Let the ninth chapter be heard. Having received the gracious permission of Sutīkṣṇa, Rāma, the noble descendant of Raghu, prepared to depart. At that moment, Sītā, his wife, spoke to him with heartfelt affection, her words gentle and sincere. She began by reflecting on the subtle ways in which unrighteousness can creep into one’s life, and how withdrawal from such impulses—especially those born of desire—can help one escape misfortune. Sītā spoke of three misfortunes that arise from desire, emphasizing that false speech is the greatest among them, and that the other two—approaching another’s wife and cruelty—are made even heavier by it. She reassured Rāma, saying, “Neither enmity nor cruelty, nor approaching another’s wife, nor false speech have ever occurred in you, O Rāghava, nor will they ever arise.” She wondered aloud how desire for other women, which destroys righteousness, could ever exist in him, the king among men, and affirmed that such thoughts have never taken root in his mind. Rāma, she said, was always devoted to his own wife, his heart free from even the faintest shadow of such thoughts. He was righteous, truthful, and obedient to his father’s command; in him, both righteousness and truth were firmly established. Sītā praised his self-control, knowing that only those who have conquered their senses can bear such burdens. She recognized Rāma’s auspicious appearance and his mastery over himself. Sītā reminded Rāma of his pledge: to protect the sages dwelling in the Dandaka forest and to destroy the demons in battle. For this reason, she said, he was renowned for having departed for the Dandaka forest with his brother, carrying bow and arrows. Yet, as she watched him leave, her mind was troubled with anxiety, and she pondered what would truly be beneficial for him. She confessed that she found no pleasure in his journey to Dandaka, and promised to tell him the reason. “You, holding bow and arrows, have gone to the forest with your brother; seeing all the forest-dwellers, may you not use your arrows against them,” she implored. Sītā explained that for Kshatriyas, the bow is like fuel for fire; when it is close at hand, their power and energy rise greatly. To illustrate her concern, Sītā recounted the story of a virtuous, truthful, and pure ascetic who once lived in a holy forest, delighting in deer and birds. Indra, the lord of Śacī, came to his hermitage in the guise of a warrior, carrying a sword, to hinder the ascetic’s austerity. The sword was placed in the hermitage as a deposit, and the ascetic, engaged in holy austerity, became intent on guarding it. Wherever he went to gather roots and fruits, he never went without the sword, always guarding the deposit. Gradually, the ascetic, always carrying the weapon, developed a fierce disposition and abandoned his resolve for austerity. He became violent, careless, and led astray by unrighteousness, and through his association with the weapon, ultimately fell to hell. Sītā explained that this was the cause for the use of weapons, just as fire has its cause, so too do weapons. Out of affection and great respect, Sītā reminded and instructed Rāma: he must never act in such a way while bearing a bow. She cautioned that to kill the Rākṣasas dwelling in Dandaka without enmity or fault would not be approved by the world. For Kṣatriya heroes, self-controlled in the forest, the only duty with the bow is to protect the afflicted. She questioned, “Where is the weapon, and where is the forest? Where is the Kṣatriya’s duty, and where is asceticism?” She acknowledged that all these roles were mixed up by them, and urged that the law of the land be honored. Sītā warned that a mean and impure mind arises from the practice of weapons, and that when Rāma returned to Ayodhyā, he could again follow the Kṣatriya’s duty. She imagined the endless affection that would exist between herself and her parents-in-law if Rāma, having renounced the kingdom, were devoted as a sage. Sītā declared that from righteousness comes wealth, from righteousness comes happiness; by righteousness, one obtains everything, for the world is founded on righteousness. She explained that by subjecting oneself to various disciplines with effort, one attains righteousness through skill; happiness is not gained by pleasure. Sītā urged Rāma to always keep his mind pure and to practice righteousness in the forest of austerities, knowing that he understood even the truth of the three worlds. She confessed that her words were brought forth through a woman’s fickleness, and wondered who could truly instruct Rāma in righteousness. She advised him to consider with his brother what pleases him, and to act without delay. Let the tenth chapter be heard. Vaidehī’s speech, spoken out of devotion to her husband, was heard by Rāma, steadfast in righteousness. He replied to Jānakī, saying, “You have spoken what is beneficial, O lady—words full of affection, befitting one of noble family and versed in righteousness, O daughter of Janaka.” Rāma acknowledged her wisdom, saying, “What indeed shall I say, O lady, when you yourself have spoken these words: ‘The bow is borne by Kṣatriyas, so that the cry of distress may not arise’?” He explained that the afflicted sages of the Daṇḍaka forest, firm in their vows, had come to him themselves, seeking refuge in him, their protector. These sages, dwelling in the forest according to the seasons and living on roots and fruits, did not find happiness, O timid one, because of the Rākṣasas with cruel deeds. The fierce Rākṣasas, who subsist on human flesh, devour the ascetics dwelling in the Daṇḍaka forest. Thus, Rāma and Sītā’s conversation revealed the delicate balance between duty, righteousness, and compassion, as they prepared to face the trials of the forest together.