In the hermitages of the forest, a terrible disturbance had arisen. Hideous and terrifying beings appeared, monstrous in form and dreadful to behold. They committed vile and impure acts, brazenly assailing the ascetics with ignoble behavior. Concealing themselves and moving unseen, these creatures delighted in tormenting those ascetics who were weak in virtue, causing them much distress and suffering. Their mischief was relentless: they would steal the sacred ladles and vessels, douse the sacrificial fires with water, and shatter the water pots just as the rituals were about to begin. Because these wicked ones had polluted the hermitages, the sages, their peace shattered, resolved to leave. They urged me, Rāma, to depart as well and seek refuge elsewhere before even greater harm befell the ascetics. “There is a beautiful forest not far from here,” said the chief among the sages, “rich in roots and fruits. I and my followers will return to our old hermitage and take shelter there. Khara too, in the past, has acted unjustly toward you, dear Rāma; if you are willing, come with us. For one who is ever anxious about his family’s safety, even the capable find it difficult to dwell here now.” Though Rāma wished to persuade the ascetic to remain, his words could not sway him. After offering their respects and reassurances to Rāma, the leader of the hermitage and his community departed, leaving their forest dwelling behind. Rāma, honoring the sage and his followers by accompanying them partway, took leave only after receiving their blessings and counsel, then returned to his own abode. Yet, even as the hermitage stood empty, Rāma did not abandon it for a moment. The ascetics, steadfast in the traditions of the seers, continued to look to Rāma for guidance and protection. Thus concludes the one hundred sixteenth sarga of the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa in the ancient, holy Rāmāyaṇa composed by Sage Vālmīki. When the ascetics had departed, Rāma reflected deeply and found that place no longer suitable for dwelling. Memories weighed upon his heart: “Here, Bharata saw me, and my mothers and the people of the city came. My mind grieves constantly, recalling those dear to me. Moreover, the ground here has been trampled and soiled by the camp of the great-souled Bharata, his horses and elephants.” Determined to seek a more fitting refuge, Rāma set out with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa. Their journey soon brought them to the hermitage of the venerable sage Atri. Rāma offered his respects, and the sage, welcoming him as a son, personally ensured that Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā were honored and comforted. Atri then turned to his aged wife, revered by all, and spoke with kindness and wisdom. Addressing Sītā, he said, “Receive Anasūyā, the highly fortunate ascetic, who follows the path of righteousness.” He spoke too to Rāma of Anasūyā’s greatness: “When the world suffered ten years of relentless drought, she produced roots and fruits and caused the Ganges to flow. Through fierce austerity, adorned with disciplines, she performed penance for ten thousand years. Purified by vows, she removed obstacles, and for the sake of the gods, created a night that lasted ten days. She is like a mother to you, O sinless one. Let Sītā approach this renowned woman, worthy of reverence by all, known for her deeds and ever free from anger.” When the sage had spoken, Rāma agreed and addressed Sītā with gentle words: “Princess, you have heard the sage’s counsel. For your welfare, quickly approach the ascetic.” Sītā, wishing to honor Rāma’s words, drew near to Anasūyā, the aged wife of Atri. Frail and wrinkled, her hair pale with age, her body trembling like a banana plant in the wind, Anasūyā sat in quiet dignity. Sītā, highly fortunate, greeted her respectfully, stating her name and inquiring after her well-being with joined hands and a delighted heart. Seeing Sītā, Anasūyā was filled with joy and spoke kindly: “How fortunate you are to observe righteousness, dear Sītā. You have left behind your kinsfolk, honor, and prosperity to follow Rāma into the forest. By fortune, you accompany him even in exile. Whether a husband dwells in the city or the forest, whether he is virtuous or otherwise, for women who cherish their husbands, their worlds are greatly elevated. Even if he is of bad conduct, driven by desire, or deprived of wealth, for women of noble nature, the husband is the highest deity. I see no relative superior to the husband, O Vaidehī; everywhere, he is like the inexhaustible fruit of austerity. “But women of lesser nature do not discern virtue or fault in their husbands; their hearts are swayed by desire, and they wander, dependent on their husbands’ ways. Such women, O Maithilī, who fall into improper conduct, incur disgrace and a fall from righteousness. But women like you, endowed with virtue and understanding, live according to their noble nature, just as those who uphold righteousness.” Thus, Sītā received the blessings and teachings of the venerable Anasūyā, her heart uplifted by the warmth and wisdom of the ancient ascetic.