O valiant one, by your prowess, you have conquered the mighty city of Lanka itself; surely, you will defeat all the rākṣasas without exception. In my search for Janaka’s daughter, I wandered through the night, even entering the private chambers of Rāvaṇa, but nowhere did I see the slender-waisted Sītā. Not finding her in Rāvaṇa’s palace, I was engulfed in a sea of sorrow, unable to perceive any hope of reaching its far shore. While I grieved, my eyes fell upon an excellent garden, surrounded by a golden wall. Leaping over that wall, I beheld, among many trees, a great śiṃśapā tree standing in the center of the Ashoka grove. Climbing up into its branches, I gazed upon a golden grove of plantains, and not far from the śiṃśapā tree, I saw a woman of radiant complexion. She was dark-skinned, her eyes like lotus petals, her face thinned by fasting, clad in a single garment, her hair dust-stained. She was surrounded by fierce, flesh- and blood-eating she-demons, as a gentle doe among tigresses, and I saw them threatening her again and again. Her hair was gathered in a single braid; she lay dejected on the ground, her mind ever fixed on her husband, her body faded and withered, like a lotus at the onset of winter. Having lost all hope of rescue from Rāvaṇa, she had resolved to die, yet, with eyes like a frightened fawn, I swiftly found her there. Seeing her—Rāma’s illustrious wife—I remained concealed among the branches of the śiṃśapā tree, watching. Suddenly, I heard a loud clamor, mingled with the jingling of girdles and anklets, a deep and resounding noise emerging from Rāvaṇa’s palace. Alarmed, I withdrew my true form and hid myself in the dense foliage, like a bird in the leaves. Then Rāvaṇa himself, surrounded by his wives, approached the place where Sītā was kept. At his arrival, Sītā, lovely in form, drew in her thighs and covered her full breasts with her arms. Terrified and deeply distressed, she glanced about in fear, seeing no one to protect her, trembling, yet steadfast in her austerity. Daśagrīva, overwhelmed with sorrow, spoke to Sītā: “With head bowed, I fall before you—regard me with favor.” But then, his tone changed: “If, out of pride, you do not welcome me, O proud one, then after two months, Sītā, I shall drink your blood.” Hearing these cruel words from the wicked-souled Rāvaṇa, Sītā, greatly enraged, replied with excellent words: “Vile rākṣasa! I am the wife of Rāma, of boundless splendor, and the daughter-in-law of Daśaratha, lord of the Ikṣvāku line. How has your tongue not fallen out as you utter such unspeakable words? What is your strength, ignoble one, that you take me in my husband’s absence? You have come here, wicked one, after abducting me unseen by that great-souled man. You are not equal to Rāma, not even fit to be his servant. Rāghava is unconquerable, truthful, heroic, and renowned in battle.” Thus did Janakī speak harsh words to Daśānana. Suddenly, Rāvaṇa blazed with anger, like fire fed with fuel. His eyes fierce, he raised his right fist, intent on harming Maithilī. The women around him cried out in alarm, and then, leaping up from among them, the wife of that wicked one—Mandodarī, foremost among women—restrained him. Overcome by love, she spoke sweet words: “What do you want with Sītā, whose valor equals Indra’s? Enjoy yourself with me now; Jānakī is not superior to me. Enjoy yourself, lord, with the daughters of gods and Gandharvas, and with the Yakṣa maidens as well; what will you do with Sītā?” Thus surrounded by those assembled women, the mighty demon was quickly raised up and led away to his own palace. When the ten-headed one had departed, the Rākṣasī women with distorted faces began to threaten Sītā with harsh and terrible words. Yet Jānakī regarded their words as insignificant as grass, and their roaring, though it reached her, was meaningless. The flesh-eating Rākṣasīs made empty threats and gestures, then went to report Sītā’s firm resolve to Rāvaṇa. At last, all those women, their hopes dashed and their efforts exhausted, tormented and weary, finally succumbed to sleep. When they had fallen asleep, Sītā, ever devoted to her husband’s welfare, lamented sorrowfully, afflicted and deeply distressed. Then, rising from among them, Trijaṭā spoke these words: “Devour yourselves quickly, not Sītā of dark eyes. This virtuous daughter of Janaka, daughter-in-law of Daśaratha—today I saw a dreadful, hair-raising dream. It foretells the destruction of the Rākṣasas and the victory of her husband. Let us seek protection from Rāghava for all the Rākṣasīs. Let us beg Vaidehī for mercy; this pleases me. For if such a dream appears to one who is suffering, she, freed from various sorrows, attains unsurpassed happiness. For Maithilī, daughter of Janaka, is gracious to those who bow before her. She alone is able to protect the Rākṣasīs from great danger.” Then that modest young woman, Sītā, was delighted by the promise of her husband’s coming victory.