Rama, the noble descendant of Kakutstha, was overcome with anger and confusion by the elusive golden deer. Wearied and helpless, he paused for a moment, seeking relief in the shade upon a patch of soft grass. But the night-stalking demon, Maricha, who had taken the form of a wondrous deer, continued to torment him. Surrounded by other deer, he danced not far from Rama, ever keeping just out of reach. Rama, his desire to capture the deer rekindled, sprang forward once more. Yet in that very instant, Maricha, gripped by fear, vanished again from sight. Then, from behind a distant tree, the radiant Rama caught sight of the deer reemerging. His mind set on ending the illusion, Rama resolved to kill the creature. Enraged and determined, Raghava seized a brilliant arrow, its luster rivaling the sun, a weapon made to destroy foes. He fitted it to his sturdy bow and drew the string back with all his strength, aiming carefully at the deer, who breathed with the fury of a serpent. With a mighty release, he let fly the blazing shaft, crafted by Brahma himself. The arrow struck true, piercing the heart of the demon in deer form as if it were a thunderbolt. Maricha leapt a palm’s length into the air, then fell to the earth, mortally wounded. He uttered a terrible cry as his life ebbed away and, in his final moments, cast off the illusory form of the deer. Remembering the words of Ravana, the demon pondered how he might lure Lakshmana away, so that Ravana could seize Sita alone. Recognizing the moment had come, Maricha, in his agony, cried out in a voice that perfectly imitated Rama’s own: “Alas, Sita! Lakshmana!” Struck fatally by Rama’s incomparable arrow, Maricha abandoned the deer’s guise and revealed his true, monstrous rakshasa form. His immense body sprawled upon the earth, terrifying to behold, as he surrendered his life. Rama saw the demon’s blood-soaked, writhing form and remembered Lakshmana’s warning words. “This was Maricha’s illusion, just as Lakshmana foretold. Today it has come to pass—I have slain Maricha.” But as the demon’s dying voice echoed—“Alas, Sita! Lakshmana!”—Rama’s heart filled with dread. “What will become of Sita when she hears this cry? Surely, mighty-armed Lakshmana will leave her side, compelled by concern.” The thought made Rama’s hair stand on end. A deep fear, born of anxious foreboding, crept into Rama’s heart. Having slain the demon in deer form and heard that haunting cry, he quickly gathered the flesh of another spotted deer and hastened back toward Janasthana. Meanwhile, in the hermitage, Sita heard that anguished cry ring out from the depths of the forest. Recognizing it as her husband’s voice, she turned to Lakshmana and pleaded, “Go, find out what has happened to Raghava. My heart trembles, my very life feels unsteady. I have heard the voice of one in great distress, and it shakes me to my core.” “Lakshmana, you must save your brother who calls out from the forest. Run to him at once, for he seeks your help. Surely Rama has fallen into the hands of the rakshasas, as a bull might among lions.” Yet Lakshmana, steadfast, did not move, remembering his brother’s command to protect Sita above all else. Distressed, Sita, the daughter of Janaka, spoke sharply: “Son of Sumitra, though you appear a friend, you act as an enemy to your brother. If you do not go to him now, then it must be for my sake that you wish for Rama’s destruction. Surely, out of desire for me, you refuse to follow Raghava. You seem to take pleasure in his misfortune, showing no affection for your brother. That is why you remain here so confidently, even as he, the one I trust, may be in peril. What is the use of your staying here as my protector if you do not go to him?” Overcome with tears and sorrow, Vaidehi’s words were sharp and pained. Lakshmana, seeing Sita’s fear and distress, spoke gently to her, as one might soothe a frightened deer: “O Vaidehi, your husband cannot be defeated—not by serpents, asuras, gandharvas, gods, danavas, or rakshasas. There is no being among gods, men, gandharvas, or even birds who could overcome Rama. Among rakshasas, pisachas, kinnaras, animals, or even the fiercest danavas, none can stand against him in battle. Rama is the equal of Indra—invincible. You should not speak so.” “I cannot bear to leave you alone in this forest without Raghava. His strength is unmatched, even by the mightiest. Even if all three worlds and their rulers, together with the hosts of gods, opposed him, they could not defeat him. Let your heart be at peace; set aside your fears. Your husband will soon return, having slain the noble deer. The voice you heard was not truly his, nor could it be any god’s. It was the illusion of the rakshasa, like a city conjured by the gandharvas.” “O Vaidehi, you have been entrusted to me by the great-souled Rama. I cannot abandon you here; it is my sacred duty to protect you, especially now that we are the enemies of these night-stalkers. Since Khara was slain and the massacre at Janasthana, the rakshasas speak many words in the forest. Do not dwell on these acts of violence and cruelty.” Thus Lakshmana sought to calm Sita, but she, angered and her eyes reddened by sorrow, could not be consoled.