Through steadfast effort and discipline, one attains righteousness by skill and perseverance; true happiness does not arise from the pursuit of pleasure. Therefore, gentle one, keep your mind pure at all times, and practice righteousness here, in this forest of austerities. You, who know so much—even the truths of the three worlds—need little guidance. This hardship, I must admit, has come upon me through the fickle nature of a woman. Who, then, could presume to instruct you in righteousness? Consider, together with your brother, what pleases you, and act upon it without delay. Now, listen as the next chapter unfolds. Vaidehī, out of her devotion to her husband, spoke thus; hearing her words, Rāma, steadfast in righteousness, replied to Jānakī: "You have spoken words that are truly beneficial, O lady—words filled with affection, worthy of your noble lineage and deep understanding of righteousness, O daughter of Janaka. What more could I add, when you yourself have said that the bow is borne by Kṣatriyas so that none may cry out in distress? Those afflicted sages who dwell in the Daṇḍaka forest, firm in their vows, have come to me, seeking refuge in me, their protector. Though they dwell in the forest according to the seasons and subsist on roots and fruits, they find no happiness, O gentle Sītā, because of the cruel deeds of the rākṣasas. These fierce rākṣasas, who subsist on human flesh, devour the ascetics who live in the Daṇḍaka forest. The foremost among the twice-born approached me, saying, ‘Let us place our trust in you.’ Hearing their plea, I replied with humility, ‘May you all be gracious to me; I feel a deep sense of modesty in your presence.’ When these brāhmaṇas came to me as guests, I asked them, ‘What should I do?’ And they answered, ‘We are greatly afflicted, O Rāma; may you protect us here. Especially during offerings and on festival days, these formidable rākṣasas, eaters of flesh, torment us. The ascetics devoted to austerity are oppressed by these night-dwellers. You are our supreme refuge as we seek a way out. By the power of our austerities, we could destroy the rākṣasas ourselves, but we do not wish to break the austerity we have long maintained. Austerity is always beset with obstacles and is difficult to sustain, O Rāghava. Therefore, even as we are devoured by rākṣasas, we do not utter curses. Those ascetics dwelling in Daṇḍaka, afflicted by rākṣasas, look to you for protection, together with your brother, for we are under your guardianship in this forest.’ Having heard all this, O daughter of Janaka, know that the promise I made to the sages of Daṇḍaka forest cannot be broken while I live. It is my cherished truth never to act otherwise toward the sages. I would sooner abandon my life, or even you, Sītā, along with Lakṣmaṇa, than break a promise made—especially to brāhmaṇas. Therefore, I must certainly protect the sages. Even if such a promise had not been spoken, how could I again pledge? Out of affection and friendship, you have spoken these words to me. I am fully satisfied with you, Sītā; one who is unworthy is not so instructed. This is fitting for your noble lineage, O beautiful one. You are my companion in righteousness, more precious to me than life itself." Having thus spoken to his beloved Sītā, the daughter of the king of Mithilā, the great-souled Rāma, bearing his bow, together with Lakṣmaṇa, set out for the delightful hermitages. Now, let the eleventh chapter be heard. Rāma walked ahead, Sītā, radiant and serene, was in the middle, and Lakṣmaṇa, holding his bow, followed behind. Together, they journeyed through varied rocky slopes, forests, and along delightful rivers, with Sītā at their side. Along the way, they saw cranes and chakravāka birds roaming the riverbanks, and lakes filled with lotuses and teeming with waterfowl. Herds of deer, some intoxicated and horned, buffaloes, wild boars, and elephants hostile to trees crossed their path. After traveling a long distance as the sun descended, they came upon a beautiful lake, ten yojanas wide. The lake was crowded with lotuses and water-lilies, adorned with herds of elephants, and filled with cranes, swans, and kadamba birds—alive with aquatic creatures. In that charming lake with crystal-clear waters, they heard the sounds of singing and musical instruments, yet saw no one. Curious, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, the great chariot-warrior, turned to the sage named Dharmabhṛt and asked, "O great sage, hearing this wondrous thing, all of us are filled with curiosity—please tell us what this is." Thus addressed by Rāghava, the sage, devoted to righteousness, began to recount the power of the lake: "That great sage Māṇḍakarṇi performed intense austerity for ten thousand years, subsisting on air alone, while residing in the water. In time, all the gods, led by Agni, became disturbed and, gathering together, spoke among themselves, ‘This sage desires a place among us.’ Thus, all the dwellers of heaven were troubled in mind. Then, to obstruct his austerity, all the gods appointed five chief apsarases, radiant as lightning..." And so, the sage began to reveal the wondrous story behind the mysterious sounds of the lake.