The forests lay still after the great battle, their silence heavy with the memory of fallen Rakshasas. But far from the blood-soaked earth, Shurpanakha fled — her heart seething, her pride shattered, and her mind plotting revenge more terrible than before.
With wild hair and a face twisted in rage, she soared across mountains and oceans, until at last, she reached the golden city of Lanka — a kingdom of splendor rising from the sea, rich with palaces, gardens, and mighty walls.
There, upon a throne carved of gold and precious gems, sat Ravana — king of Lanka, lord of the Rakshasas, feared by gods and mortals alike. His ten heads gleamed with power, his eyes shone with pride, and his voice rumbled like thunder.
Shurpanakha threw herself at his feet, wailing, “O brother, greatest of all kings! See what has become of your sister — insulted, humiliated by a mere human prince. Rama dared to defy me. He destroyed our brothers Khara and Dushana, and now he lives peacefully with his golden bride, Sita.”
Ravana’s eyes flared with fury. “Rama, you say? Who is this mortal who dares raise his hand against my kin?”
Shurpanakha’s voice grew soft and venomous. “O mighty Ravana, forget the battle. Listen instead to the beauty of his wife — Sita, fairer than the moon, lovelier than the goddesses. She dwells in the forest, unprotected, waiting for a king worthy of her.”
Ravana’s heart stirred — not with love, but with pride, lust, and the desire to conquer what was not his. “No woman shall defy me,” he growled. “If Sita is indeed as beautiful as you say, then she shall be mine. I shall steal her from Rama’s arms and crush his pride.”
Shurpanakha’s eyes gleamed with wicked triumph. “Do this, brother, and avenge us all.”
But Ravana, wise in his wickedness, knew he needed a plan. He summoned Maricha, a powerful Rakshasa who once had tasted Rama’s arrows and barely lived to tell the tale.
“O Maricha,” Ravana commanded, “you shall aid me in this task. Take the form of a golden deer — so beautiful that no woman could resist it. Lure Rama away, and while he is gone, I shall seize Sita and carry her to Lanka.”
Maricha trembled. “O King, do not fight Rama. He is no mere man — he is dharma itself. His arrows burn like fire. Face him, and death is certain.”
But Ravana’s pride knew no fear. “I am Ravana, lord of three worlds. Obey me, or I shall destroy you myself.”
Maricha bowed low, knowing his fate was sealed. “As you command, O King. I shall play my part.”
And so, the wheels of destiny turned once more. The trap was set, and the shadow of Ravana’s greed began to creep silently towards Rama’s peaceful world — where love and duty would soon be tested like never before.