O Sita, after looking at your countenance, which is like a lotus, scorched by the sunshine, or like a withered waterlily or gold defiled by dust or the Moon obscured by the clouds, the fire of sorrow is burning my mind. The grief in my mind is like fire kindled from the arani (sacrificial faggots) that consumes its own souree. (On a circular wood piece, a wooden stick is placed and churned to produce fire specially in sacrifices is called arani.)