Then, O best of men, there were born many wondrous beings. Mātaṅgī, Śārdūlī, Śvetā, and Surabhī came forth, each radiant in their own way. Among them was Surasā, adorned with every auspicious mark, and Kadrū as well. All the deer of the world were the children of Mṛgī, while Mṛgamandā gave rise to the bears, as did Sṛmarā and Camarā. Bhadramadā bore a daughter, Irāvatī, whose own son was Airāvata—the mighty elephant who would become lord of the world. From Harī sprang the monkeys and the ascetic vanaras; from Śārdūlī came the tailed langurs and the fierce tigers. Mātaṅgī gave birth to the elephants, and Śvetā brought forth the majestic elephant of the quarters. Surabhī, too, bore two daughters: Rohiṇī and the illustrious Gandharvī. Rohiṇī became the mother of cows, while Gandharvī gave birth to horses. Surasā was the mother of the serpents, and Kadrū was the mother of the nāgas. From the great-souled Kaśyapa and Manu came humans—Brāhmaṇas, Kṣatriyas, Vaiśyas, and Śūdras. Tradition tells that the Brāhmaṇas were born from Manu’s mouth, the Kṣatriyas from his chest, the Vaiśyas from his thighs, and the Śūdras from his feet. Anala gave birth to all the trees bearing virtuous fruits. Vinatā, the granddaughter of Śukī, and Kadrū, the sister of Surasā, also gave birth to mighty beings. Kadrū gave birth to a thousand serpents, the earth-supporting nāgas. Vinatā had two sons: Garuḍa and Aruṇa. From Aruṇa was I born, and Sampāti is my elder brother. Know me, O subduer of foes, as Jaṭāyu, son of Śyenī. If you wish, I shall be your companion in this forest, for it is a difficult and fearsome place, haunted by beasts and rākṣasas. Dear one, I will protect Sītā whenever you and Lakṣmaṇa must go forth. Rāghava, hearing these words, honored Jaṭāyu, embraced him joyfully, and bowed, for he remembered well the friendship his father Daśaratha had shared with the mighty bird. Entrusting Sītā, the princess of Mithilā, to Jaṭāyu’s care, Rāma set forth for Pañcavaṭī with Lakṣmaṇa, eager to destroy his enemies like fire consumes moths. Thus concludes the sixteenth sarga; let the seventeenth now be heard. Rāma, after completing his morning ablutions, returned with Sītā and Saumitri from the bank of the Godāvarī to his own hermitage. Together with Lakṣmaṇa, he performed the sacred morning rituals and entered their leaf-thatched hut. There, Rāma dwelt happily, honored by the great sages, seated with Sītā within the humble abode. The mighty-armed Rāma shone like the moon adorned with gentle patterns. With his brother Lakṣmaṇa, he passed the time in delightful conversation. As Rāma sat, his mind absorbed in stories, a certain rākṣasī happened to arrive at their dwelling. Her name was Śūrpaṇakhā, sister of the rākṣasa Daśagrīva. Approaching, she beheld Rāma—his form radiant as a celestial. She gazed upon his shining face, his mighty arms, his eyes long as lotus petals, his gait stately as an elephant’s, and his matted locks arranged in a noble circle. She saw Rāma, gentle yet strong, marked with royal signs, dark as a blue lotus, resplendent like Kāma himself. Seeing him, so like Indra in beauty, Śūrpaṇakhā was overwhelmed by desire. Though her own face was ugly, she could not turn her eyes from Rāma’s handsomeness, her broad waist contrasting with her large belly. Her eyes were distorted, while his were wide and lovely; her hair was coppery, his beautiful; she was unpleasant, he pleasing; her voice was sweet yet terrifying. She was old, yet seemed youthful; fierce, yet gentle in speech; of wicked conduct, while he was righteous; she, unpleasant to behold, while he was charming. Driven by passion, the rākṣasī spoke to Rāma: “You, with matted hair, dressed as an ascetic, with your wife, bearing bow and arrows—why have you come to this land inhabited by rākṣasas? What is the purpose of your coming? Tell me the truth.” Thus addressed by Śūrpaṇakhā, Rāma, the tormentor of foes, replied with straightforward intent: “There was a king named Daśaratha, whose valor rivaled the gods. I am his eldest son, known among the people as Rāma. This is my younger brother, Lakṣmaṇa, devoted to me; and this is my wife, the famed Vaidehī, known as Sītā.” “But now, tell me about yourself—whose are you, who are you, and to whom do you belong? For you appear to me as a rākṣasī, though with an attractive form. Why have you come here—what is your true purpose? Speak truthfully.” Hearing these words, the rākṣasī, tormented by desire, replied: “Listen, Rāma, I will tell you truly. I am a rākṣasī named Śūrpaṇakhā, able to assume any form I wish. I wander alone in this forest, terrifying all. Rāvaṇa is my brother—perhaps you have heard of him. He is a hero, son of Viśravas; perhaps you know of Kumbhakarṇa, ever lost in deep sleep, of great might. Vibhīṣaṇa, too, is righteous in nature, unlike other rākṣasas; and my brothers Khara and Dūṣaṇa are famed for their valor in battle.” “Leaving them behind, Rāma, and seeing you for the first time, I have come to you, drawn by feeling, seeking the best of men as my husband. I am endowed with power, moving freely by my own strength. Be my husband for a long time—what need have you for Sītā?