Ramayana

Witnessing Sītā trembling before him, Rāvaṇa—whose very presence evoked the terror of death—began to boast of his lineage, power, name, and exploits, seeking to fill her heart with fear. As the tale unfolds in the forty-eighth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, within the Aranya Kāṇḍa, Sītā’s words provoke Rāvaṇa’s wrath. His brow furrowed in anger, he answers her with harshness: “O woman of noble complexion, know that I am Rāvaṇa, the rival brother of Vaiśravaṇa, famed as Daśagrīva, mighty in strength—may you fare well.” He continues, “The gods, Gandharvas, spirits, birds, and serpents all flee from me in fear, just as all creatures flee from death itself. My brother Vaiśravaṇa, though born of another mother, was challenged by me in battle for another reason; I confronted him and conquered him. Terrified, he abandoned his splendid abode and now resides atop Kailāsa, riding his celestial vehicle.” Rāvaṇa boasts further, “The wondrous aerial chariot called Puṣpaka, which travels wherever one desires, I won through my valor, O gentle one; with it, I traverse the sky. When I am angered, O daughter of Mithilā, the gods led by Indra scatter in terror at merely seeing my face. Wherever I stand, the wind blows hesitantly, the sun’s rays grow fierce, and the moon’s rays cool, all out of fear in the heavens. Wherever I move, the trees stand motionless, their leaves unmoved, and even the rivers halt their flow.” He describes his domain: “Beyond the ocean lies my splendid city, Laṅkā, filled with fierce rākṣasas, just as Amarāvatī is with immortals for Indra. That delightful city, encircled by shining white walls, adorned with golden courtyards and gateways of lapis lazuli, stands resplendent. It is crowded with elephants, horses, and chariots, resounding with music, and decorated with gardens bearing every fruit one could desire.” Turning to Sītā, Rāvaṇa declares, “There, O princess, you shall dwell with me; you will not remember the women of humankind, O thoughtful one. Enjoying both human and divine pleasures, O radiant woman, you will forget Rāma, the mortal whose life is ended. King Dasharatha, lacking strength, sent his eldest son into the forest after installing his beloved son in the kingdom. What will you accomplish, O wide-eyed one, with Rāma, who has lost his kingdom and his mind, living as an ascetic? Cherish the lord of the rākṣasas, who has come to you of his own accord; do not reject one pierced by love’s arrows. If you reject me, O timid one, you will later regret it, just as Urvashi did after striking Pururavas with her foot. Rāma, that mortal, is not my equal in battle—not even to my finger. O woman of splendid complexion, enjoy what fortune has brought you.” Thus addressed, Sītā—her eyes burning red with anger—responds harshly to the lord of the rākṣasas in private: “How can you, intent on evil, claim to be Kubera’s brother, the god honored by all? Surely, all the rākṣasas will perish, O Rāvaṇa, for whom you, harsh and ill-minded, uncontrolled in your senses, are king. Indra might live after abducting his wife Shachi, but having brought me, Rāma’s wife, you will not remain unharmed. One may survive after violating Shachi, the matchless beauty of the thunder-wielder, but after violating a woman like me, O rākṣasa, even if you drink nectar, you will not find release.” The story continues in the forty-ninth chapter. Hearing Sītā’s defiant words, the mighty ten-headed Rāvaṇa struck his hand against his other and made his form immense. He addressed Maithili, skilled in speech: “It seems my strength and valor are not known to you, who are not mad. I could lift the earth with my arms while standing in the sky, drink up the ocean, and slay Death in battle. I could pierce the sun with sharp arrows and split the earth’s surface; O mad one, witness me, who can assume any form at will.” As Rāvaṇa, radiant as a peacock, spoke in anger, his eyes grew bloodshot. He abandoned his gentle guise and assumed a fierce form, resembling the aspect of Time itself, the brother of Kubera. With eyes red as blood, adorned with heated golden ornaments, possessed by great wrath, he appeared like a dark thundercloud. The ten-headed, twenty-armed night-wanderer revealed his immense form, casting aside the disguise of an ascetic. Now standing in his own true appearance, clad in blood-red garments, Rāvaṇa gazed at Maithilī, the jewel among women. He spoke to her, whose dark hair framed her radiant face, adorned with fine garments and ornaments: “If you desire a husband renowned in all three worlds, O slender-waisted one, take refuge in me; I am a worthy husband for you. Choose me for lasting companionship; I am praiseworthy, and, gentle lady, I will never do you any harm. Abandon your human attachment and direct your heart toward me; forsake Rāma, who has lost his kingdom, failed in his aims, and whose life is limited.” Thus, Rāvaṇa, in all his terrible glory, attempted to sway Sītā, but she remained steadfast in her devotion and virtue.