Lakshmana, seeing Sita distraught, tried to reassure her, saying, “Enough of this agitation; be calm and free from anxiety. In all the three worlds, there is no one who could defeat Raghava in battle. Whether born or yet to be born, none could conquer him in combat; Raghava is invincible in war, even to the gods led by Indra.” But Vaidehi, her mind bewildered and tears streaming down her face, replied with harsh words. She accused Lakshmana, saying, “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 and seeking to harm Raghava, so you do not approach him.” Stung by Sita’s words, Lakshmana’s eyes reddened with anger, his lips quivered, and he left the hermitage. Rama, overcome by grief and confusion, saw Lakshmana and said, “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 explained, “That Rakshasa lies slain by my arrow—he 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, with 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.” Now begins the sixtieth sarga of the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Aranyakanda. As Rama hurried along, his left eye throbbed, he stumbled and faltered, and trembling seized him. Observing these repeated evil omens, he kept saying, “May Sita be safe.” Hastening, longing to see Sita, he arrived at the hermitage and, seeing it empty, became deeply anxious. Raghunandana rushed about swiftly, glancing everywhere at 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, he did not find his beloved. His eyes reddened with grief, the glorious one 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. He cried out to the trees, “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. Just as you are praised by bees, O noble tree, so this tilaka tree surely knows the one who loves tilaka trees. O Ashoka tree, remover of sorrow, my mind is afflicted with grief; quickly make your name true by granting me a sight of my beloved. If you have seen her, O Tala tree, whose breasts resemble ripe tala fruits, tell me of the beautiful one, if you have any compassion for me. If you have seen her, O Jambu tree, whose radiance matches the Jambunada gold, if you know my beloved, tell me without hesitation. Ah, you, O Karnikara tree, are splendidly blooming; if you have seen my virtuous beloved, who loves karnikara trees, tell me.” Rama, renowned for his greatness, went to mango, nipa, great sal, jackfruit, kurava, dhava, and pomegranate trees, and looked among them. Then, wandering in the forest, Rama questioned bakula, punnaga, sandalwood, and ketaka trees, appearing as if mad. He turned to the animals: “Or, O deer, do you know Maithili, whose eyes are like those of a fawn? The lovely one, with deer-like gaze, may be with the deer. O elephant, if you have seen her, whose thighs are like elephant trunks, I believe you know her; tell me, O noble elephant. O tiger, if you have seen my beloved, whose face is like the moon, tell me of Maithili without fear; you need not be afraid.” Thus, Rama wandered the forest in anguish, searching for Sita, beseeching the trees and animals, his heart heavy with sorrow.