The sun shone brightly over the forest, where Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana lived in peace, unaware of the dark plot that now moved toward them like a shadow on the wind.
One morning, as Sita gathered flowers and sang softly to herself, the forest shimmered with a new wonder. From between the trees emerged a golden deer — its fur glittering like the sun, its eyes sparkling like precious gems. Its antlers shone like polished ivory, and every step it took left the earth kissed with beauty.
Sita gasped in wonder. “Look, Rama! Have you ever seen such a magical creature? It glows as if the gods themselves have sent it. I wish to have it, Rama — as a pet, as a memory of our days in this forest.”
Rama smiled gently, though a strange unease stirred in his heart. “Beloved, it is no ordinary deer. I sense trickery here. Yet, your wish is my command.”
Turning to Lakshmana, he said, “Guard Sita well, brother. I shall follow this deer, but I shall not stray far.”
With bow in hand, Rama set off, chasing the golden creature through the woods. The deer leaped and bounded, always just out of reach — luring Rama deeper and deeper into the forest.
At last, Rama took aim. His arrow flew like a streak of light, piercing the heart of the golden deer. But as it fell, the illusion shattered. In place of the deer lay Maricha, the Rakshasa, his final breath escaping with a terrible cry.
With his last ounce of strength, Maricha mimicked Rama’s voice and screamed, “Lakshmana! Sita! Help me!”
Back at the hut, Sita heard the cry and froze, her heart gripped by fear. “Lakshmana!” she cried. “Did you hear that? Rama is in trouble. Go! Go to him at once!”
Lakshmana’s brow furrowed. “Mother, no power in this world can harm Rama. This is surely a trick.”
But Sita’s eyes filled with tears. “If you love me, Lakshmana, you will not stand here while Rama suffers. Go — or I shall walk into the forest myself.”
Bound by her words, Lakshmana drew a line around the hut — the sacred Lakshmana Rekha. “Do not cross this line, Sita. No evil can harm you while you remain within.”
With a heavy heart, Lakshmana ran into the forest, leaving Sita alone.
And then, the moment Ravana had waited for arrived. Disguised as a wandering ascetic, he approached the hut. His voice was soft, his face masked with false kindness. “O noble lady, bless a poor mendicant. Give me alms, and may your good fortune grow.”
Sita, ever kind, stepped forward — and crossed the Lakshmana Rekha.
In an instant, Ravana’s form changed. The simple sage vanished, and there stood the mighty king of Lanka — tall, fierce, and gleaming with power.
“Foolish woman,” he roared. “I am Ravana, lord of Lanka. You are mine now.”
Before Sita could cry out, Ravana seized her and rose into the sky in his mighty chariot. The earth trembled, the trees wept, and the skies darkened.
Sita screamed Rama’s name, her voice tearing through the heavens. “O Rama! O Lakshmana! Save me!”
The golden chariot soared over mountains and rivers, carrying Sita away — leaving behind a forest filled with sorrow and a fate forever changed.
Thus began the darkest chapter — the sorrowful abduction of Sita — as Ravana carried her toward the golden city of Lanka, unaware that his pride had lit the fire of a war that would burn down kingdoms.