Sītā spoke to Rāma with gentle concern, reminding him of the promise he had made: to protect the sages residing in the Daṇḍaka forest and to defeat the demons that threatened them. She noted that Rāma’s reputation now rested on this very pledge, for he had departed for the forest with his brother, carrying his bow and arrows. Yet, as she watched him leave, Sītā’s heart was troubled. Anxiety clouded her mind, and she pondered deeply what would be truly beneficial for him. She confessed to Rāma that she found no joy in his journey to Daṇḍaka, and asked him to listen as she explained her feelings. Sītā cautioned Rāma, who now wandered the forest with his bow and arrows alongside his brother, to be mindful not to use his weapons against the innocent forest-dwellers. She reflected that, for warriors, the bow is like fuel to a fire—when it is close at hand, their power and energy surge. To illustrate her concern, Sītā recounted the story of a virtuous and pure ascetic who once lived in a sacred forest, delighting in deer and birds. Indra, the lord of Śacī, sought to disrupt the ascetic’s austerity, and visited his hermitage disguised as a warrior, bearing a sword. The sword was left in the hermitage, entrusted to the ascetic according to the rule of deposit, while he continued his holy practices. But once the ascetic obtained the weapon, he became preoccupied with guarding it. Wherever he went in the forest to gather roots and fruits, he never left the sword behind, always intent on its protection. Over time, always carrying the sword, his disposition grew fierce, and he abandoned his resolve for austerity. Eventually, he fell into violence, neglecting righteousness, and through his association with the weapon, he met a tragic fate. Sītā explained that this tale showed how the use of weapons has its cause, just as fire does. Out of affection and deep respect, she urged Rāma never to act in such a way while bearing his bow. She warned that to kill the rākṣasas of Daṇḍaka without cause or enmity would not be approved by the world. For Kṣatriyas, she said, the duty of the bow in the forest is only to protect the afflicted. Sītā questioned the mixing of weapons, the forest, the Kṣatriya’s duty, and asceticism, urging that the law of the land be honored. She observed that a mean and impure mind can arise from the practice of weapons, and hoped that when Rāma returned to Ayodhyā, he would again follow the true Kṣatriya path. Sītā imagined the endless affection that would exist between her, her mother-in-law, and father-in-law, if Rāma, having renounced the kingdom, were devoted as a sage. She declared that righteousness is the foundation of all: from it comes wealth, happiness, and all attainment. Through discipline and skill, one gains righteousness, not through pleasure. Sītā urged Rāma to keep his mind pure and practice righteousness in the forest of austerities, knowing that he understood the truth of all three worlds. She admitted that her words arose from the fickleness of a woman’s mind, and humbly wondered who could instruct Rāma in righteousness. She asked him to consider with his brother what pleased him, and act without delay. At this point, the next chapter began. Vaidehī’s speech, spoken out of devotion to her husband, was heard by Rāma, steadfast in righteousness. He replied to Sītā, acknowledging her words as wise and filled with affection, befitting one of noble family and versed in righteousness. Rāma asked what more could be said, for Sītā herself had spoken the truth: the bow is borne by Kṣatriyas so that cries of distress do not arise. The afflicted sages of Daṇḍaka forest, steadfast in their vows, had come to Rāma themselves, seeking refuge in him as their protector. Living in the forest according to the seasons, subsisting on roots and fruits, these sages found no happiness because of the rākṣasas, whose deeds were cruel. The fierce rākṣasas, who subsisted on human flesh, devoured the ascetics dwelling in Daṇḍaka. The foremost brahmins had said to Rāma, “Let us rely upon you.” When Rāma heard their words, he listened attentively and replied, “May you all be gracious to me; this is a profound sense of modesty within me.” When these brahmins came as guests, Rāma asked them, “What should I do?” They replied, “We are greatly afflicted, O Rāma; may you protect us there. Especially at the time of offerings and on festival days, O sinless one, the exceedingly formidable rākṣasas, eaters of flesh, harass us. The ascetics, devoted to austerity, are oppressed by the rākṣasas. You are our supreme refuge as we seek a way out. By the power of austerity, we are indeed capable of destroying the night-dwellers, but we do not wish to break the austerity we have long acquired. Austerity is always beset with many obstacles and is difficult to practice, O Rāghava. Therefore, even when being devoured by rākṣasas, we do not utter curses. Those ascetics dwelling in the Daṇḍaka forest, afflicted by rākṣasas, ask you: protect us, together with your brother, for we are under your guardianship in the forest.” Having listened to their entire plea, Rāma understood the gravity of his duty and the trust placed in him.