Kaikeyī once spoke to my father-in-law, King Daśaratha, saying, “If Rāma is consecrated, that will be the end of my life.” She asked for nothing else—not wealth or any other benefit, nor did she make further demands. At that time, my husband, resplendent and noble, was twenty-five years old. As for me, eighteen years have passed since my birth. In this world, I am known as Rāma—truthful, virtuous, and pure. My father is King Daśaratha himself, a man of great desire, wide-eyed and strong-armed, devoted to the welfare of all beings. To fulfill Kaikeyī’s cherished wish, my father did not anoint me, Rāma, though I had come before him for the consecration. Kaikeyī quickly spoke these words to my husband: “Hear this, Rāghava, as commanded by your father on my behalf: This kingdom, so undisturbed, must be given to Bharata, and you must dwell in the forest for fourteen years.” She continued, “Go to the forest, O descendant of Kakutstha, and free your father from falsehood.” Rāma, undaunted, replied to Kaikeyī, “So be it.” Hearing these words, my steadfast husband did as he was told. He would give but never accept, speak only truth and never falsehood. O Brāhmaṇa, this is the supreme vow firmly held by Rāma. His brother, born of another mother, is Lakṣmaṇa, mighty in valor. Lakṣmaṇa, tiger among men and destroyer of foes in battle, is Rāma’s constant companion, a devoted celibate, firm in his vows. Armed with his bow, he followed Rāma as he departed, together with me. Wearing matted hair, in the guise of ascetics, Rāma and his younger brother accompanied me. Constant in righteousness and steadfast in his vows, Rāma entered the Daṇḍaka forest. Thus, we three were cast out from the kingdom because of Kaikeyī. O best of Brāhmaṇas, we wander this deep forest with vigor. If you wish, rest here for a moment. My husband will soon return, bringing abundant forest fare—having slain deer, iguanas, and boars, he will bring much meat. So, tell me truly: what is your name, your lineage, and your family? O Brāhmaṇa, for what purpose do you wander alone in the Daṇḍaka forest? As Sītā, wife of Rāma, was speaking thus, the mighty lord of the Rākṣasas, Rāvaṇa, gave her a harsh reply. “I am that Rāvaṇa,” he declared, “by whom the worlds—gods, asuras, and humans—have been terrified, O Sītā, lord of the Rākṣasas. Seeing you, flawless one, with golden complexion and clad in silk, I find no pleasure in my own wives. Among the many excellent women I have brought from here and there, let all be well with you—become my chief queen. “Lanka is the name of my great city, situated in the midst of the ocean, encircled by the sea and established atop a mountain. There, O Sītā, you will wander with me through the forests, and you will not yearn for this forest exile, O beautiful one. Five thousand maidservants adorned with every ornament will attend upon you, Sītā, if you become my wife.” But when Rāvaṇa spoke thus, Janaka’s daughter, flawless in form, became angry and replied to that rakshasa, disregarding him. “I am devoted to Rāma, who is unshakable like a great mountain, majestic as Mahendra, and unfathomable as the vast ocean. I am devoted to Rāma, who possesses all auspicious marks, whose form is like a banyan tree, steadfast in truth and noble in character. I am devoted to Rāma, whose arms are mighty, whose chest is broad, who strides with the gait of a lion, a lion among men, and whose appearance is like a lion’s. I am devoted to Rāma, whose face is like the full moon, a royal scion, master of his senses, famous everywhere, and powerful in arms. “You are like a jackal desiring a lioness, which is unattainable; you cannot touch me, just as one cannot grasp the radiance of the sun. You must surely see many golden trees, O fool, since you desire the beloved wife of Rāghava, O rakshasa. You wish to snatch the fangs from the mouth of a hungry lion, the swift enemy of deer, or to seize the jaws of a venomous serpent. You wish to lift Mandara, the foremost mountain, with your hand, or to drink deadly poison and go forth unharmed. You rub your eye with a needle and lick a razor with your tongue, for you desire to attain the beloved wife of Rāghava. You wish to swim across the ocean with a stone tied to your neck, or to seize the sun and moon with your hands. You who wish to violate Rāma’s beloved wife, desire to snatch blazing fire with a cloth upon seeing it. You who wish to seize Rāma’s virtuous wife, desire to walk upon the tips of iron spears, for you wish to attain a wife equal to Rāma. “The distance between a lion and a jackal in the forest, between a river and the ocean, between the finest wine and ordinary liquor—that is the distance between Daśaratha’s son and you. The distance between gold, lead, and iron, between sandalwood, water, and mud, between elephants and donkeys in the forest—that is the distance between Daśaratha’s son and you. “While Rāma, radiant as the thousand-eyed Indra, stands with bow and arrow in hand, even though I have been taken from him, I shall not succumb to old age—just as clarified butter, when swallowed by a fly, is not diminished.” Thus, with pure intent, Sītā spoke those words to the night-wandering demon, though he was wicked. Yet, trembling in her limbs, she became distressed, slender as a banana plant shaken by the wind.