At that moment, Trijata, wise and compassionate among the rakshasi women, spoke up, choosing her words with care. She shared the vision she had seen in her dream, one filled with powerful omens: “Last night, I beheld a wondrous palanquin, divine and fashioned from ivory, soaring through the sky. Upon it sat Raghava himself—Rama—adorned in radiant white garlands and garments, accompanied by Lakshmana. The palanquin was yoked to a thousand horses, its splendor filling the heavens. “In another part of my dream, I saw Sita too, clothed in pure white, standing atop a great white mountain surrounded by the endless ocean. There, Sita was united with Rama, as inseparable as light is from the sun. Again, I saw Rama transformed—he appeared as a majestic elephant with four tusks, a being of immense strength and grandeur. “Together with Lakshmana, Rama shone like a mountain bathed in light, their brilliance rivaling the sun itself. Wearing white garlands and clothes, they approached Janaki—Sita—who stood at the summit of that mountain. There, before the celestial elephant in the sky, Janaki was embraced by her beloved husband, resting her head upon his shoulder. Then, leaping from Rama’s lap, the lotus-eyed Sita reached up and, with her gentle hands, wiped the faces of the moon and sun. “With Rama and Lakshmana at her side, that marvelous elephant stood above Lanka, carrying wide-eyed Sita in triumph. Again, I saw Rama, the scion of the Kakutstha line, arriving here with Sita, riding a chariot drawn by eight pale bulls. Clad in shining white, with Lakshmana by his side, he appeared elsewhere in my vision, ever steadfast and valiant. “Then, the mighty Rama, together with Lakshmana and Sita, ascended the divine Pushpaka chariot, glowing like the midday sun. Facing north, the best of men set forth, and I saw him—his valor equal to that of Vishnu—accompanied by his brother and wife. Rama, resplendent, cannot be conquered by gods or demons, nor by rakshasas or any others, just as heaven cannot be won by the wicked. “But I also saw Ravana, his head shaven and anointed with oil, cloaked in red garments, intoxicated and adorned with garlands of oleander, drinking and reveling. Suddenly, he fell from the Pushpaka chariot to the ground. In another vision, a woman, shaven-headed and dressed in black, dragged him away in a chariot pulled by donkeys, his body smeared with red garlands and ointments. Ravana drank oil, laughed and danced wildly, his mind deranged and senses lost. He sped southward atop a donkey, and again I saw him, the lord of the rakshasas, fallen headfirst to the ground, terrified and bewildered by the beast. “Ravana entered a foul, dreadful darkness, a hellish place filled with filth and mud, where he was quickly submerged. Heading south, he entered a muddy pool, and a woman in red garments bound the ten-headed Ravana by the neck. Kali herself, her body smeared with mud, dragged him further south. There too, I saw the mighty Kumbhakarna. “All the sons of Ravana were present, their heads anointed with oil—Ravana riding a boar, Indrajit upon a dolphin, and Kumbhakarna on a camel, all heading south. Among them, I saw one alone: Vibhishana, beneath a white parasol. He wore white garlands and garments, anointed with white fragrance, and was welcomed with the sounds of conch shells and drums, with dance and song. Mounting a divine, four-tusked elephant, roaring like thunderclouds and as grand as a mountain, Vibhishana sat in majesty, accompanied by four ministers as they arrived through the sky. “A great assembly gathered, resounding with music and song, while rakshasas in red garlands and garments drank blood. The beautiful city of Lanka, with its horses, chariots, and elephants, appeared to fall into the ocean, its towers and gateways shattered. I saw Lanka in flames, guarded by Ravana but burned by Rama’s swift messenger, the monkey. “In my dream, I saw all the rakshasi women of Lanka, intoxicated and laughing, their bodies rough with ashes, having drunk oil. Kumbhakarna and the foremost rakshasas, dressed in red, entered a pond of cow dung. “Go, see for yourselves!” Trijata urged her companions. “Raghava will reclaim Sita. In his wrath, he will destroy you and all the rakshasas. He will not tolerate any insult or threat to his beloved, virtuous wife, devoted to the forest way of life. Enough of harsh words—let us speak only with kindness. Let us beseech Vaidehi; this is what pleases me. “For one who dreams such things while in distress, deliverance from sorrow and reunion with her beloved are at hand. Even if she has been insulted, beseech her, rakshasis—there is no need for further talk. A terrible fear from Raghava has come upon the rakshasas. “Maithili, Janaka’s daughter, is easily moved by humility. She alone can save the rakshasis from great peril. Moreover, I see no blemish, no mark of misfortune upon this wide-eyed woman—only perhaps a faint shadow, a trace of suffering undeserved by one so divine, who has descended from the skies. “I see now that Vaidehi’s purpose is about to be fulfilled: the destruction of the lord of the rakshasas is near, and Raghava’s victory is certain.” Thus Trijata spoke, her dream a beacon of hope and warning, urging compassion, humility, and the promise of Rama’s triumph and Sita’s deliverance.