Freely transforming in myriad forms and guises, the enchanted deer Maricha fell to the ground, struck by Rama’s arrow. Rama, pondering the devastation wrought by this illusory beast upon the tranquility of the hermitage and the safety of Sita, hastened back with swift and anxious strides. Along the way, the eerie shrieks of a fox rent the air, a sinister omen that deepened his suspicions about the state of affairs at the ashram. Fear gnawed at him—was Sita in peril? Had Lakshmana, swayed by the false cries of the disguised Maricha, left her unguarded?
As these dark thoughts consumed him, Rama comprehended the vile scheme laid by the demons. The cunning Maricha had lured him away, leaving Sita vulnerable. His heart grew heavy with dread. “Surely,” he thought, “the demons seek to break my spirit by harming Sita. Their malevolence is clear.” His mind raced, piecing together the sinister plot as he quickened his pace toward the hermitage, haunted by ominous portents.
The forest around him echoed with unsettling sounds, and animals moved in disarray, amplifying his apprehensions. Rama’s thoughts dwelled on Sita’s delicate nature and Lakshmana’s steadfast devotion. In this state of turmoil, he met Lakshmana, who approached with downcast spirits. Their unexpected and emotional reunion was fraught with tension. Rama, torn between concern and reproach, chided his brother for abandoning Sita despite his instructions.
“O faithful brother,” Rama lamented, placing a hand on Lakshmana’s shoulder, “you have erred in leaving Sita alone. I fear we shall witness dreadful events at the ashram. Ill omens abound, and I dread for Sita’s safety. She must be in grave danger, or worse. Can we hope to see the daughter of Janaka alive?”
Rama recounted his pursuit of the deceptive deer, which transformed into a monstrous demon upon being slain. The realization that Maricha’s cries were a ruse to lure Lakshmana away intensified his distress. “Sita must have been taken or harmed by demons,” Rama concluded, his voice thick with anguish. “She may be struggling against them even now, far from our reach.”
In the desolate forest, overwhelmed by despair, Rama turned to Lakshmana, his voice trembling. “Where is the Sita who followed me into this wilderness, who stood by me when I was exiled? She, who shared my trials, cannot be lost to me. Without her, life holds no meaning. My dominion over the three worlds is hollow without Sita.”
Rama’s mind, clouded by worry and sorrow, envisioned the horrors that might have befallen Sita. His heart ached at the thought of her fragile being exposed to the cruelties of the forest. Addressing Lakshmana again, he said, “You must have feared Maricha’s cry and left Sita in her terror. The demons have seized their chance to retaliate for the slaughter of their kin. Sita, my gentle and devoted companion, is likely in their clutches.”
Tears welled in Rama’s eyes as he imagined the worst. His body trembled, his voice faltered, and grief engulfed him. He felt bereft of reason, caught in a web of anguish and helplessness, much like any mortal beset by overwhelming calamity. Yet, he understood that destiny’s designs must unfold, and he braced himself to face the harsh reality ahead.
Driven by an emotional storm, Rama and Lakshmana finally reached the hermitage. Rama’s heart, laden with sorrow, propelled him into the ashram, where he searched desperately for any sign of Sita. His strength waned under the weight of fear and despair, and his quest seemed increasingly futile. Tears flowed freely as he grappled with the dawning horror that his worst fears might have materialized, his very soul shaken by the cruel hand of fate.