Let us listen to the forty-fifth chapter of the Ramayana. Deep within the forest, Sita was suddenly seized by anxiety. She recognized the anguished cry echoing through the trees as her husband’s voice. Distressed, she turned to Lakshmana and pleaded, “Go and find out about Raghava. My life feels unsafe, my heart is shaken—I have heard the voice of someone in great distress, and it has unsettled me deeply.” Her urgency grew as she implored Lakshmana, “You must save your brother, who is calling out in the forest. Quickly, run to him—he seeks refuge.” Sita’s fears mounted. “He has fallen into the power of the rakshasas, like a bull among lions.” Yet Lakshmana, remembering Rama’s command, did not move. Disturbed by his hesitation, Sita, the daughter of Janaka, spoke sharply to him: “Son of Sumitra, though you appear to be a friend, you are behaving as an enemy to your brother. If you do not go to him now, Lakshmana, then it must be for my sake that you wish for Rama’s destruction.” Her suspicion deepened. “Surely, out of desire for me, you refuse to follow Raghava. I think you delight in his misfortune and feel no affection for your brother. That is why you remain here so confidently, not seeing him, the radiant one. What will become of me if he, in whom I trust, is in danger?” She pressed further, tears streaming down her face. “What is the purpose of your staying here, when you have come as the chief protector?” Vaidehi’s sorrow was palpable. Lakshmana, seeing Sita’s fear and grief, spoke gently to her, who was trembling like a frightened deer. “O Vaidehi, your husband cannot be defeated by serpents, asuras, gandharvas, gods, danavas, or rakshasas. There is no doubt—Rama cannot be overcome by gods, men, gandharvas, or birds. Among rakshasas, pisacas, kinnaras, animals, and even the fierce danavas, none can fight Rama in battle. He is equal to Indra and invincible. You should not speak this way.” He continued, “I cannot bear to leave you alone in this forest without Raghava. His strength cannot be resisted, even by the strongest. Even if all three worlds, with their lords and the hosts of gods, were to unite, Rama’s power could not be overcome. Let your heart be at peace, and set aside your distress.” Lakshmana tried to reassure her, “Your husband will soon return, having slain the noble deer. That 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. I cannot bear to abandon you here, for you have been entrusted to me. Now, we have become enemies to these night-wanderers.” He reminded her, “O Devi, after Khara was slain and the massacre at Janasthana, various words are being spoken by the rakshasas in this great forest. O Vaidehi, do 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,” she accused. “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. But this will not succeed, 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.” Sita’s words stung Lakshmana. He stood self-controlled, palms joined in respect, and replied, “I am unable to answer you; you are as a goddess to me, O Maithili. It is not surprising to hear such unfitting words from women; this is the nature of women, seen in this world. Women are fickle, unrestrained, sharp, and divisive. O Vaidehi, daughter of Janaka, I cannot endure such words.” He called upon the forest dwellers as witnesses. “Let all the dwellers of the forest bear witness as I speak words, piercing as heated arrows, between both my ears. Though I have spoken justly, you have addressed me with harsh words. Shame on you, who are perishing, for suspecting me in this way. Because of your womanhood and wicked nature, you remain fixed in your own view. I go now to where Rama is—may you fare well, O beautiful-faced one. May all the forest deities protect you, O wide-eyed one, for dreadful omens are appearing to me. May I see you again, together with Rama, when I return.” Thus addressed by Lakshmana, Sita, the daughter of Janaka, weeping and overwhelmed with intense tears, replied, “Deprived of Rama, O Lakshmana, I will enter the Godavari, or else I will tie a noose or abandon my body in some perilous place. I will drink deadly poison or enter a blazing fire, but I will never touch any man other than Raghava.” Overwhelmed by grief, Sita struck her belly with her hands as she wept in sorrow. Seeing her in such distress, weeping and dejected, with wide eyes, Saumitri tried to comfort her, but Sita remained silent, refusing to speak to her husband’s brother.