Sita, her heart unwavering and full of love, spoke to Rama with deep resolve. “O faultless one,” she said, “I will not even think of anyone but you. I would follow you, Raghava, as any woman would, even if it meant disgrace for her family. Is it right that you, wishing to give your pure wife—who has been with you since youth—to others, treat me like a dancer, O Rama?” She continued, “To whom you have spoken what is proper, and for whose sake you strive, you should always be obedient and compliant, O faultless one. Without taking me, you must not set out for the forest. Whether it be asceticism, wilderness, or heaven, let me be with you. I will not 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 wind that falls 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, 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.” Sita’s voice trembled as she declared, “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 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 lotus-like eyes 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. Seeing her senseless with grief, Rama embraced her and spoke words of comfort. “O lady,” he said gently, “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. As my father, established in the path of truth and righteousness, instructs me, so I wish to act; for that is the eternal law.” Rama’s resolve was firm. “My mind is settled, O Sita, to lead you to the Dandaka forest; so be certain to follow me and dwell there. You have been destined, O flawless-limbed one with intoxicating eyes, for the forest; follow me, O timid one, and be my companion in righteousness. In every way, O Sita, your resolve is fitting for me and for your own lineage; your decision, O beautiful one, is most admirable. Begin, O woman of auspicious hips, the tasks suited for forest life; now, O Sita, even heaven does not please me without you.” He instructed her, “Give jewels to the Brahmins and food to the mendicants; grant to those who ask, and hurry—do not delay. All the precious ornaments, fine garments, and whatever delightful items there are for play—beds, vehicles, and all my other possessions—give them to our servants, after giving to the Brahmins.” Knowing her husband’s departure was at hand, Sita, joyful and eager, promptly began to give away gifts. Delighted and her heart fulfilled, the illustrious lady, having heard her husband’s words, began to give wealth and jewels, the noble-minded woman among the righteous. Thus, with love and devotion, Sita prepared herself and their household for the journey, her spirit shining brightly as she followed Rama’s guidance.