In the depths of the forest, where wild beasts prowled and shadows stretched long, Rāvaṇa, the mighty king of the rākṣasas, approached Sītā, the gentle and virtuous daughter of Janaka, beloved wife of Rāma. With words as sharp as his intentions, he spoke to Maithilī, seeking to sway her mind, though she was worthy only of affection and kindness. Overcome by desire and wickedness, Rāvaṇa drew near and seized Sītā. In that moment, he was like the moon forcefully claiming Rohiṇī from the sky—his left hand grasped Sītā by her long, dark hair, while his right hand gripped her thighs. Sītā, lotus-eyed and radiant, was helpless in his grasp. At the sight of Rāvaṇa—towering like a mountain, with terrible fangs and mighty arms—the spirits and deities dwelling in the forest were struck with terror. Fearing for their lives as if death itself had come, they fled in every direction. Suddenly, Rāvaṇa’s wondrous chariot appeared, gleaming like gold, drawn by strange, powerful mules. Its harsh, thunderous sound echoed through the forest. With a voice loud and cruel, Rāvaṇa threatened Sītā, lifted her onto his lap, and set her upon the chariot. Seized and distraught, Sītā cried out in anguish, calling for Rāma, who was far away in the forest. Rāvaṇa, consumed by his desire, carried her off as if she were the cherished wife of the serpent king, while she struggled desperately against him. As the king of the rākṣasas bore Sītā away through the sky, her mind was overcome with grief and confusion. She cried out loudly for help, her voice ringing out like that of a woman maddened by suffering. “O Lakṣmaṇa, mighty-armed, who brings joy to your elders’ hearts, you do not know I am being carried off by this 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 wicked, O scorcher of foes? Why do you not punish such evil? Why do you not chastise Rāvaṇa?” Her voice trembled as she lamented, “The fruit of unrighteous deeds is not seen at once; time plays its part, as it does in the ripening of crops. Rāvaṇa, you have committed this act, your mind clouded by fate; now you will suffer a dreadful calamity at Rāma’s hands, bringing your end.” She thought of Kaikeyī and her kin, imagining their joy at her plight: “Now Kaikeyī may rejoice, for the virtuous wife of the righteous, renowned man is being carried away.” Turning her gaze to the forest, Sītā pleaded with all she saw: “O blooming Karnikara trees of Janasthāna, quickly tell Rāma that Rāvaṇa is abducting Sītā! I salute you, Godāvarī river, resounding with flocks of swans and cranes—tell Rāma of my abduction! And all you deities dwelling among these trees, I bow to you—announce to my husband that I have been carried away!” She cried out to every creature: “Whatever beings dwell here—herds of deer, flocks of birds—I seek refuge in you all. As I am carried away, beloved of my husband and dearer to him than life itself, helpless—tell him that Sītā has been taken by Rāvaṇa!” Her hope did not fade: “Knowing this, the mighty-armed and powerful one will bring me back, even from the grasp of Vaivasvata, by his valor.” Uttering words of compassion and lament, Sītā, wide-eyed and sorrowful, saw a great vulture perched upon a tree. She gazed at him, her heart full of fear and hope, and cried out, “Jatāyu, noble one, see me! I am being carried away, unprotected, by this king of rākṣasas, cruel and wicked in deed. This cruel night-wanderer cannot be stopped by you; he is strong, armed, and evil-minded. But Jatāyu, tell Rāma the truth about my abduction—tell Lakṣmaṇa everything, without omission!” Now, in the next sarga of the glorious Rāmāyaṇa, as Sītā’s cries reached the sky, Jatāyu, the noble king of vultures, though not fully awake, heard the sound of her distress. Quickly, he looked and saw Rāvaṇa carrying away Vaidehī. With a beak sharp as a mountain peak, the illustrious bird, perched upon the tree, spoke auspicious words to Rāvaṇa. “O Ten-headed one, you once stood firm in righteousness, devoted to truth. Brother, do 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 now seek to seize. How can a king established in righteousness touch another’s wife? “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; noble conduct does not long dwell in the house of the wicked. “Whether in your realm or city, Rāma, mighty and righteous, has committed no offense; how then do you wrong him?” Thus, Jatāyu, upholder of dharma, confronted Rāvaṇa, even as Sītā, in her distress, placed her last hopes in the loyalty of the creatures of the forest and the power of her beloved Rāma.