Rāvaṇa, his mind clouded by desire, began to taunt Sītā, the gentle and virtuous daughter of Janaka. “What virtues bind you, O deluded one who thinks herself wise, to that man who, at a woman’s mere word, abandoned his kingdom and friends?” he sneered. “He now dwells in this forest, haunted by wild beasts, his mind misled and confused.” Thus did Rāvaṇa, king of the rākṣasas, address Maithilī, who was worthy of affection and gentle in her words. Overcome by longing, the wicked-hearted Rāvaṇa advanced toward Sītā and, like the moon seizing Rohiṇī in the heavens, he suddenly seized her. With his left hand, he grasped her by her hair, and with his right, he caught hold of her thighs. His appearance was terrifying—mountain-like in size, with sharp fangs and mighty arms. The very forest deities, upon seeing him, were struck with terror, as if confronted by death itself, and fled in fear. In that moment, Rāvaṇa’s wondrous chariot appeared, gleaming like gold, drawn by mules and filling the air with a harsh, resounding noise. With a great roar and harsh words, Rāvaṇa threatened Sītā, lifted her onto his lap, and set her upon the chariot. Seized and helpless, the illustrious Sītā cried out in anguish, calling for Rāma, who was far away in the depths of the forest. Driven by desire, Rāvaṇa carried off the struggling Sītā, as if she were the wife of the serpent king himself. As she was borne away through the sky by the king of the rākṣasas, Sītā cried out loudly, her mind distraught, her voice like that of a maddened, suffering woman. “O Lakṣmaṇa, mighty-armed, who brings joy to your elders’ hearts, you do not know that I am being carried off by a shape-shifting rākṣasa!” she cried. “Rāghava, you, who for the sake of righteousness abandoned life, happiness, and wealth, do not see me being taken away unrighteously! Are you not the chastiser of the unruly, O scorcher of foes? Why do you not punish such wickedness—why do you not chastise Rāvaṇa?” Sītā’s voice trembled as she continued, “The fruit of an unruly deed is not seen immediately; time also plays a part here, as it does in the ripening of crops. You have committed this act, your mind clouded by time; now suffer a dreadful calamity, bringing the end of your life, from Rāma. Now Kaikeyī, together with her kin, may rejoice; the virtuous wife of the righteous, renowned man is being carried away.” Turning to the world around her, Sītā addressed the blooming Karnikara trees in Janasthāna, “Quickly tell Rāma that Rāvaṇa is abducting Sītā.” She saluted the Godāvarī river, resounding with flocks of swans and cranes, “Quickly tell Rāma that Rāvaṇa is abducting Sītā.” To the deities dwelling in the forest among the various trees, she bowed and pleaded, “Announce to my husband that I have been carried away.” Her desperation mounting, Sītā called out, “Whatever creatures are here, of whatever kind, I seek refuge in all—herds of deer and flocks of birds alike. As I am being carried away, beloved of my husband, dearer than life itself, helpless—tell him that Sītā has been taken by Rāvaṇa. 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 compassion, lamenting in great distress, the wide-eyed Sītā suddenly saw the vulture Jatāyu perched upon a tree. Gazing at him while under Rāvaṇa’s control, she cried out, overwhelmed by fear, her voice stricken by sorrow, “Jatāyu, see me, noble one, being carried away like one without protection, by this king of rākṣasas, cruel and wicked in deed. This cruel night-wanderer cannot be stopped by you; he is strong, deceptive, armed, and evil-minded. Jatāyu, tell Rāma the truth about my abduction, and tell Lakṣmaṇa everything, without omission.” At this point, the story continues into the next chapter. Jatāyu, though not fully awake, heard Sītā’s desperate cries. He quickly looked and saw Rāvaṇa and also saw Vaidehī, Sītā herself. Perched upon the tree, with a beak sharp as a mountain peak, the illustrious king of birds spoke auspicious words. “O Ten-headed one, you once stood firm in righteousness, devoted to truth; brother, you should not now commit this blameworthy deed. I am Jatāyu by name, the mighty king of vultures, ruler of all beings, comparable to Mahendra and Varuṇa. Rāma, son of Daśaratha, is devoted to the welfare of all beings; this illustrious lady is the lawful wife of that lord of the world. She is named Sītā, of noble form, whom you wish to seize; how can a king, established in righteousness, touch another’s wife?” Jatāyu continued his counsel, “Especially must a king protect the wives of others, O mighty one; turn back from this base course of coveting another’s wife. A wise man should not do what others would condemn; as one guards his own wife from violation, so should he guard the wives of others. Whether for gain or for desire, the virtuous, even in matters not set forth in the scriptures, discern the right path, O descendant of Pulastya. The king, righteousness, desire, and wealth are the highest treasures; from the king springs both virtue and vice, as well as prosperity. How, being fickle and of evil nature, O foremost of rākṣasas, have you attained sovereignty, like a wicked man ascending a celestial car? That which is rooted in desire cannot be easily removed; for noble conduct does not long dwell in the house of the wicked.” Thus did Jatāyu, the mighty king of birds, attempt to dissuade Rāvaṇa from his wicked deed, standing as a guardian and witness to Sītā’s suffering.