Swiftly and with noble bearing, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, having received the great sage’s permission, set out into the forest, their bows and swords at their sides, with Sītā accompanying them. Thus began their journey anew, and as they departed from Sutīkṣṇa’s hermitage, Sītā, full of affection and concern, spoke heartfelt words to her husband. With gentle earnestness, Sītā addressed Rāma, saying that unrighteousness often arises in subtle ways, and by practicing withdrawal and restraint, one can escape the misfortunes born of desire and similar passions. She reflected that there are three kinds of misfortune rooted in desire, but of these, false speech is the greatest, and the others are made heavier by it. She assured Rāma that he had never been guilty of falsehood, enmity, or cruelty, nor had he ever approached another’s wife; such thoughts had never arisen in him, nor would they ever. Sītā praised his steadfastness, saying that desire for other women, which destroys righteousness, had never touched him—not even in thought. Rāma was ever devoted to his own wife, righteous, truthful, and obedient to his father’s command; in him, both righteousness and truth were firmly established. She knew well his self-control and the strength of his spirit—such burdens could only be borne by one who had mastered the senses. Sītā then reminded Rāma of his vow: he had pledged to protect the sages dwelling in the Daṇḍaka forest and to destroy the demons who threatened them. Because of this, he was renowned for departing into the forest, accompanied by his brother and armed with bow and arrows. Yet, as she watched him leave, Sītā’s mind was troubled with anxiety, thinking deeply about what would truly be good. She confessed to Rāma that she did not find joy in this journey to Daṇḍaka. She asked him to listen as she explained her concern. Sītā urged Rāma, who bore bow and arrows with his brother, to be cautious—may he not use his weapons against the forest-dwellers without just cause. She observed that for Kṣatriyas, the bow is like fuel to the fire; when it is near, their power and energy are greatly increased. To illustrate her point, Sītā recounted an ancient tale: Once, there was a virtuous, truthful, and pure ascetic who lived in a holy forest, delighting in the company of deer and birds. Indra, the lord of Śacī, came to his hermitage in the guise of a warrior, carrying a sword, seeking to disrupt the ascetic’s austerity. The ascetic accepted the sword as a deposit, keeping it with him as he continued his penances. Ever mindful of his duty to safeguard the weapon, the ascetic carried it everywhere, even when gathering roots and fruits in the forest. Over time, this constant association with the weapon changed him: he gradually developed a fierce disposition and abandoned his resolve for austerity. Led astray by unrighteousness and indulging in violence, the sage ultimately fell from his path and went to ruin. Sītā explained that just as fire has a cause, so too does the use of weapons. Out of deep love and respect, she gently reminded Rāma not to act in such a way while bearing a bow. To kill the Rākṣasas of Daṇḍaka without enmity or just cause would not be approved by the world. For Kṣatriyas in the forest, their duty with the bow is only to protect the afflicted. She questioned the mixing of roles: Where is the weapon and where is the forest? Where is the Kṣatriya’s duty, and where is asceticism? Let the law of the land be honored, she urged. Practicing with weapons can lead to a mean and impure mind; but when Rāma returned to Ayodhyā, he could resume his Kṣatriya duties. Sītā observed that endless affection would exist between her and her in-laws if Rāma, having renounced the kingdom, were to live as a sage. She concluded that from righteousness comes wealth and happiness; all things are founded on righteousness. By subjecting oneself to discipline, one attains righteousness through skill, not by seeking pleasure. She urged Rāma to always keep his mind pure and to practice righteousness in the forest of austerities, for he already knew the truth of the three worlds. With humility, Sītā admitted that her words sprang from a woman’s fickleness and acknowledged that none were truly competent to instruct Rāma in righteousness. She asked him to consider, with Lakṣmaṇa, what was right, and to act accordingly. Hearing this speech, spoken out of devotion, Rāma—steadfast in righteousness—replied to Sītā. He praised her words, acknowledging that they were full of affection and wisdom, befitting one of noble birth and versed in righteousness. He said that she herself had spoken truly: the bow is borne by Kṣatriyas so that the cry of distress may not arise. Rāma explained that the afflicted sages of the Daṇḍaka forest, firm in their vows, had come to him for refuge as their protector. Living in the forest, subsisting on roots and fruits, they found no happiness because of the Rākṣasas who tormented them with cruel deeds. Thus, Rāma affirmed his purpose, holding fast to righteousness, and prepared to fulfill his vow.