Hear now how fate weaves its inescapable pattern upon the lives of gods, demons, and men alike. As the mighty Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, lay defeated upon the battlefield, words of profound truth echoed over his fallen form: “O foremost of rākṣasas, neither desire nor the fulfillment of desire is truly yours. All actions are directed by fate; what is destroyed is destroyed by fate alone. The ruin that has befallen the vānaras and rākṣasas in this great battle, and even your own end, O mighty-armed one, have all come to pass through the workings of destiny. No wealth, no desire, no valor, nor any command can turn back the course of fate once it is set in motion in this world.” As these words resounded, the wives of the rākṣasa lord, stricken with grief and sorrow, wept bitterly. Their eyes, clouded with tears, resembled she-owls lamenting in the darkness. Now listen to the one hundred and eleventh sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Yuddha Kāṇḍa. In the midst of the lamenting rākṣasa women, the eldest and most beloved wife of Rāvaṇa, Mandodarī, overcome with sorrow, gazed upon her husband’s lifeless body. Seeing Daśagrīva—he who was slain by Rāma, whose deeds defy imagination—Mandodarī’s heart broke, and she mourned her husband there. She spoke to him in her grief: “O mighty-armed one, even Indra himself would tremble to stand before you in anger, you, the brother of Vaiśravaṇa. So great was your wrath that even the most renowned sages, gandharvas, and celestial bards fled in fear from your presence. Yet now, you have been defeated in battle by Rāma, a mere man. Does this not bring you shame, O king, lord of the rākṣasas? How is it that you, who conquered the three worlds and possessed such splendor and might—unconquerable as you were—have been slain by a man dwelling in the forest? “You, who could move beyond the reach of men and assume forms at will—how could you be destroyed by Rāma in battle? I cannot believe that this deed is Rāma’s alone. How could he, surrounded on all sides, have struck you down in the midst of your army? Perhaps, in the form of Rāma, Death himself has come, devising an unfathomable illusion for your destruction. Or perhaps you have been overpowered by Vāsava—but what power does Vāsava have even to behold you in battle? “This one, of immense strength and valor, the enemy of the gods, is surely a great yogi, the supreme and eternal Self. He is without beginning, middle, or end; the highest among the great, beyond all darkness, the creator, bearing the conch, discus, and mace. With the Śrīvatsa mark upon his chest, ever prosperous, unconquerable, eternal, and steadfast—Viṣṇu, of true valor, has assumed a human form. Surrounded by all the gods who have taken the forms of monkeys, the glorious lord of all worlds, desiring the welfare of the universe, has come. “He, who long ago conquered his senses, faced you—the terror of the gods who had subdued the three worlds—surrounded by your demon hosts. But just as enmity is conquered by the senses when remembered, so too were you overcome, surrounded by many demons in Janasthāna. When your brother Khara was slain, then it was clear Rāma was no mere man. When Hanumān entered the city of Laṅkā, which even the gods find difficult to penetrate, at that very moment, as Hanumān entered by his valor, we became distressed. It was I who said, ‘Let there be no hostility with Rāghava.’ “Though I spoke thus, you did not heed me, and now this calamity has come upon you. O foremost of demons, it was then that you suddenly desired Sītā. For the destruction of your wealth, your body, and your kin, you desired her—she who surpasses even Arundhatī and Rohiṇī, O misguided one. By violating Sītā, the honorable and devoted wife, you have acted unworthily; she is the earth among women, the fortune among fortunes, ever faithful to her husband. “By bringing Sītā, flawless in all her limbs and auspicious, alone in the forest and wretched, by deceit, you have only defiled yourself. And, failing to attain your desire for union with Maithilī, you have been burned, O lord, surely by the power of the devoted wife’s austerity. That you were not consumed at once when violating the slender-waisted one is only because all the gods, with Indra and Agni at their head, feared you. “But surely, one must reap the fruit of sinful deeds; when the time comes, the doer receives it—of this there is no doubt. The doer of good attains good, the doer of evil reaps evil. Vibhīṣaṇa has found happiness, while you have met with such evil. There are other women for you, even more beautiful; but overcome by desire, you could not understand this, blinded by delusion. Neither in lineage, nor in beauty, nor in graciousness is Maithilī superior or even equal to me; yet, because of delusion, you did not perceive this. “For all beings, death has no visible mark; but for you, death has taken the form of Maithilī. Death, born from Sītā, has been brought near by you from afar. Maithilī, together with Rāma, will now rejoice, free from sorrow. “But I, of little merit, have fallen into a dreadful ocean of grief. On Kailāsa, Mandara, Meru, and in the forest of Caitraratha, I once delighted with you in all the celestial gardens. I would travel in a splendid aerial chariot, adorned with incomparable glory. We beheld many lands, adorned with various garlands and garments. But now, O hero, by your death, I have been cast down from all pleasures and enjoyments. “I am now that very same woman, transformed; shame upon the fickle fortune of kings! Alas, O king, your tender, beautiful, well-shaped, and smooth-skinned form—equal in beauty, radiance, and splendor to the moon, the lotus, and the sun; crowned with a shining diadem, with coppery face and blazing earrings—lies lifeless before me.” Thus, Mandodarī mourned her beloved husband, lamenting the workings of fate, the delusion of desire, and the inexorable justice that governs the world.