Seeing Sītā helpless and overwhelmed by grief, Rāvaṇa, lord of the Rākṣasas, sought to impress her. He led her through his splendid palace, a place that rivaled the abodes of the gods in its grandeur. He showed her halls and mansions clustered together, bustling with thousands of women, alive with flocks of birds, and adorned with a dazzling array of jewels. The pillars that supported these halls were crafted from ivory, gold, crystal, and silver, decorated with intricate patterns of diamonds and cat’s-eye stones, making the palace delightful to behold. The air resonated with the music of celestial drums, and golden decorations blazed everywhere. Ascending a magnificent golden staircase with Sītā, Rāvaṇa revealed rows of palaces with charming windows fashioned from ivory and silver, covered by golden lattices. Within his own house, Daśagrīva showed Maithilī all the courtyards, wondrous with lime and jewels. He pointed out ponds and lakes covered with various flowers, but Sītā remained withdrawn, absorbed in sorrow. After showing Vaidehī the entire splendid palace, Rāvaṇa, wicked-hearted, began to speak words meant to entice her. He boasted, “There are ten crores of Rākṣasas and twenty-two thousand chariots, not counting the old, the very young, and those who wander by night. O Sītā, I am lord over all these mighty warriors; for each one, I have a thousand at my command, ready to act on my behalf. This entire kingdom, O wide-eyed one, rests upon you; and my life itself—dear Sītā—you are dearer to me than breath. Among the many noble women who are my consorts, you, Sītā, are their sovereign; become my wife, beloved.” He pleaded, “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 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, traveling on foot, a mere human of little power? Accept me alone, Sītā, as your husband, for I am your equal; youth is fleeting, timid 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?” He continued, “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 Maithili. And here are the finest ornaments; enjoy them with me. The Pushpaka, O beautiful-hipped one, is my brother Vaiśravaṇa’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—but, O beautiful one, your face does not shine, afflicted as you are by sorrow.” As he spoke, Sītā, noble lady, with the edge of her garment, held back her tears with effort. Her face, like the moon, appeared dimmed by worry; lost in thought, she seemed unwell. Rāvaṇa, the night-stalker, then said, “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. Grant me your favor quickly; I am your obedient servant. These words I speak are empty, dried up within me. Nor would Rāvaṇa ever bow his head to any woman.” Having spoken thus to Maithilī, daughter of Janaka, the ten-headed one, seized by fate, thought, “She is mine.” Now hear the fifty-sixth sarga. Thus addressed, Vaidehī, though tormented by grief, became fearless. Placing a blade of grass between herself and Rāvaṇa, she replied to him: “There is a king named Daśaratha, steadfast in truth, a pillar of righteousness like a mountain; his son is that Rāghava. That righteous Rāma, renowned in the three worlds, long-armed and broad-eyed, is my husband, like a god to me. Born in the Ikṣvāku line, lion-shouldered and radiant, he, together with his brother Lakṣmaṇa, will take your life. If, before his eyes, you were to violate me by force, you would lie slain in battle at Janasthāna, just as Khara did. All these Rākṣasas you boast of, fierce and mighty, are powerless before Rāghava, as serpents are before Garuḍa. His arrows, released from the bowstring and adorned with gold, will strike your body like waves striking the bank of the Gaṅgā.