed Raghava, whose chest was broad, with affection and pride. “What did my father, the king of Mithila, think of you, Rama, when he received you as his son-in-law? Did he see a woman in the form of a man? Alas, if people, out of ignorance, claim that you lack energy, it is false—for you shine 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? Know me to be like Savitri, ever devoted to Satyavan, the heroic son of Dyumatsena, always acting according to your will. I will not, even 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—pure, who 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. 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? Whatever leaves, roots, or fruits you bring me, whether little or much, I will consider it as sweet as nectar. There, I will not remember my mother, father, or home, as I enjoy the seasonal flowers and fruits. Nor should you expect to see anything unpleasant there; because of me, you will not have sorrow, nor will I become a burden to you. “With you, even heaven is heaven; without you, it is hell. Knowing this, O Rama, go with me, for I have the highest love for you. But if you do not take me, unwavering as I am, to the forest, I will drink poison at once—may I not fall under the power of those who hate me. Even afterwards, in sorrow, I will have no life; abandoned by you, my lord, death at that moment would be better. I cannot endure this grief even for a moment—how then, sorrowful, for fourteen years?” Tormented by grief, Sita lamented at length, embracing her husband tightly and crying out loudly in distress. Struck by many painful words, like a female elephant wounded by arrows, she released long-held tears, like fire bursting from kindling. From her eyes, like lotuses, flowed water as clear as crystal, born of her anguish. Her face, white and pure as the moon, with wide eyes, was dried by tears, like a lotus with its water drawn away. Then Rama embraced her with his arms, as if she were senseless with grief, and spoke words to comfort her. “O lady, truly, not even heaven pleases me if it comes with sorrow; I have no fear at all, like the self-born creator. Without knowing your every wish, O auspicious one, I do not desire to dwell in the forest, even though I am able to protect you. Since you were created together with me for dwelling in the forest, Maithili, my affection for you, as for my own self, cannot be abandoned. “Indeed, O daughter of Janaka, I would not go to the forest if my father’s command, strengthened by truth, did not compel me. This is righteousness, O woman of lovely hips: obedience to father and mother. If I were to disregard their command, I could not bear to live. How can one worship destiny, which is not under one’s control, by neglecting those who are—mother, father, and teacher? Where these three exist, O woman of auspicious eyes, it is as pure as the three worlds on earth; nothing else equals it, and thus it is to be revered. “Neither truth, nor charity, nor honor, nor sacrifices with abundant gifts, O Sita, are as powerful as service to one’s father. Heaven, wealth, grain, knowledge, children, and happiness—nothing is unattainable through devoted service to one’s teacher. Great souls devoted to mother and father attain the worlds of the gods, Gandharvas, cows, and even Brahma’s realm.” Thus, in these moments of sorrow and love, Sita and Rama spoke their hearts, bound by duty, devotion, and affection, preparing themselves for the path ahead.