As Lakshmana approached along the forest path, Rama’s heart was troubled. He felt his left eye, arm, and heart all throbbing—a sign of deep foreboding. Seeing Lakshmana arrive alone, far from Sita, Rama voiced his concern. Lakshmana, noble and sorrowful, spoke to his grieving brother. “I did not leave Sita of my own will,” he explained. “Her harsh words compelled me to come to you. She cried out loudly, calling ‘Lakshmana!’ as if scolded by an elder, and her desperate plea, ‘Save me!’ reached my ears. Hearing her anguished call, Maithili, out of affection for you, urged me again and again, weeping and terrified, to go quickly. Pressed by her, I was repeatedly told to hurry, but I tried to reassure her, saying: ‘I do not see any demon here who could bring such fear; be at ease, nothing of this kind has ever happened.’ “How could a noble one utter such a disgraceful cry, ‘Save me, Sita,’ when he could protect even the gods? For what reason, and by whom, was my brother’s voice used, calling out in a broken tone, ‘Lakshmana, save me’? That cry, uttered out of fear by a demon, O noble lady, should not distress you, for it is the way of wicked women. Enough of this agitation; be calm and free from anxiety. In all three worlds, no man could defeat Raghava in battle. Whether born or yet to be born, there is none who could conquer him; Raghava is invincible, even to the gods led by Indra.” Lakshmana continued, “Thus addressed, Vaidehi, her mind bewildered, shed tears and spoke harsh words to me: ‘Your feelings toward me are sinful; with my brother lost, you will not attain me. At Bharata’s signal, you pursue Rama, and though he cries out desperately, you do not go to him. You are a hidden enemy, following me for your own ends, seeking to harm Raghava, and so you do not approach him.’” Lakshmana, his eyes red with anger and lips quivering in rage, left the hermitage after hearing these bitter words. Rama, overwhelmed by confusion and grief, said to Saumitri, “O gentle one, you have come here without her, committing a wrong. Even though you knew I was capable of protecting against the Rakshasas, you left Maithili and came here, driven by words of anger. I am not pleased with you, for you abandoned Maithili and came here after hearing harsh words from an angry woman. Indeed, you were swayed by Sita’s urging and, overcome by anger, you did not follow my command.” Rama then recounted the events that had transpired. “That Rakshasa lies slain by my arrow—the one who, in the form of a deer, lured me away from the hermitage. Drawing my bow and fitting an arrow, I struck him with a swift shaft; abandoning his illusory form, his voice faltered, and that Rakshasa, adorned with armlets, was revealed. Struck by my arrow, in a voice full of pain, he called out to me from afar with a dreadful cry—because of which you left Maithili and came here.” Thus concludes the fifty-ninth sarga, and the sixtieth sarga is to be heard in the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Aranyakanda. As Rama hurried along, his left eye throbbed; he stumbled and faltered, trembling with anxiety. Observing these repeated evil omens, he kept praying, “May Sita be safe.” Hastening, longing to see her, Rama arrived at the hermitage. Seeing the dwelling empty, his heart was seized with deep anxiety. Raghunandana rushed about swiftly, searching everywhere around the hermitage grounds. He saw the leaf-hut, now bereft of Sita, stripped of its beauty, ruined like a lotus pond in winter. The trees seemed to weep, their flowers, deer, and birds all wilted; the place was desolate, abandoned by the spirits of the forest. Seeing the hermitage scattered with disordered skins and sacred grass, and the seat overturned, Rama lamented again and again. “She has been carried off, or killed, or lost, or perhaps devoured; or maybe, frightened, she is hiding, or has taken refuge in the forest. Perhaps she went to gather flowers or fruits, or perhaps she went to the lotus pond, or to the river for water.” Though he searched the forest with all his effort, Rama did not find his beloved. His eyes reddened with grief, he wandered like a madman. Running from tree to tree, and among mountains and rivers, Rama wandered, lamenting, submerged in the ocean of sorrow and grief. “O Kadamba tree, have you perchance seen my beloved, who loves kadamba trees? If you know, tell me of Sita, whose face is beautiful. If you have seen her, who resembles tender leaves and wears yellow silk, tell me, O Bilva tree, of her whose breasts are like bilva fruits. Or, O Arjuna tree, tell me of my beloved, who loves arjuna trees; whether the slender daughter of Janaka is alive or not. Surely the trees know Maithili, whose thighs are like tree trunks; this tree, rich with creepers, leaves, and flowers, shines brightly.” Thus Rama, heartbroken and desperate, searched the forest, calling out to the trees and nature itself, yearning for a sign of his beloved Sita.