Sītā, lost in sorrow and surrounded by the rākṣasīs in Laṅkā, let her thoughts wander to the fate that awaited her and this dreadful city. “Soon,” she thought, “I will hear the wailing of rākṣasa maidens in every house, lamenting their fallen kin. Laṅkā, once radiant, will be shrouded in darkness, its splendor destroyed, its foremost rākṣasas slain and the city itself burned down by Rāma’s arrows.” Her heart ached with longing. “If only that heroic Rāma, with his blood-red eyes, knew that I am here, imprisoned in the house of the rākṣasa! But now, the time set by this cruel and base Rāvaṇa has come. The death ordained for me by this wicked one is at hand; these evil-doing night-dwellers know not what is right. A great calamity will rise from their unrighteousness, for these flesh-eating rākṣasas do not understand the way of dharma.” She trembled, imagining her fate. “Surely, Rāvaṇa will appoint me as his morning meal. How can I endure, deprived of the sight of my beloved? Tormented by grief, unable to see Rāma’s blood-reddened eyes, I shall soon behold Vaivasvata, the god of death, parted from my husband.” Despair grew in her heart. “If Rāma, elder brother of Bharata, does not know that I am alive, then even if he and Lakṣmaṇa do know, they would not search the earth for me. Surely, that hero has left his body on earth through grief for me and gone to the world of the gods. Blessed are the gods, gandharvas, siddhas, and great sages who behold my heroic, lotus-eyed Rāma.” A doubt crept in. “Or perhaps, for that wise and righteous king Rāma, there is no purpose in having me as his wife. When one is seen, there is joy; when unseen, there is no friendship. The ungrateful destroy, but Rāma is not one who destroys.” She questioned herself in anguish. “Is it that I lack virtues, or is it the decline of my fortune, that I, Sītā, worthy of the best, am separated from the illustrious Rāma? It is better for me to die than to live, bereft of the great-souled Rāma, whose conduct is blameless, who is heroic and destroyer of foes.” Her mind conjured other possibilities. “Or perhaps, having laid down their weapons, those two noble brothers, best among men, are living in the forest, subsisting on roots and fruits, wandering through the woods. Or perhaps, the valiant brothers Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa have been treacherously slain by the evil-minded king of the rākṣasas, Rāvaṇa.” Despair overwhelmed her. “In such a time, I wish to die in every way; yet death, ordained for me, does not come to relieve me from this overwhelming sorrow. Truly blessed are the great souls, the sages honored for their truth, who have mastered themselves and are highly fortunate, for whom there is neither dear nor not dear. From what is dear arises sorrow, and from what is not dear, even greater may come; but those great souls are not affected by either, and to them I offer my respects. Thus abandoned by my beloved Rāma, who knows his own self, I shall give up my life, now under the control of the sinful Rāvaṇa.” Now, listen to the next chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the Sundara Kāṇḍa. Hearing Sītā’s sorrowful words, the rākṣasī women, enraged, hurried to report to the wicked Rāvaṇa. Then, approaching Sītā, the rākṣasīs with terrifying forms spoke harsh words, all with evil intent: “Today, O unworthy Sītā, resolved on evil, we will eat your flesh as we please.” But among them was the aged rākṣasī Trijatā, whose mind was awakened. Seeing Sītā thus threatened, she spoke out: “Eat your own flesh, you cruel ones! You shall not devour Sītā, the cherished daughter of Janaka and daughter-in-law of Daśaratha. For today I have seen a dreadful, hair-raising dream, foreboding the destruction of the rākṣasas and the well-being of her husband.” The rākṣasīs, now fearful, turned to Trijatā and asked, “Tell us what kind of dream you saw last night.” Thus prompted, Trijatā spoke at the right time and related her dream: “I saw a divine palanquin made of ivory, flying through the sky. Rāghava himself, adorned with white garlands and garments, mounted it, yoked to a thousand horses, together with Lakṣmaṇa. And in my dream today, I saw Sītā, clothed in white garments, standing upon a white mountain surrounded by the ocean. Sītā was united with Rāma, just as radiance is with the sun; and again, Rāghava was seen as a great elephant with four tusks. Mounted and shining like a mountain, he appeared together with Lakṣmaṇa; both of them, glowing with their own brilliance, shone like the sun. Wearing white garlands and garments, they approached Jānakī; then, at the summit of that mountain, before the elephant standing in the sky, Jānakī, embraced by her husband, rested upon his shoulder. Then, leaping from her husband’s lap, the lotus-eyed one wiped the faces of the moon and sun with her hands. With those two princes, that excellent elephant stood together with wide-eyed Sītā above Laṅkā. Kakutstha himself arrived here with his wife Sītā, in a chariot drawn by eight pale bulls. Clad in white garlands and garments, he came together with Lakṣmaṇa; then elsewhere I saw Rāma, of true valor.” Thus Trijatā revealed her dream, foretelling the doom of the rākṣasas and the ultimate reunion of Sītā with her beloved Rāma.