Tormented by overwhelming grief, Sītā, the daughter of Janaka, gazed upon the lifeless form of her beloved Rāma. With trembling voice and tear-filled eyes, she lamented, “Because of me, the unworthy one, the sinless son of a king—Rāma, who crossed the vast ocean with his own strength—has been slain, as if in a mere cow’s hoofprint. Married to Daśaratha’s noble son through the blindness of fate, I have become the disgrace of my family; as the wife of righteous Rāma, I have brought about his death. Surely, in some former birth, I must have obstructed a great charity or denied an excellent gift, for today I grieve as the wife of the foremost among guests. O Rāvaṇa, end my life swiftly over Rāma’s body—unite husband and wife and grant us the highest good.” Thus, Sītā, wide-eyed and consumed by sorrow, mourned beside her husband’s severed head and his mighty bow. As she wept, a rākṣasa approached Rāvaṇa, who stood before Rāma with joined palms. The demon respectfully addressed his lord, saying, “Victory to you, O son of the lord!” Having won Rāvaṇa’s favor, he reported, “Prahasta, the commander of your army, has arrived with all the ministers. He desires an audience with you, O lord, and has sent me to inform you. Surely there is an urgent matter, appropriate for a king and requiring patience; you should grant them an audience.” Hearing this, the ten-headed Rāvaṇa left the Ashoka grove and went to consult his ministers. There, he considered all his actions and the might of Rāma, and entered the assembly to make his arrangements. As soon as Rāvaṇa departed, the severed head and that excellent bow vanished from Sītā’s sight. With his ministers of terrible prowess, Rāvaṇa deliberated on the course of action regarding Rāma. Addressing the chiefs of his army and his well-wishers in words as stern as death, he commanded, “Quickly, with the loud and clear sound of the war drum struck at the corner, assemble the armies; the reason need not be announced.” Accepting his command, the messengers swiftly gathered the great army and reported to their eager lord, both those assembled and those still arriving. Now, listen to the next chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Yuddha Kāṇḍa. Seeing Sītā deceived and distraught, a rākṣasī named Saramā approached her as a dear friend. Gentle in speech, Saramā sought to comfort Sītā, who was deeply distressed and tormented by the king of demons. Saramā, compassionate and steadfast in her vows, had become Sītā’s friend, protected by Sītā herself, and appointed by Rāvaṇa to guard her. Saramā found Sītā, her senses lost, sitting turned away and fallen like a mare collapsed in the dust. Out of deep affection, she tried to console her devoted friend, saying, “Take heart, Vaidehī, do not let your mind be troubled by what Rāvaṇa said to you or by your own resolve. Out of friendship, timid one, I have promised you everything; hiding in the lonely forest, I have cast aside all fear of Rāvaṇa for your sake, wide-eyed one.” Saramā continued, “I know all that has caused the lord of demons to rush out in agitation, for I myself have ventured out to learn the truth. It is not possible to attack Rāma by night, for he knows his own self well; nor is it fitting to kill that tiger among men. The monkeys, who dwell among the trees, cannot be slain in this way, for they are protected by Rāma, just as the gods are protected by the best among the gods. Rāma is long-armed, illustrious, broad-chested, and mighty—a peerless archer, righteous and renowned on earth. He is valiant and always the protector of himself and others, together with his noble brother Lakṣmaṇa, learned in the science of statecraft. He is the destroyer of hostile hosts, of immeasurable strength and prowess. O Sītā, the illustrious Rāghava, slayer of enemies, has not been killed. “By an act of misguided judgment, opposed to all beings, such a cruel illusion was employed against you by the master of illusion. Let your sorrow be gone; all good fortune has come to you. Surely, prosperity attends you, and your beloved is safe—listen. Rāma, having crossed the ocean with the army of monkeys, has encamped upon the southern shore. I have seen Kākutstha, fulfilled in purpose, together with Lakṣmaṇa, standing protected with the forces that have crossed the ocean. The swift-moving rākṣasas sent by Rāvaṇa have brought back the news that Rāghava has indeed crossed over. Hearing this, O wide-eyed one, the lord of the rākṣasas, Rāvaṇa, is now consulting with all his ministers.” As Saramā spoke these reassuring words, she and Sītā heard the dreadful sound of the army’s full preparation. The great roar of the war drum, like thunder, filled the air. Saramā, sweet-spoken, said to Sītā, “This, O timid one, is the terrifying war drum that signals the arming for battle; listen to the deep drumbeat, like the rumble of clouds. Mad elephants are being arrayed, chariots and horses are being yoked; thousands of warriors, armed with spears, are mounting their horses. Here and there, thousands of armored troops rush forth; the royal roads are filled with armies, wondrous to behold.” Thus, amidst sorrow and fear, Sītā was comforted by the loyal Saramā, even as the city of Laṅkā thundered with preparations for the coming war.