Turning her back to Rāvaṇa, Sītā spoke again, her voice unwavering: “I am not suitable for you—I am another’s wife, and true to him.” She urged him to practice righteousness and observe the vow of virtue, reminding him, “As your own, so should others’ wives be protected, O night-wanderer.” Sītā advised Rāvaṇa to consider himself as a measure and find delight in his own wives, warning that those dissatisfied with their own, fickle in their senses and cunning, are ruined by seeking other men’s wives. She rebuked him further, saying, “Whether there are good people here or not, you do not follow them; your mind is perverse and devoid of proper conduct.” Sītā lamented that he did not accept the wholesome words spoken by the wise, words meant for the welfare of the Rākṣasas, for his mind was set on falsehood. She warned, “When a king, lacking self-control and devoted to unrighteousness, is encountered, prosperous kingdoms and cities are destroyed.” In the same way, she declared, Lankā, filled with heaps of jewels, would soon be destroyed because of his single offense. Sītā spoke of the consequences: “When one like Rāvaṇa, who sees far ahead, is struck down by his own deeds, all beings rejoice at the destruction of the wicked. Thus, people will speak of you as an evil-doer, saying, ‘By fate, this calamity has come upon the fierce one,’ and they will be glad.” She affirmed her unwavering devotion: “I cannot be enticed by wealth or power; I am devoted only to Raghava, as light is to the sun. Having placed my trust in the honored arm of that lord of the world, how could I ever rest my arm upon anyone else’s?” Sītā declared herself the rightful wife only of that lord of the earth, just as knowledge belongs to the sage who has mastered himself and bathed in vows. She pleaded, “O Rāvaṇa, bring me to Rāma, who is suffering, as the elephant king is brought to the forest by the female elephant.” She explained that Rāma, the best among men, desired to make a fitting alliance, seeking a place, and did not wish for a dreadful bond with Rāvaṇa. She described Rāma as one who understands all dharmas and cherishes those who seek refuge, urging Rāvaṇa to make friendship with him if he wished to live. “Thus, you will have well-being by making peace with the best of the Raghu line; otherwise, by acting differently, you will meet with the highest calamity,” she warned. Sītā asserted, “One may avoid a hurled thunderbolt, one may long evade Death; but not one like you, when enraged, can escape the lord of the world, Raghava.” She foretold, “You will hear the mighty sound of Rāma’s bow, like the thunder of a bolt released by Indra. Here, swiftly, arrows with strong shafts, marked by Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, will fall like serpents with blazing mouths. There is no doubt that, striking down the demons in this city, they will make them vanish, as vultures fall from the sky. That great Garuda, Rāma, will swiftly lift up the king of demons and great serpents, as Vainateya does with snakes.” Sītā assured Rāvaṇa that her husband, the destroyer of foes, would quickly rescue her from him, just as Vishnu took the radiant fortune from the demons in three strides. She reminded him of his unrighteous act in Janasthāna, where the demon forces were slain and destroyed, and he, unable to defend, committed his offense. She condemned him for entering the empty hermitage of the lion-like brothers when they had gone out, and for taking her away from their domain. She told him, “Without even smelling the scent of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, you cannot stand before them, as a dog cannot before tigers. The grasp upon his form by those two was unsteady, like Indra’s arms holding Vṛtra, upon the arm of one in battle. Soon, your master—Rāma, together with Saumitri—will take your life with arrows, as the sun draws away a small amount of water.” Sītā declared, “Whether you have gone to Kubera’s mountain, or to his abode, or entered the assembly of King Varuṇa, without doubt, you will be released by the son of Daśaratha, like a great tree struck down by lightning at its appointed time.” Thus concludes the twenty-first chapter. Hearing Sītā’s harsh words, the lord of the rākṣasas replied to her, who was lovely to behold, with words displeasing to her. Rāvaṇa said, “The more one tries to soothe women, the more they become submissive; likewise, the more one speaks kindly, the more one is disregarded. Desire has arisen in me for you, restraining my anger, as a skilled charioteer controls horses that rush upon the path.” He explained, “When fickle desire binds a person, compassion and affection are said to arise in that person. For this reason, O beautiful-faced one, I do not kill you, though you deserve death and contempt, being devoted to false asceticism. For every harsh word you speak to me, O Maithilī, you deserve a cruel death.” Having spoken thus to Vaidehī, Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, filled with anger and rage, addressed Sītā further: “Two months have been set by me for your protection; after that, O woman of excellent complexion, you must ascend my bed. If, after those two months, you do not desire me as your husband, then, for my morning meal, the cooks will cut you into pieces.” Seeing Jānakī threatened by the king of the rākṣasas, the daughters of the gods and gandharvas became distressed, their eyes altered. Some comforted Sītā, who was threatened by that rākṣasa, with gestures of their lips, others with their eyes, and others with their faces.