Rāma, longing for Sītā, spoke with urgency: “If there is any sign of her coming, or if the noble lady is seen there—” “Indeed,” replied Kakutstha, and, resolved, he set out toward the south. With Lakṣmaṇa at his side, the illustrious Rāma searched the earth, the two brothers speaking softly to each other as they went. As they walked, their eyes fell upon a path scattered with fallen flowers. Rāma noticed a shower of blossoms lying on the ground, and, distressed, he spoke sorrowfully to Lakṣmaṇa, who was also troubled: “I recognize these flowers, Lakṣmaṇa; they are the very ones Vaidehī tied together and gave to me in the forest. I feel the glorious sun, wind, and earth are preserving these flowers for us.” He continued, “It is as if they are protecting these blossoms, pleasing me by their care.” Having spoken thus, the mighty-armed Rāma addressed Lakṣmaṇa, the best of men, and then turned to the mountain, filled with springs, and called out: “O lord of mountains, have you seen the one whose beauty is perfect in every limb?” Rāma, separated from Sītā in this lovely forest, spoke with anger to the mountain, his voice like a lion’s roar to a lesser creature: “Show me Sītā, golden in hue and form, O mountain, before I destroy all your peaks.” But though Rāma pleaded with the mountain for news of Maithilī, the mountain did not reveal her to Rāghava. Frustrated, Rāma, son of Daśaratha, threatened the rocky mass: “Burned by the fire of my arrows, you will be reduced to ashes. You will become unapproachable everywhere, devoid of grass, trees, and leaves. Or today, Lakṣmaṇa, I will dry up this river if you do not tell me of Sītā, whose face is like the moon.” Rāma’s anger seemed to set him ablaze. Then, on the ground, he saw a great footprint—evidence of a rākṣasa—left by the terrified Sītā as she ran here and there, longing for Rāma. He also found the tracks of Vaidehī, pursued by the rākṣasa, and observed the scattered footprints of both Sītā and her pursuer. Nearby, he saw a broken bow, a quiver, and a chariot shattered into many pieces. Alarmed, Rāma called out to his beloved brother. “See, Lakṣmaṇa, the golden drops from Vaidehī’s ornaments are scattered here, along with various garlands, O Saumitri. See how the earth is covered everywhere with bright drops like molten gold, and strange drops of blood. I fear, Lakṣmaṇa, that Vaidehī has been struck, torn apart, or perhaps even eaten by rākṣasas who can assume any form.” He continued, “Because of Sītā, O son of Sumitrā, a fierce battle must have taken place here between two quarrelling Rākṣasas. Gentle one, whose great bow, adorned with pearls and gems, beautiful and splendid, lies broken here on the ground? Child, is this the bow of the Rākṣasas or perhaps of the gods, radiant like the rising sun and studded with cat’s-eye gems? Whose golden armor, shattered and fallen to the earth, is this? And whose royal umbrella, with a hundred ribs and adorned with divine garlands? Gentle one, whose broken staff is this, lying on the ground? And these Kharas, with ghastly faces and golden chest-plates—terrifying in form, massive in body—whose are these, struck down in battle? Whose war-banner, shining like blazing fire, lies here? Whose war chariot is this, cast aside and broken, O gentle one? The arrows, adorned with gold, are scattered like chariot wheels. Lakṣmaṇa, whose are these slain arrows, dreadful to behold, scattered about? See, the two quivers are shattered and filled with arrows. Whose charioteer is this, struck down, still clutching the whip and goad? This is clearly the path of some rākṣasa.” Rāma’s grief and anger deepened: “See, gentle one, how my enmity with those rākṣasas, fierce-hearted and shape-shifting, has become a hundredfold, bringing death. If Vaidehī has been taken, killed, or devoured—if the ascetic Sītā has been lost—then righteousness does not protect her, seized in this great forest. If Vaidehī has been devoured or carried off, Lakṣmaṇa, who in this world, even among the gods, could bring me joy?” He spoke in despair: “Lakṣmaṇa, even the lord of all beings, heroic and compassionate, might be disregarded by all creatures out of ignorance. Surely, the lords of the gods think me weak, because I am gentle, devoted to the good of the world, self-controlled, and compassionate. See, Lakṣmaṇa, how my virtue has turned into a fault for me; today, it will be the destruction of all beings and the rākṣasas.” His resolve hardened: “Just as the great sun, when risen, withdraws the light of the moon, so, withdrawing all virtues, my power will shine forth. Neither Yakṣas, nor Gandharvas, nor Piśācas, nor Rākṣasas, nor Kinnaras, nor humans, Lakṣmaṇa, shall find happiness. See, Lakṣmaṇa, the sky filled with my weapons and arrows; today I will make it impassable for all who roam the three worlds. With the hosts of planets restrained, the moon obstructed, the fire and wind vanished, and the radiance of the sun concealed— with mountain peaks shattered, lakes drying up, trees, creepers, and thickets destroyed, and the ocean itself vanished— I shall bring the three worlds, joined with the force of Time and Death, to ruin; the lords of the world will not return Sītā to me unharmed.