As she scratched the ground with her fair toenails, her anklets produced a musical sound, as if – so declare the poets – they were ringing out the passionate petition that Sita’s feet would never cast them off.

Seeing her let fall a flood of tears from her beauteous eyes, Rama’s mother said, ‘Listen, my dear child; Sita is exceedingly delicate, and dear to your father and mother and all your kindred.

Her father is Janaka, that jewel among princes, and her father-in-law is no other than the sun of the Solar race; her lord, the treasure-house of virtue and beauty, is to the Solar race what the moon is to the bed of lilies.

Moreover, I have found in her a beloved daughter-in-law, exceedingly beautiful, amiable and accomplished. I have treated her as the very apple of my eye and loved her so much that my very soul is centred in Janaki.

I have tendered her as carefully as a creeper of Paradise and watered her growth with streams of affection. Now when the creeper was about to flower and bring forth fruit, God turned against me, and there is no knowing what the end will be.

Never yet has Sita left bed or seat or lap or cradle to set foot upon the hard ground. I have been tending her like a life-giving herb and never even ask her to trim the wick of a lamp.

And this is the Sita who would accompany you to the woods. What then is your bidding. O Raghunatha? How can the partridge that loves to feed on the nectar borne on the rays of the moon endure to gaze upon the sun?