As Maricha lay dying on the earth, his life nearly extinguished, he released a dreadful cry that echoed through the forest. In that final moment, he abandoned the illusory form of the golden deer he had assumed. Remembering the instructions given to him by Ravana, Maricha pondered how best to lure Lakshmana away, so that Ravana could seize Sita while she was alone. Realizing the opportunity had arrived, Maricha cried out in a voice that perfectly imitated Rama’s: “Alas, Sita! Lakshmana!” Struck by Rama’s incomparable arrow in a vital spot, Maricha shed the deer’s disguise and revealed his true, fearsome rakshasa form. His immense body collapsed, lifeless, upon the ground, his terrifying appearance laid bare. Rama saw the demon’s blood-soaked body writhing in its death throes, and his thoughts immediately turned to Sita, recalling Lakshmana’s earlier warnings. He understood now that this was Maricha’s illusion—just as Lakshmana had predicted. The deception had come to pass: Maricha had been slain by Rama’s hand. But as Maricha died, he cried out loudly, “Alas, Sita! Lakshmana!” The sound carried through the forest, and Rama wondered anxiously what effect it would have on Sita. He feared that Lakshmana, strong of arm, would be compelled to leave Sita, driven by concern for Rama’s safety. This thought made Rama’s hair stand on end, and a deep anxiety took root in his heart. Intense fear gripped him, born from worry for Sita, as he realized the consequences of slaying the demon and hearing that cry. Afterward, Rama killed another spotted deer and took its flesh, then hurried toward Janasthana, anxious to return. Meanwhile, in their forest dwelling, Sita heard the anguished cry and recognized it as her husband’s voice. Disturbed, she turned to Lakshmana and pleaded, “Go and find out about Raghava.” Her heart was shaken, her life felt insecure, and she was deeply troubled by the cry of distress echoing through the woods. “Lakshmana, you must save your brother who is calling out in the forest,” she urged. “Quickly run to him—he seeks refuge.” She feared Rama had fallen into the power of the rakshasas, like a bull surrounded by lions. Yet Lakshmana, remembering his brother’s command to stay and protect Sita, did not leave. Distressed, Sita spoke again: “Son of Sumitra, though you appear as a friend, you are acting as an enemy to your brother. If you do not go to him now, it must be because you wish for Rama’s destruction for my sake. Surely, out of desire for me, you do not follow Raghava. I think you take pleasure in his misfortune and have no affection for your brother.” She continued, “That is why you remain here so confidently, not seeing the radiant one. What would become of me if he, in whom I trust, is in danger? What is the purpose of your staying here, when you have come as the chief protector?” Sita’s words were filled with tears and sorrow. Lakshmana replied gently to frightened Sita, addressing her with respect: “By serpents, asuras, gandharvas, gods, danavas, or rakshasas—none can defeat your husband, O Vaidehi. There is no doubt—by gods, men, gandharvas, or birds, Rama cannot be overcome. Among rakshasas, pisacas, kinnaras, animals, and even the fierce danavas, there is none who could fight Rama in battle. He is equal to Indra and invincible; you should not speak in this way.” He continued, “I cannot bear to leave you in this forest without Raghava. His strength cannot be resisted, even by the strongest. Even if all three worlds and their lords united, his power would not be overcome. Let your heart be at peace and set aside your distress. Your husband will soon return, having slain the noble deer. The voice you heard is not truly his, nor could it be any god’s. It was the illusion of the rakshasa, like a city of the gandharvas. O Vaidehi, you have been entrusted to me by the great-souled Rama.” Lakshmana explained, “O fair-hipped one, I cannot bear to abandon you here, for you have been entrusted to me by Rama. Now, we are enemies to these night-wanderers. After Khara was slain, regarding the massacre at Janasthana, various words are being spoken by the rakshasas in the great forest. O Vaidehi, you should not dwell on these acts of violence and cruelty.” But Sita, angered and with bloodshot eyes, spoke harshly to Lakshmana, who always spoke the truth. “You are ignoble, pitiless in your intent, cruel, and a disgrace to your family. I think you take pleasure in Rama’s misfortune; seeing him in distress, you speak these words. It is not surprising if evil arises among rivals, Lakshmana, especially among the cruel and ever-deceitful like you. You are truly wicked, following Rama alone into the forest, secretly, either for my sake or sent by Bharata.” She declared, “But this will not succeed, O son of Sumitra, neither for you nor for Bharata. How could I, having taken Rama—dark as a blue lotus and lotus-eyed—as my husband, desire another man? In your very presence, O son of Sumitra, I will surely give up my life. Without Rama, I cannot live even for a moment on this earth.” Lakshmana, self-controlled and with joined palms, listened to Sita’s harsh, heart-rending words. He replied with humility, “I am unable to respond; you are as a goddess to me.