“In our relationship, what is it that you like the most?’ Sita had asked Rama one day.
‘Protecting you like an eyelid protects the eye. If a thorn pierces your foot, I must pluck it out. I must, myself, kill the wild animals that approach you. The thought that I’m protecting you gives me greater pride and pleasure than sovereignty over Ayodhya,’ Rama had said.
‘I can protect myself. I can match you in archery,’ Sita had said, laughing. Rama’s face had fallen.
‘As long as I am alive, you will never have to protect yourself. Such a situation must never arise. You must look towards me for protection. You must turn to my strong arms for protection. If you take care of yourself, what am I for? Promise me that you will never do that.’
Sita had placed her hand in Rama’s.
Abduction. Waiting in Ashoka Vanam—Sita had no alternative.”