Tormented again and again by the mighty king of vultures, Rāvaṇa’s lips quivered with rage and his whole body trembled. Holding Sītā, Vaidehī, upon his left thigh, the furious Rākṣasa struck the suffering Jatāyu with his palm, his mind overcome by anger. But Jatāyu, lord of the birds, evaded the blow, and with his powerful beak, tore off ten of Rāvaṇa’s left arms. Yet, as soon as they were severed, those arms instantly grew back, blazing with streams of poison, like venomous serpents emerging from an anthill. Now filled with unrestrained fury, the mighty ten-headed Rāvaṇa cast Sītā aside and turned upon the king of vultures, striking him with his fists and feet. For a brief but furious moment, a battle raged between the chief of the Rākṣasas and the foremost of birds, both displaying great strength. Fighting for Rāma’s sake, Jatāyu struggled valiantly, but Rāvaṇa drew his sword and, in a terrible act, cut off Jatāyu’s wings, feet, and sides. With his wings severed by the fierce Rākṣasa, the great vulture, his life nearly spent, fell suddenly to the earth. Seeing Jatāyu fallen, drenched in blood, Sītā, overwhelmed with grief, rushed to him as one would to a dear kinsman. Rāvaṇa, lord of Laṅkā, beheld the noble vulture lying still upon the ground, his chest pale, his mighty strength subdued, resembling a dark rain cloud and a fire extinguished at the end of a forest blaze. Sītā, her face radiant as the moon, once more embraced the fallen bird, weeping bitterly, the sorrowful daughter of Janaka. Now begins the fifty-second sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. Sītā, foremost among women, seeing the king of vultures slain by Rāvaṇa, lamented in deep sorrow. She reflected that omens, dreams, and the cries of birds surely foretell the joys and sorrows destined for men. “Surely, Rāma, you do not know of your great misfortune; O descendant of Kakutstha, even beasts and birds are moved on my behalf. This bird, out of compassion, came to save me, but now lies slain because of my misfortune.” In her terror, the noble lady cried out, “Save me now, O Kakutstha! O Lakṣmaṇa!” hoping her cries might reach those nearby. Adorned with disheveled garlands and ornaments, Sītā wailed like one abandoned, but Rāvaṇa, lord of the Rākṣasas, rushed toward Vaidehī. Like a vine clinging to great trees, she embraced the fallen Jatāyu, crying again and again, “Let me go, let me go!” But the lord of the Rākṣasas seized her. Crying out “Rāma! Rāma!” in the lonely forest, bereft of her beloved, she was seized by the hair by that death-like figure, as if her life would end. At that moment, as Vaidehī was violated, the whole world of moving and unmoving beings became lawless, shrouded in dense darkness. The wind ceased to blow, and the sun lost its brilliance, as the gods, with their divine vision, beheld Sītā being seized. Then the illustrious Grandfather declared, “The task is accomplished,” and all the great sages felt both delight and distress. Seeing Sītā’s abduction, and realizing that Rāvaṇa’s destruction was now certain, the dwellers of the Dandaka forest understood the unfolding of destiny. But Rāvaṇa, lord of the Rākṣasas, seized Sītā as she cried out “Rāma!” and “Lakṣmaṇa!” and ascended into the sky. The princess, her limbs shining like heated gold, clad in yellow silk, glowed like a lightning flash in the clouds. With her yellow garment fluttering, Sītā made Rāvaṇa shine even more, like a mountain ablaze with fire. From that supremely auspicious lady, fragrant red lotus petals fell upon Rāvaṇa. Her yellow silk garment, fluttering in the sky and gleaming like gold, glowed with the hue of the sun, like a red cloud in sunlight. Her pure face, resting on Rāvaṇa’s lap in the sky, did not shine without Rāma, like a lotus without its stem. Her face, with a lovely forehead, beautiful hairline, and spotless like the heart of a lotus, appeared like the moon emerging from behind a blue cloud. Her beautiful face, adorned with shining, spotless teeth and lovely eyes, resting on Rāvaṇa’s lap, was radiant even in sorrow. Her weeping face, with tears wiped away, charming as the moon, with a fine nose and lovely red lips, shone in the sky with a golden glow. Yet, shaken by the king of the Rākṣasas, her beautiful face did not shine without Rāma, just as the moon does not shine in the day. That golden-hued Maithilī, clinging to the dark-bodied lord of the Rākṣasas, shone like a golden girdle on a blue elephant. The daughter of Janaka, golden and radiant as a lotus, entered Rāvaṇa like lightning entering a cloud, adorned with blazing ornaments. By the sound of Vaidehī’s ornaments, the lord of the Rākṣasas appeared pure and dark, like a thundering raincloud. A shower of flowers, fallen from her head, rained down all around as Sītā was being carried away, falling to the earth. That shower of flowers, scattered everywhere by Rāvaṇa’s speed, circled back again to the ten-headed one. A shower of flowers descended upon the brother of Vaiśravaṇa, as a pure garland of stars upon the lofty mountain Meru.