Sita, steadfast and resolute, gazed upon Ravana and spoke with unwavering confidence. “There is no doubt,” she declared, “that Rama and Lakshmana will strike down the demons in this city, making them vanish as vultures fall from the sky. My husband, Rama, that great Garuda among men, will swiftly seize the king of demons and the great serpents, just as Vainateya, the king of birds, lifts snakes into the air. He, the destroyer of foes, will soon rescue me from your grasp, just as Vishnu reclaimed the radiant fortune from the demons in three great strides. “In Janasthana, where the demon hordes were utterly destroyed, you, unable to defend yourself, committed this unrighteous act. You entered the empty hermitage of those lion-like brothers while they were away, and, vile one, you took me from their domain. Without even coming close to Rama and Lakshmana—without even catching their scent—you cannot stand before them, just as a dog cannot stand before tigers. The grip you think you hold over me is unsteady, like Indra’s arms around Vritra, slipping in the heat of battle. “Soon, Rama and Saumitri will take your life with their arrows, as surely as the sun draws up a drop of water. Even if you flee to Kubera’s mountain, or his very abode, or seek shelter in the assembly of King Varuna, you will not escape. The son of Dasaratha will release you from life, as a great tree is struck down by lightning at its destined time.” Hearing Sita’s fierce and unyielding words, the lord of the rakshasas, Ravana, replied to her—she who was lovely to behold—with words that brought her no comfort. “The more one tries to soothe women, the more they become submissive; yet, the more one speaks kindly, the more one is disregarded,” he said, his tone displeased. “Desire has arisen in me for you, and I restrain my anger as a skilled charioteer controls horses that rush headlong upon the path. When fickle desire binds a person, compassion and affection are said to arise in that heart. “That is why, 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 Maithili, you deserve a cruel death.” Thus Ravana, filled with mounting anger and rage, addressed Sita further: “I have set two months 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.” Witnessing Janaki threatened by the king of the rakshasas, the daughters of the gods and gandharvas became distressed, their eyes changing with sorrow. Some comforted Sita with gestures of their lips, others with their eyes, and some with gentle movements of their faces. Encouraged by their silent support, Sita, proud in her noble conduct, spoke words beneficial to herself to Ravana, lord of the rakshasas. “Surely, there is no one among your people who stands in the path of righteousness to restrain you from this condemned act. Who, other than you, would even in thought desire the wife of a righteous man—just as none would dare desire Saci, the wife of Indra, among all the three worlds? “O vilest of rakshasas, you have committed a wicked deed by seizing the wife of Rama, whose splendor is immeasurable. Where will you go to escape its consequences? Just as an arrogant elephant and a hare are not equals in the forest, so too is Rama like the elephant, and you, base one, are like the hare. You do not feel shame, hurling insults at the lord of the Ikshvaku line, though you have not yet come within his sight. “Why do you, ignoble one, look at me with those cruel, deformed, dark-brown eyes of yours, which have not yet fallen to the ground? How is it that your tongue does not wither as you speak to me, the wife of that righteous man and daughter-in-law of Dasaratha? Only because I have no command from Rama, and out of observance of my asceticism, O ten-headed one, do I not reduce you to ashes with the fire of my energy, as you deserve. It is not possible for me to be taken by force from that wise Rama; fate has been ordained for your destruction—of this there is no doubt.” Hearing Sita’s words, Ravana, lord of the rakshasas, widened his fierce eyes and gazed at Janaki. He stood there, dark as a raincloud, with mighty arms and a broad head, moving with the gait of a lion, resplendent, with a blazing tongue and eyes burning with fury. His tall, shifting crown shone, adorned with varied garlands and fragrant ointments; he wore red garlands and garments, and was decorated with blazing gold ornaments. A great, variegated belt was girded at his hips, making him resemble Mount Mandara bound by the serpent Vasuki during the churning of nectar. With his two full arms, the lord of the rakshasas shone like Mount Mandara with its two peaks. His earrings sparkled like the young sun, and he resembled a mountain decorated with ashoka trees bearing red buds and flowers. He was like the wish-fulfilling tree, as if spring itself had taken form—yet, though adorned, he was as terrifying as a cemetery shrine. With eyes reddened by anger, Ravana looked at Vaidehi and spoke, his voice hissing like a serpent. “You, who are devoted but bereft of purpose and joined with misfortune, I will destroy today with my power, as the sun destroys the twilight.