Ravana, resolute in his intent to display his grandeur, stood undaunted in the face of Sita’s scorn and scathing rebuke, which demeaned him as base and crude. With a firm shake of his head and a resounding clap of his palms, his towering form became evident.
“Thou art half-witted,” Ravana declared, his voice laden with disdain. “Thus, thou dost disregard the might and strength I possess. When I unveiled my power, thou didst dismiss it as trifling. I can stand in the heavens, lifting the skies with my hand. I can drain the ocean in a single gulp. I can vanquish Yama, the Lord of Death, in battle. I can halt the sun in its path and shatter the earth with my arrows.”
His eyes, inflamed with fury, glowed like burning embers. “Thou art a madwoman,” he roared. “I can transform into any form, fulfill any desire of thine. Yet, thou scornest me.” Enraged, his guise shifted from a serene hermit to a fearsome, monstrous figure. His ten heads emerged, a sight to strike terror, adorned with gold ornaments, his complexion dark as a thundercloud.
In his full demonic splendor, wielding a bow and arrows, he glared at Sita, whose delicate frame, clad in fine garments and simple ornaments, seemed fragile before his monstrous presence. “O fragile lady,” he thundered, “I am the sovereign of the three worlds, thy perfect match. Live with me, and thou shalt have nothing to fear. Forget the mortal Rama, whose folly thou clings to. He, who forsook his throne for a selfish woman, abandoned wealth, friends, and power. Thou art unwise to bind thyself to such a man.”
When Sita’s response remained unyielding, Ravana’s demeanor turned savage. He seized her, slinging her over his shoulder like a bundle of straw. His fangs bared, his form colossal, even the goddesses of the forest trembled at the sight of his ten heads and twenty hands. His magnificent chariot, drawn by ghostly donkeys, stood ready. With a roar, he cast Sita into it, and with a terrifying flourish, they ascended into the sky.
As the chariot soared through the void, Sita’s anguished cries pierced the heavens. “Rama!” she wailed, her voice laden with despair. “Lakshmana! Brave warrior, Rama’s beloved brother, this demon drags me from the ashram. Rama, thou who forsook comfort and wealth for dharma, why dost thou not halt this fiend? Kaikeyi’s desires are fulfilled this day, as the noble Rama is scorned by this demon.”
Turning to the natural world, she implored, “O trees, birds, tell Rama! This demon Ravana is stealing me away. O Gods of the mountains, tell Rama of my plight. O Godavari, with thy waters teeming with life, inform Rama of this insult. O creatures of the forest, carry my message to him!”
Her desperate cries reached the ears of Jatayu, the noble vulture. “Jatayu!” she called. “This demon is powerful and merciless. Thou canst not restrain him. Fly to Rama and narrate these events in full.”
Though nature bore witness to Ravana’s atrocity, it remained silent, subdued by his might. Yet, the cosmos knew that Ravana was not carrying a mere woman, but the harbinger of his doom. The wise, aware of Sita’s divine origin, understood that he was hastening his fate. Some sages perceived a serpent in Ravana’s embrace, whose presence alone would obliterate the demon race. This act of aggression was but a prelude to divine retribution, paving the way for Rama’s righteous fire to consume Lanka, ensuring the welfare of the universe.
