Hearing her defiance, the demonesses seethed with fury, their howls rising like the wails of night creatures. Their fists clenched, their tongues lashed, their mouths spewed threats most vile. They raised their weapons, their eyes filled with the lust to terrify.
Vinatha, hideous in form, bellowed, “Enough of this insolence! Should you utter one more word of that mortal, you shall face the wrath of our lord. You speak of virtue and loyalty, but they shall not save you here. Ravana is the lord of all demons, mighty as Indra himself, benevolent to those who submit, ruthless to those who defy. Discard your mortal wretch of a husband and ascend to the throne of Lanka, radiant in jewels and power!”
One among them, fierce and maddened, raised her fist, her voice like thunder. “Sita, we have endured your obstinacy long enough! Ravana, crossing the mighty ocean, seized you from afar and placed you in the fortress of his protection. Not even the gods dare trespass here! What foolish grief binds you still? Youth fades, beauty wanes—rejoice in the pleasures of life while time allows. Accept the demon king, and you shall reign over thousands of enchanting maidens!”
Then came Chandodari, brandishing her trident. “Enough prattle! I crave her flesh!”
Praghana snarled, “Why waste words? Let me wring the life from her defiant throat! We shall tell our lord that this stubborn woman has perished—he will command us to feast upon her lifeless form!”
Ajamukhi shrieked, “Yes! Let us tear her limb from limb and end this charade!”
Their voices reached a fevered pitch, their bloodlust peaking. The air grew thick with their threats, their madness. Yet in the branches of a rosewood tree, unseen by them, sat the mighty son of Vayu, silent and watchful. His keen eyes bore witness to the unholy deeds unfolding before him. He clenched his fists, but he knew—this was Sita’s battle of will, and she stood unshaken.
The demons brandished their weapons, their gestures loathsome, their fury boundless. But Sita, though momentarily wearied by their wicked tongues, knew the truth. Their threats were hollow before her faith, their cruelty nothing before her unwavering soul. The darkness raged, but the dawn of righteousness was near.
Fate, though often cruel, is guided by justice. And even in the uncertainty of each moment, the wise find the thread of destiny weaving its path unbroken. Through the ashen air of Lanka, where the shadows of sin towered, Sita stood, her virtue burning fierce like a sacred flame. Her righteous wrath, as an arrow honed by dharma, struck deep into the heart of the immoral demon Ravana. For a moment, he stood there, stunned—his brute soul quivering before the force of her unyielding purity. But alas, the beast within him awakened, shaking off the momentary daze. Then came his favored queen, the demoness, her words dipped in cunning, soothing his ego and luring him away from the scene, his entourage trailing behind like dark clouds summoned by a storm.
Yet the demonesses who guarded Sita, shackled by their master’s wrathful command, sought to bend her will and shatter her resolve. Like a gathering tempest, they encircled her, their eyes aflame with rage, their voices laced with malice. They spat words meant to break her spirit, cruel and crude in their fashion:
“Sita! Know you not the lineage of the mighty Dasakanta Ravana? Born of Pulastya Brahma, he is the pinnacle of prowess and wisdom! You are not even worthy of casting your gaze upon him, yet he deigns to make you his queen. Is it not arrogance that you deny him?”
Then stepped forth the fearsome Ekajata, her red eyes gleaming, her form dreadful. “Pulastya, a mind-born son of Brahma, is a great Prajapati, the fourth among the six. His son, the sage Visravasa, matches Brahma in wisdom and brilliance. And lo! The mighty Ravana is his progeny. O, wide-eyed woman! Accept his offer and spare yourself doom.”
Harijata, her eyes wild as a jungle beast, spoke with unshaken certainty. “All the thirty-three gods and mighty Indra himself have been vanquished by Ravana’s might. If he desires you for his queen, there exists no other path. Accept and be exalted.”
Then rose Pragana, her voice laced with menace. “Ravana, undefeated, fierce in battle, learned and indomitable—such a warrior longs to make you his own. Why then do you resist? See, even Mandodari, his most cherished queen, a daughter of Maya the divine sculptor, bows before his power. And yet, he favors you above all, seeking to make you his foremost consort.”
Vikata, her face twisted in a cruel smile, declared, “The harem of Ravana glistens with celestial women, adorned with the gems of conquered worlds. Many divine maidens have willingly entered his embrace. Yet he comes to you in supplication! What folly, to reject him!”
Durmukhi, fierce, sneered, “Sita, your beauty rivals the splendor of the sun, and even Surya himself tempers his heat in Ravana’s domain! The wind moves gently, fearful of his wrath. Why then do you scorn his desire? The trees rain flowers upon his path, the mountains bow before him, and yet you, a mere mortal, act with such levity before his power?”
One by one, they spoke, their words a tempest of coaxing and threat, of flattery and menace. They sought to unseat her devotion, to stain her spirit with the touch of despair. “You, a mortal woman, cling to another mortal a man bereft of kingdom, wealth, and power, wandering the forests in exile, surviving on roots and fruits. Abandon him! Embrace Ravana, lord of three worlds, and revel in fortune beyond dreams!”
But Sita, untouched by their venom, raised her voice, her words like a celestial hymn. “You speak of things vile and despicable, words that defy righteousness and defile the very heavens. Do you not know, O wretched ones, that the union of a mortal woman and a demon is an affront to dharma? Devour me if you must, but I shall not yield to your wicked counsel!
“My Rama, though bereft of kingdom and wealth, is my lord and my refuge. As Sachi to Indra, as Arundhati to Vasishtha, as Rohini to Chandra, as Lopamudra to Agastya, as Sukanya to Chyavana, as Savitri to Satyavan, as Srimati to Kapila, as Damayanti to Nala, as Kesini to Sagara—I shall remain ever by my Rama, the noblest of Ikshvaku’s line.”
