Ravana, his pride blazing, declared, “I could pierce the very sun with my sharp arrows and split the earth’s surface. O foolish one, behold me—the one who can assume any form at will!” As he spoke in anger, his eyes grew bloodshot, and his radiance shone like that of a peacock. In that moment, Ravana cast aside his gentle guise and took on a fearsome form, resembling Time itself, the brother of Kubera. His eyes, red as blood, flashed with fury; golden ornaments, heated by his wrath, adorned his body, making him appear like a dark, thunderous raincloud. No longer disguised as an ascetic, Ravana revealed his true, immense form: ten heads, twenty arms, the mighty lord of the night-wandering rākṣasas. Clad in blood-red garments, he gazed intently upon Maithilī, the jewel among women. Addressing Sītā, whose dark hair framed her radiant face, adorned with fine garments and ornaments, Ravana spoke with persuasive intent. “O slender-waisted one, if you seek a husband renowned in all three worlds, take refuge in me. I am a worthy husband for you. Choose me for lasting companionship; I promise you, gentle lady, that I will never do you harm. Abandon your human attachment and turn your heart toward me. Forsake Rāma—he has lost his kingdom, failed in his aims, and his life is but brief. Why are you attached, O deluded one, to a man who, at a woman’s word, abandoned his kingdom and his friends? Now he dwells in this forest, haunted by wild beasts, his mind led astray.” Thus Ravana tried to sway Sītā, who was gentle in speech and worthy of affection. But, overcome by desire and wickedness, the rākṣasa king approached and seized her, as the moon seizes Rohiṇī in the sky. With his left hand, he grasped Sītā—her eyes like lotuses—by her hair, and with his right, he seized her thighs. At the sight of Ravana, mountain-like, with sharp fangs and mighty arms, the forest deities, terrified as if facing death itself, fled in fear. Suddenly, Ravana’s wondrous magical chariot appeared, shining like gold, drawn by mules and resounding with a harsh, thunderous noise. With a roar and harsh words, Ravana threatened Sītā, lifted her onto his lap, and set her upon the chariot. Seized by Ravana, the illustrious Sītā cried out in anguish, calling for Rāma, who was far away in the forest. Ravana, driven by desire, carried off the struggling Sītā, as if she were the wife of the serpent king, snatched away by force. As she was borne through the sky by the king of rākṣasas, Sītā, her mind distraught and suffering, cried out with a voice filled with pain, “O Lakṣmaṇa, mighty-armed, who brings joy to your elders, you do not know that I am being carried off by a shape-shifting rākṣasa! Rāghava, you, who for righteousness’ sake abandoned life, happiness, and wealth, do not see me being taken away unrighteously! Are you not the chastiser of the wicked, O scorcher of foes? Why do you not punish such evil? Why do you not chastise Ravana? The fruit of an unrighteous deed is not seen immediately; time, too, plays its part, just as crops take time to ripen. You, Ravana, have committed this act, your mind clouded by time; now suffer a dreadful calamity, for Rāma will bring about your end. Now Kaikeyi and her kin may rejoice, for the virtuous wife of the righteous, renowned man is being carried away. I call upon the blooming Karnikara trees in Janasthana: quickly tell Rāma that Ravana is abducting Sītā! I salute the Godavari river, resounding with flocks of swans and cranes; quickly tell Rāma that Ravana is taking Sītā! And to the deities dwelling in this forest among many trees, I bow; announce to my husband that I have been carried away. Whatever creatures are here—herds of deer, flocks of birds—I seek refuge in all. As I am carried away, beloved of my husband, helpless, tell him that Sītā has been taken by Ravana. Knowing this, the mighty-armed and powerful one will bring me back, even from the grasp of Vaivasvata, by his valor.” Uttering these words of lamentation, her heart filled with distress, Sītā, wide-eyed and sorrowful, saw Jatayu, the great vulture, perched upon a tree. Gazing at him, her lovely hips trembling under Ravana’s control, she cried out in fear and sorrow, “Jatayu, noble bird, see me being carried away like one without protection by this king of rākṣasas, cruel and wicked in deed. This night-wanderer cannot be stopped by you; he is strong, deceptive, armed, and evil-minded. Jatayu, tell Rāma the truth about my abduction, and tell Lakṣmaṇa everything, without omission.” Now begins the fiftieth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Aranyakāṇḍa. Jatayu, though not fully awake, heard the tumult and quickly looked—he saw Ravana, and he saw Vaidehī. Then, with a beak sharp as a mountain peak, the illustrious king of birds, perched upon the tree, spoke auspicious words.