Rāvaṇa, the mighty lord of the Rākṣasas, summoned together his most formidable night-stalkers and commanded them with urgency, “All of you must proceed with vigilance; make every effort, without ceasing, to bring about the destruction of Rāghava.” He reminded them of their proven strength on the battlefield, declaring, “Your valor has been witnessed many times, and so I have stationed you here in Janasthāna.” Having given these orders, Rāvaṇa approached the eight Rākṣasas, spoke to them with words meant to please, and, after they had respectfully saluted him, the eight departed together from Laṅkā. Unseen by any, they made their way toward Janasthāna, intent on their dark mission. Meanwhile, Rāvaṇa’s heart was filled with delight, for he had succeeded in seizing Sītā. Embracing the daughter of Mithilā, he rejoiced in his victory, though it had sown a deep enmity with Rāma. Overcome by delusion, Rāvaṇa reveled in his accomplishment. Now begins the fifty-fifth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. Having instructed the eight fierce and mighty Rākṣasas, Rāvaṇa, his mind clouded by confusion, imagined his task complete. Yet, tormented by the arrows of desire for Vaidehī, he entered his splendid palace, eager to see Sītā once more. Within that grand mansion, Rāvaṇa, lord of the Rākṣasas, beheld Sītā. She was surrounded by Rākṣasī women, her face streaming with tears, weighed down by sorrow as if she were a boat sinking in the ocean, battered by relentless winds. Like a gentle doe separated from her herd and encircled by hounds, Sītā stood with her gaze lowered, forlorn as the night-stalker approached her. Seeing her helpless and subdued by grief, Rāvaṇa sought to entice her by showing her the wonders of his palace, which rivaled the abodes of the gods. He led her through halls and mansions crowded together, attended by thousands of women, filled with flocks of birds, and adorned with jewels of every kind. The pillars gleamed with ivory, gold, crystal, and silver, decorated with marvelous patterns of diamond and cat’s-eye, all delightful to behold. Celestial drums resounded, golden ornaments blazed, and ascending a splendid golden staircase with her, Rāvaṇa revealed even more of his grandeur. The palaces had charming windows of ivory and silver, latticed with gold. In his own house, Daśagrīva showed Maithilī all the courtyards, wondrous with lime and gems. He displayed beautiful ponds and lakes covered with many kinds of flowers, but Sītā remained lost in grief, unmoved by these treasures. After showing Vaidehī the entire splendid palace, the wicked-hearted Rāvaṇa spoke to her, hoping to win her over with his words. “There are ten crores of Rākṣasas and twenty-two thousand chariots under my command, excluding the old, the very young, and the night-wanderers. O Sītā, I am the lord of all these mighty warriors; for each one, I have a thousand more ready to act at my command. “This entire kingdom, O wide-eyed one, rests upon you—and my very life, dear Sītā, for you are dearer to me than breath itself. Among the many noble women who are my consorts, you, Sītā, would be their sovereign; become my wife, beloved. “Why do you persist in thinking otherwise? Accept my words; grant your favor to me, who am tormented, and be gracious. This Lanka, encircled by the sea and a hundred yojanas wide, cannot be violated even by the gods with Indra, nor by demons. “Among gods, yakshas, gandharvas, or sages, I see no one in all the worlds who could match my strength. What will you do with Rāma—deprived of his kingdom, miserable, an ascetic, wandering on foot, a mere human of little power? “Accept me alone, Sītā, as your husband, for I am your equal; youth is fleeting, gentle one, so enjoy yourself here with me. Do not set your mind, O beautiful-faced one, on seeing Rāghava; who here has the power, even in thought, to come to you, Sītā? “Just as the swift wind in the sky cannot be bound with cords, nor can the pure flames of a blazing fire be seized—O lovely one, in all three worlds I see no one who could, by force, take you away while you are guarded by my arms. “Rule this vast kingdom of Lanka; let those like me, and even the gods, moving and unmoving, be your servants. Having been anointed with consecration water, be pleased and enjoy yourself; whatever wrong was done before by dwelling in the forest is now past. “And whatever good deeds you have done, receive their reward here; here are all the garlands with divine fragrance, O Maithilī. Here are the finest ornaments; enjoy them with me. The Pushpaka, O beautiful-hipped one, is my brother Vaishravana’s—a chariot shining like the sun, seized by force in battle, vast and delightful, that aerial car moves as swiftly as thought. “There, Sītā, enjoy yourself with me as you please; your face, like a lotus, pure and lovely to behold—yet, O beautiful one, your face does not shine, afflicted as you are by sorrow.” As Rāvaṇa spoke thus, Sītā, the noble lady, with the edge of her garment, held back her tears with effort. Her face, like the moon, was dimmed by worry; lost in thought, she appeared unwell, her radiance fading. Seeing her thus, Rāvaṇa, the night-stalker, spoke again: “Enough of this shame, Vaidehī, brought on by your breach of duty. O lady, this lack of movement that will overpower you is a sage’s curse. My feet, gentle towards you, are pressed down by my head.” Thus, Rāvaṇa sought to sway the sorrowful Sītā with words, power, and the splendor of his palace, but her heart remained steadfast, lost in longing and grief for Rāma.