Rāma, mindful of the ways of the world and the delicate balance of royal favor, gently instructed Sītā with words of wisdom and care. He said, “Those who are blessed with prosperity often do not tolerate praise of others, beloved; therefore, let no one speak of my virtues in the presence of Bharata. The king, my father, has granted the everlasting heir-apparency to Bharata; he is to be especially honored by you, Sītā, as is the king himself. As for me, I must uphold the promise made to my father and teacher and depart for the forest today itself. Be steadfast, resolute one. When I am gone to the forest, that sacred place frequented by sages, you must devote yourself to vows and fasting, O blameless one. Rise early, perform the worship of the gods as prescribed, and bow to my father Daśaratha, lord of the people. My mother Kausalyā, aged and worn by sorrow, ever virtuous, deserves your special honor. And you must always bow to my other mothers as well, showing them affection, devotion, and service, for they are all as mothers to me. You must especially regard Bharata and Śatrughna as equal to brothers and sons, for they are dearer to me than life itself. Never do anything that would displease Bharata, Vaidehī, for he is the king of this land and of our family. Kings, when honored by good conduct and diligently served, are pleased, but they are angered when treated otherwise. Indeed, kings may even abandon their own sons if they act harmfully, and they accept those who are capable, even if they are outsiders. Therefore, O blessed one, remain here, devoted to the king, delighting in righteousness toward Bharata, and steadfast in truth and vows. I shall go to the great forest, my dear, but you must stay here, O beautiful lady. Just as you have never done wrong to anyone, so now you must act according to my word.” At this, Sītā—Vaidehī, whose words were always sweet and who was worthy of the deepest affection—became angry out of love and spoke to her husband with firm resolve. “What is this you are saying, Rāma? Surely these words are spoken lightly. Hearing them, O best of men, I think you are mocking me. Such unworthy and disgraceful words should not be spoken by you, O prince, among heroes, sons of kings, and those skilled in arms. Father, mother, brother, son, and daughter-in-law—all pursue their own destinies and enjoy their own merits. But a woman alone shares her husband’s destiny, O best of men; therefore, I too am called to dwell in the forest. For women, neither father, nor son, nor self, nor mother, nor friends are the way—here or hereafter; the husband alone is always their path. If you set out today for the difficult forest, O Rāghava, I will go before you, treading down the grass and thorns. Casting away jealousy and anger as one discards water left after drinking, lead me, O hero, with confidence—there is no sin in me. Whether at the top of a palace, in a flying chariot, or moving through the sky, in every situation, the shade of the husband’s feet is best for the wife. I have been taught well by my mother and father; now, there is nothing more to say to me—I must act as I have resolved. I will go to the difficult forest, devoid of men, filled with many kinds of deer and frequented by groups of tigers. I will dwell happily in the forest, just as in my father’s house, caring nothing for the three worlds, thinking only of my devotion to you. Serving you always, disciplined and observing chastity, I will delight with you, O hero, in the honey-scented woods. You, Rāma, are able to protect even others in the forest—how much more so me, O giver of honor! Therefore, I will go with you to the forest today, without doubt; O greatly fortunate one, I cannot be turned back once I am resolved. I will always subsist on fruits and roots, without doubt; I will not cause you any distress, dwelling with you constantly. I will walk ahead of you, and eat only after you have eaten; afterwards, I wish to see mountains, ponds, and lakes. With you as my wise protector, I will fearlessly behold everywhere the lotus ponds, filled with swans and cranes, blooming beautifully. Joined with you, O hero, I wish to happily see them; I will perform ablutions in those ponds, always devoted to you. With you, O wide-eyed one, I will delight in supreme happiness; thus, for a thousand years or even a hundred, together with you. I will not transgress; even heaven does not appeal to me. If residence in heaven were possible without you, O Rāghava, O tiger among men, I would not desire even that. I will go to the forest, though it is exceedingly difficult, filled with deer, monkeys, and elephants; I will dwell there as in my father’s house, holding your feet, with your approval. With unwavering devotion and a heart attached to you, separated from you, I am resolved to die; take me, kindly grant my request, and by me your burden will not be increased.” Though Sītā spoke thus, full of righteousness and devotion, Rāma, the foremost of men, did not wish to take her with him. He spoke many words to dissuade her, addressing her sorrow over dwelling in the forest. Yet, seeing her unwavering resolve and virtue, Rāma, ever devoted to righteousness, hesitated, pondering deeply the hardships that awaited in the wilderness.