None born, nor any yet to be born, could defeat him in battle—Raghava, Rama, is unconquerable in war, even by the gods led by Indra. When I spoke thus, Vaidehi, Sita, bewildered and distressed, began to weep and uttered harsh words to me. She accused me, saying my intentions toward her were sinful, and with her brother lost, I would not attain her. She claimed that at Bharata’s signal, I pursued Rama, and though he called out in desperation, I did not go to him. Sita declared that I was a hidden enemy, following her for my own ends, seeking to harm Raghava, and therefore did not approach him. Hearing these words from Vaidehi, Lakshmana’s eyes burned red with anger, his lips quivered, and, overwhelmed by rage, he left the hermitage. To Saumitri, who had spoken in this way, Rama, overcome with grief and confusion, said, “O gentle one, you have come here without her, committing a wrong. Though you knew I was capable of protecting against the Rakshasas, you left Maithili and came here, driven by angry words. I am displeased with you, for you abandoned Maithili and came here after hearing the harsh words of an angry woman. Indeed, you were swayed by Sita’s urging, and overcome by anger, you did not follow my command. “That Rakshasa, who lured me away from the hermitage in the form of a deer, lies slain by my arrow. Drawing my bow and fitting an arrow, I struck him with a swift shaft. Abandoning his illusory form, his voice faltered, and the Rakshasa, adorned with armlets, was revealed. Struck by my arrow, he called out to me from afar in a voice full of pain, 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 uttering, “May Sita be safe.” Hastening, longing to see Sita, he arrived at the hermitage. Seeing the dwelling empty, he 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 Rama 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 pleaded with 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 searched among them. Then, wandering in the forest, Rama questioned bakula, punnaga, sandalwood, and ketaka trees, appearing as if mad. He turned to the animals: “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. “Why do you run, beloved? Surely you have been seen, O lotus-eyed one. Hiding yourself behind the trees, why do you not reply to me?” Thus, Rama wandered the forest, searching desperately for Sita, his heart overwhelmed with sorrow, calling out to trees and animals, pleading for news of his beloved.