Sita, her heart unwavering and filled with devotion, spoke to Rama with gentle yet determined words. “Know me to be like Savitri, ever faithful to Satyavan, the noble son of Dyumatsena, always acting according to your will. I will never, in thought or deed, look upon anyone but you, O faultless Rama. I would rather follow you into exile than remain behind, bringing disgrace upon my family as another woman might. How can you, Rama, desire to leave behind your wife—pure and steadfast, who has lived with you since youth—as if she were a dancer to be given to others? To the one for whom you strive and to whom you have spoken what is proper, you should always be obedient, O faultless one. Without me, you must not set out for the forest; whether it is for ascetic practice, the wilderness, or even heaven itself, let me be at your side. I will not feel any weariness on the path, following behind you as I do in times of leisure and rest. The kusha grass, reeds, sharp stalks, and thorny trees along the way will, with you beside me, feel as soft as cotton or deerskin. The dust raised by the wind and falling upon me, I shall regard as fragrant and precious as sandalwood paste. When I lie down on beds of leaves in the forest, what could be more pleasing than that? Whatever leaves, roots, or fruits you bring me, whether little or much, I will savor as if it were nectar. There, amidst the forest, I will not remember my mother, father, or home, as I delight in the flowers and fruits of the seasons. You need not fear that I will bring you sorrow or become a burden; you shall see nothing unpleasant because of me. With you, even heaven is heaven; without you, it is but hell. Knowing this, Rama, take me with you, for my love for you is supreme. But if you do not, unwavering as I am, lead me to the forest, I would rather drink poison at once than fall under the power of those who hate me. Even then, left behind and sorrowful, I could not survive; death would be preferable to being abandoned by you, my lord. I cannot endure this grief for even a moment—how then for fourteen long years?” So Sita, tormented by sorrow, lamented at length. She clung tightly to her husband and cried out in distress. Her words, sharp and full of pain, struck Rama like arrows, and her tears, long held back, poured forth like fire from kindling. From her lotus-like eyes flowed tears as clear as crystal, born of her anguish. Her face, pure and radiant as the moon, was dried by grief, like a lotus with its water gone. Moved deeply, Rama embraced Sita with his arms, as if she were senseless with sorrow, and spoke words to comfort her. “O beloved, truly, not even heaven pleases me if it brings you sorrow; I have no fear, like the self-born creator himself. 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 life in the forest, my affection for you, Maithili, is as for my own self and cannot be abandoned. Indeed, O daughter of Janaka, I would not go to the forest if my father’s command, rooted in 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 honor destiny, which is not in our control, by neglecting those who are—mother, father, and teacher? Where these three are honored, O auspicious-eyed one, it is as pure as the three worlds on earth; nothing else compares, and thus they are to be revered. Neither truth, nor charity, nor honor, nor great sacrifices, 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. The great souls devoted to mother and father attain the worlds of the gods, the Gandharvas, the sacred cows, and even Brahma’s realm. As my father, established in truth and righteousness, commands me, so I wish to act, for that is the eternal law. My mind is firmly resolved, O Sita, to lead you to the Dandaka forest. Be certain, then, to follow me and dwell there. You have been destined, O flawless-limbed one with intoxicating eyes, for the forest. Follow me, O gentle one, and be my companion in righteousness. In every way, O Sita, your resolve is fitting for me and for your noble lineage; your decision, O beautiful one, is most admirable. Now, O woman of auspicious hips, begin the tasks suited for forest life. Even heaven does not please me without you, O Sita. Give your jewels to the Brahmins and food to the mendicants; give generously to those who ask, and do not delay. All the precious ornaments, fine garments, and delightful items for play—beds, vehicles, and all my other possessions—give them to our servants after you have given to the Brahmins.” Understanding her husband’s departure, the queen, joyful and eager, promptly began to give away gifts as he had instructed.