Ravana, the mighty king of the rakshasas, stood before Sita and sought to entice her with promises of grandeur. “If you become my wife,” he declared, “five thousand maidservants adorned with every ornament will attend upon you.” But Janaka’s daughter, flawless in form, grew angry at his words. Disregarding the rakshasa, Sita replied with unwavering resolve. “I am devoted to Rama,” she proclaimed, “who stands unshakable like a great mountain, majestic as Mahendra, and unfathomable as the vast ocean. I am devoted to Rama, who bears all auspicious marks, whose form is like a banyan tree, steadfast in truth and noble in character. I am devoted to Rama, 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 Rama, 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.” Sita’s voice grew sharper as she rebuked Ravana: “You are like a jackal desiring a lioness—an unattainable dream. You cannot touch me, just as one cannot grasp the radiance of the sun. Surely you must have seen many golden trees, O fool, since you desire the beloved wife of Raghava. You wish to snatch the fangs from the mouth of a hungry lion, the swift enemy of deer, or 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 Raghava. You wish to swim across the ocean with a stone tied to your neck, or seize the sun and moon with your hands. You who wish to violate Rama’s beloved wife desire to snatch blazing fire with a cloth upon seeing it. You who wish to seize Rama’s virtuous wife desire to walk upon the tips of iron spears, for you wish to attain a wife equal to Rama.” She continued, “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 Dasharatha’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 Dasharatha’s son and you.” Sita’s resolve did not waver, even as she reflected on her situation. “While Rama, radiant as the thousand-eyed Indra, stood with bow and arrow in hand, even though I have been taken from you, I shall not succumb to old age—just as clarified butter, when swallowed by a fly, is not diminished.” With pure intent, she spoke these words to the night-wandering demon, though he was wicked. Yet, as she spoke, her slender form trembled, distressed like a banana plant shaken by the wind. Observing Sita’s trembling, Ravana—whose presence was as dreadful as death—began to recount his lineage, strength, name, and deeds, seeking to instill fear in her. He said, “Listen now to the forty-eighth chapter in the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, in the Aranya Kanda.” As Sita spoke thus, Ravana’s anger flared; he made a furrow on his brow and replied with harsh words. “O woman of noble complexion, I am Ravana, the rival brother of Vaishravana, known as Dashagriva, mighty in power—may you fare well. The gods, Gandharvas, spirits, birds, and serpents always flee from me in fear, just as all creatures flee from death. My brother Vaishravana, 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, Kailasa, riding his celestial vehicle. That splendid aerial chariot called Pushpaka, which travels at will, was won by me through my valor, O gentle one; with it, I traverse the sky.” He boasted further, “When I am angered, O daughter of Mithila, 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. Wherever I am present or move about, the trees stand still without shaking their leaves, and the rivers become motionless in their waters. Beyond the ocean lies my splendid city called Lanka, filled with fierce rakshasas, just as Amaravati is filled with immortals for Indra. That delightful city, encircled by a shining white wall, adorned with golden courtyards and gateways made of lapis lazuli, stands resplendent. Crowded with elephants, horses, and chariots, resounding with the music of instruments, and decorated with gardens full of trees bearing every desired fruit.” Ravana tried to entice her again: “There, O Sita, princess, you shall dwell with me; you will not remember the women of humankind, O thoughtful one. Enjoying both human and divine pleasures, O woman of radiant complexion, you will not remember Rama, the mortal whose life has ended. Having installed his beloved son in the kingdom, King Dasharatha, lacking strength, then sent his eldest son into the forest. What will you accomplish, O wide-eyed one, with Rama, who has lost his kingdom and his mind, living as an ascetic? Cherish the lord of the rakshasas, who has come to you of his own accord; you should not reject one pierced by the arrows of love. If you reject me, O timid one, you will later feel regret, just as Urvashi did after striking Pururavas with her foot. Rama, that mortal, is not equal to me in battle, not even to my finger; O woman of splendid complexion, enjoy what has come to you by your fortune.” Thus addressed, Vaidehi’s eyes reddened in anger. In private, she spoke harsh words to the lord of the rakshasas, undaunted by his threats and boasting.