“Go safely on your journey, O Rama,” the sage said, his voice gentle and full of blessing. “May you proceed together with Saumitri, your loyal brother, and with Sita, who follows you as faithfully as a shadow.” He gestured ahead, inviting them to behold the wonders of the Dandaka forest. “Look upon the delightful hermitage of the ascetics who dwell here, O hero, their souls purified by their austerities. As you travel, you will see forests abundant with excellent fruits and roots, blossoming trees, herds of noble deer, and flocks of peaceful birds. You will come upon ponds and lakes, their clear waters adorned with blooming lotuses, and waterfowl scattered upon their surfaces. Charming sights await you—mountain streams, lovely forests alive with the cries of peacocks. Go, my child; and Saumitri, you too should proceed. After you have seen all these marvels, you must return again to the hermitage.” Thus addressed, Rama of the Kakutstha line, together with Lakshmana, respectfully replied, “So be it.” They circled the sage in reverence, preparing to depart. Sita, her eyes wide and luminous, brought forth their splendid quivers and bows, and also their shining swords, and gave them to the two brothers. Rama and Lakshmana fastened their fine quivers, took up their bows with a resounding noise, and left the hermitage, ready for the journey. Swiftly, those two, handsome and permitted by the great sage, set out, bearing their bows and swords, with Sita accompanying them. Now, let the ninth chapter be heard. Having received the sage Sutīkṣṇa’s permission, Rama, the descendant of Raghu, departed. At that moment, Sita spoke to her husband with heartfelt and affectionate words. “Indeed,” she said, “by subtle means, great unrighteousness can arise; and by withdrawal, one can escape the misfortunes born of desire and the like. There are three misfortunes that come from desire, but false speech is the greatest, and the other two are made heavier by it. Approaching another’s wife, false speech, and actions without enmity or cruelty—these have never occurred in you, O Rāghava, nor will they. “How could there be desire for other women, which destroys righteousness? Such a thing has never existed in you, O king among men. Even in your mind, O Rama, there is no such thought; you are always devoted to your own wife, O prince. You are righteous, truthful, and obedient to your father’s command; in you, both righteousness and truth are firmly established. All this, O mighty-armed one, can only be borne by those who have conquered their senses. I know your self-control, O one of auspicious appearance. “You have pledged, O hero, to protect the sages dwelling in the Dandaka forest and to destroy the demons in battle. For this reason, you are renowned for having departed to the Dandaka forest with your brother, carrying bow and arrows. Yet, seeing you leave, my mind has been troubled with anxiety; thinking of your departure, I ponder what would be truly beneficial. I do not find pleasure, O hero, in your journey to Dandaka; let me tell you the reason—listen to my words. “You, holding bow and arrows, have gone to the forest with your brother; but when you see all the forest-dwellers, may you not use your arrows against them. For Kshatriyas, the bow is like fuel to the fire; when it is close at hand, their power and energy are greatly increased. “Once, O mighty-armed one, there was a virtuous, truthful, and pure ascetic who lived in a holy forest, delighting in deer and birds. To hinder his austerity, Indra, lord of Śacī, came to his hermitage, taking the form of a warrior and carrying a sword. In that hermitage, the excellent sword was entrusted to the ascetic according to the rule of deposit, while he remained engaged in holy austerity. Having obtained that weapon, he became intent on guarding it; as he wandered in the forest, he protected it, trusting in himself. Wherever he went to gather roots and fruits, he never went without that sword, always intent on guarding it. Always carrying the weapon, that ascetic gradually developed a fierce disposition, abandoning his resolve for austerity. Indulging in violence, careless and led astray by unrighteousness, the sage, through association with that weapon, fell from his path and went to ruin. “Thus, this tale shows the cause for the use of weapons; just as with fire, so too is the use of weapons considered to have a cause. Out of affection and great respect, I remind and instruct you: you must never act thus while bearing a bow. To kill the Rākṣasas dwelling in Dandaka without enmity or fault, O hero, the world will not approve. For Kṣatriya heroes, self-controlled in the forest, this alone is the duty with the bow: to protect the afflicted. “Where is the weapon, and where is the forest? Where is the Kṣatriya’s duty, and where is asceticism? This is all mixed up by us; let the law of the land be honored. A mean and impure mind arises from the constant practice of weapons; when you return to Ayodhyā, you will again follow the Kṣatriya’s duty. Endless affection would exist between my mother-in-law and father-in-law and me, if you, having renounced the kingdom, were devoted as a sage. From righteousness comes wealth, from righteousness comes happiness; by righteousness one obtains everything—this world is founded on righteousness.” Thus spoke Sita, her words full of wisdom, love, and gentle counsel as they journeyed deeper into the sacred forest.