Sita, held captive by Ravana, spoke to him with firm resolve and earnest warning. “Do what is truly good for yourself, Ravana—release me now. My husband, enraged by your violation, together with his brother, will surely bring about your destruction. If you do not let me go, he will be the cause of your ruin. By this very resolve with which you seek to seize me by force, you will meet your end. “Your determination, wretch, will come to nothing. For I, unable to see my husband—who is equal to the gods—cannot endure life much longer under the power of an enemy. I cannot survive long, separated from him and held in your control. Clearly, you do not consider what is truly good or beneficial for yourself. “Just as a man, at the moment of death, pursues what is harmful, so too do all those doomed to die disregard what is truly good. I see you here, already bound at the throat by the noose of death; yet in this perilous moment, you show no fear, O night-wanderer. Clearly, you see only trees made of gold and the dreadful river Vaitarani, with its streams of blood. You see, too, the terrifying forest of sword-bladed leaves, Ravana, with its flowers of heated gold and coverings of the finest beryl. “You will soon behold the sharp Salmali tree, studded with iron thorns. For such a deed against that great soul, you will not escape the consequences. You cannot endure for long, as if having drunk poison, pitiless one. You are bound by the noose of Time, Ravana, a force none can resist. “Where will you find peace, apart from my husband, the great soul, even for the blink of an eye, without your brother to defend you in battle? He who slew fourteen thousand rakshasas—how can that heroic descendant of Raghu, skilled in all weapons and mighty, possibly fail? Yet, even though you have stolen his beloved wife, he would not kill you with sharp arrows.” Thus, Vaidehi, seated on Ravana’s lap, overwhelmed by fear and grief, lamented pitifully with these and other harsh words. Greatly distressed and trembling, the radiant maiden struggled in Ravana’s grasp, but the wicked king seized her nonetheless. As Sita was being carried away, bereft of any protector, she noticed five foremost monkeys standing atop a mountain peak. Wide-eyed and of excellent form, she wore a silk upper garment shining like gold and was adorned with auspicious ornaments. With hope that these monkeys might inform Rama, she let go her garment and dropped it among them, along with her ornaments. In his agitation, the ten-headed Ravana did not notice her act, while the tawny-eyed monkeys watched Sita intently, their gaze unblinking. The best of these monkeys saw Sita crying out as Ravana, crossing the Pampa lake, sped toward the city of Lanka. The king of the rakshasas, delighted though it meant his own doom, carried the weeping Maithili in his lap, like a deadly serpent with sharp fangs and venom, flying over forests, rivers, mountains, and lakes. Swift as an arrow shot from a bow, he crossed to the abode of Varuna, the inexhaustible home of whales and crocodiles. As he reached the refuge of rivers and crossed the ocean, the waves, in agitation, turned back, blocking fish and great serpents. As Vaidehi was being borne away, the ocean appeared below, and voices arose in the sky, uttered by celestial bards. The perfected beings declared, “This is the end of the ten-headed one.” Meanwhile, Ravana held the struggling Sita in his lap and entered the city of Lanka, which would prove to be the very form of his own death. He entered his own vast and secure inner palace, placing grief-stricken and confused Sita, her eyes dark as night, within its confines. Ravana confined her there, just as Maya once did with his illusory demoness. Then the ten-headed one addressed the terrifying, ghastly-looking demonesses appointed to guard her: “Let no man or woman, unless approved, see Sita. Pearls, jewels, gold, garments, and ornaments—whatever she desires, give it to her at my command. But if anyone utters even a single unpleasant word to Vaidehi—whether out of ignorance or knowledge—her life will not be dear to me.” Having thus commanded the demonesses, the powerful king of the rakshasas left the inner palace, pondering his next move. He saw eight mighty rakshasas, eaters of flesh, and, deluded by the boon he had received, addressed them, praising their strength and valor: “Armed with various weapons, go quickly at once to Janasthana, the place once inhabited by Khara, now destroyed. Remain there, now that Janasthana is empty and cleared of rakshasas. Rely on your courage and strength, casting away all fear from afar. “A great and mighty army once stood in Janasthana, along with Dushana and Khara, but they were all slain in battle by Rama’s arrows. From that, an unprecedented anger has arisen in me, surpassing even my patience, and a terrible enmity has been born toward Rama. I wish to discharge that enmity against this great enemy. I will not find sleep until I have slain my foe in battle. Now, by killing Rama, the slayer of Khara and Dushana, I shall attain peace, just as a poor man does upon gaining wealth.