Sita, her heart steadfast and filled with love, spoke to Rama with gentle but unwavering resolve: “You must not set out for the forest without me. Whether it is a life of asceticism, the wilds of the wilderness, or even heaven itself, let me share it all with you. I will not grow weary on the journey; I will follow behind you as I have always done, whether in leisure or in rest. The kusha grass, the reeds, the sharp stalks and thorny trees that line the path—when I am with you, they will feel as soft as cotton or deerskin beneath my feet. “Beloved, the dust raised by the rushing wind and settling upon me I will cherish as if it were precious sandalwood paste. If I must lie down on a bed of leaves in the forest, with only grass beneath me, what could be more pleasant than that, if it is with you? Whatever leaves, roots, or fruits you gather for me, whether plentiful or meager, I will savor them as if they were nectar itself. “In that forest, as I enjoy the flowers and fruits of the seasons, I will not think of my mother, my father, or my home. You will see nothing unpleasant there; I will bring you no sorrow, nor will I ever become a burden to you. With you, even heaven is heaven; without you, it is hell. Know this, O Rama, and take me with you, for my love for you is supreme. “But if you do not take me—steadfast as I am—to the forest, I will drink poison at once, for I would rather die than fall under the power of those who wish me harm. Even if I survived in sorrow, I would have no will to live, abandoned by you, my lord; death would be better than such a fate. I cannot bear this grief for even a moment—how then could I endure it, sorrowful, for fourteen years? “Thus tormented by grief, Sita lamented at length. Clinging tightly to her husband, she cried out in distress. Her words, sharp and full of pain, wounded like arrows; tears long held back now streamed forth, like fire bursting from kindling. From her lotus-like eyes flowed crystal-clear tears, born of her anguish. Her face, pure and radiant as the moon, with wide eyes, was dried by those tears, like a lotus with its water drawn away. Seeing her thus, Rama embraced her with his arms, as if she had lost her senses in grief, and spoke soothing words to comfort her. “O gentle lady, truly, even heaven brings me no joy 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 would not desire to dwell in the forest, even though I have the strength to guard you. “You were created together with me for this very life in the forest, O Maithili. My affection for you is as deep as for my own self and cannot be abandoned. Indeed, O daughter of Janaka, I would not go to the forest if not for my father’s command, which is rooted in truth and compels me. “This is righteousness, O woman of lovely hips: obedience to one’s father and mother. If I were to disregard their command, I could not bear to live. How can one honor destiny, which is beyond one’s control, by neglecting those who are within one’s reach—mother, father, and teacher? Where these three are present, O woman of auspicious eyes, it is as pure as the three worlds on earth; nothing else can compare, and thus they are to be revered. “Neither truth, nor charity, nor honor, nor the greatest sacrifices, O Sita, are as powerful as service to one’s father. Heaven, wealth, food, knowledge, children, and happiness—nothing is unattainable through devoted service to one’s teacher. The great souls who are devoted to their mother and father attain the worlds of the gods, of the Gandharvas, of the sacred cows, and even the realm of Brahma. “As my father, steadfast in truth and righteousness, instructs me, so I wish to act; for this 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 enchanting 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 both me and your noble lineage; your decision, O beautiful one, is most admirable. Begin now, O woman of auspicious hips, the tasks suited for forest life; for now, O Sita, even heaven does not please me without you. “Give away the jewels to the Brahmins and food to the mendicants; grant to those who seek, 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.” Hearing her husband’s words and knowing of his imminent departure, the queen, joyful and eager, promptly began to give away gifts. Delighted and her heart fulfilled, the illustrious lady, Sita, began to distribute wealth and jewels, upholding righteousness as the noble-minded woman she was. Thus concludes the thirty-first chapter in the Ayodhyākāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. At this moment, having listened to the conversation between Rama and Sita, Lakshmana arrived, his face streaked with tears, unable to bear his sorrow. Pressing Rama’s feet firmly, the delight of the Raghu lineage spoke, addressing both the illustrious Sita and the great-vowed Raghava.