Lakṣmaṇa, the tiger among men and destroyer of foes in battle, is Rāma’s steadfast companion and devoted brother. Renowned for his unwavering celibacy and firm vows, Lakṣmaṇa carries his bow and follows Rāma faithfully, never leaving his side. Together with me, Sītā, both brothers, their hair matted and dressed in ascetic garb, journeyed into exile, embodying the life of forest-dwellers. Constant in righteousness and resolute in their vows, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa entered the dense Daṇḍaka forest. Thus, the three of us—Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and I—were cast out from the kingdom, driven by the will of Kaikeyī. O best of Brāhmaṇas, with vigor we wander through this deep and wild forest. If you wish, rest here for a moment; you are welcome. My husband, Rāma, will soon return, bringing plentiful fare from the forest. Having slain deer, iguanas, and boars, he will bring ample meat for us. So, tell me truly, O Brāhmaṇa: what is your name, your lineage, and your family? For what purpose do you wander alone in the Daṇḍaka forest? As I, Sītā, the wife of Rāma, spoke thus, the mighty lord of the Rākṣasas, Rāvaṇa, answered me with harsh words. “I am Rāvaṇa, by whom the worlds—gods, asuras, and humans—are terrified, O Sītā. I am the lord of the Rākṣasas. Seeing you, flawless one, with your golden complexion and silken attire, I find no pleasure in my own wives. Among the many excellent women I have gathered from various lands, none compare to you. May all be well with you—become my chief queen. “My great city is called Laṅkā, 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 groves and gardens, and you will not yearn for this forest exile, O beautiful one. Five thousand maidservants, adorned with every ornament, will attend you if you become my wife.” But when Rāvaṇa spoke thus, I, Janaka’s daughter, flawless in form, became angry and replied to that rākṣasa, disregarding his words. “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, who is a royal scion, master of his senses, famed throughout the world, and whose arms are powerful. “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 rākṣasa. 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.” With pure intent, I spoke these words to the night-wandering demon, though he was wicked. My limbs trembled and I became distressed, slender as a banana plant shaken by the wind. Observing me trembling, Rāvaṇa—whose presence was as dreadful as death—began to recount his lineage, strength, name, and deeds, hoping to instill fear. He furrowed his brow in anger and replied to me with harsh words: “O woman of noble complexion, I am Rāvaṇa, the rival brother of Vaiśravaṇa, known as Daśagrīva, mighty in power—may you fare well. The gods, Gandharvas, spirits, birds, and serpents always flee from me in terror, just as all creatures flee from death. My brother Vaiśravaṇa, though born of a different mother, was challenged by me out of anger for another reason; I confronted him in battle and conquered him. Afflicted by fear of me, he abandoned his own splendid abode and now dwells in the foremost mountain, Kailāsa, riding his celestial vehicle. “That splendid aerial chariot called Puṣpaka, which travels at will, was won by me through my valor, O gentle one; with it, I traverse the sky. When I am angered, O daughter of Mithilā, merely seeing my face causes the gods, led by Indra, to scatter in terror. Wherever I stand, the wind blows hesitantly; the sun’s rays grow fierce, and the moon’s rays become cool, all out of fear in the heavens.” Thus, the exchange between Sītā and Rāvaṇa unfolded in the depths of the Daṇḍaka forest.