With fierce resolve, Rāvaṇa’s voice thundered through his council chamber. He declared, “He will strike me again with a second arrow; then I will drink his blood as I desire—so be at ease.” His eyes flashed with confidence as he continued, “By killing the son of Daśaratha, I will strive to bring you victory and joy. Once I have slain Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, I will devour all the foremost leaders of the monkey army.” Turning to his gathered rākṣasas, he urged them, “Enjoy yourselves as you wish—drink the finest liquor and carry out what is beneficial without anxiety. When I have sent Rāma to the abode of Yama, Sītā will be yours to command for a long time.” As the council’s tension lingered in the air, the mighty Mahāpārśva, perceiving Rāvaṇa’s rage, reflected for a moment and then, joining his palms with respect, spoke: “O subduer of enemies, who, having come to a forest teeming with deer and beasts, would not drink the honey he finds? Only a fool would refuse such pleasure. Who is lord here but you? Enjoy yourself with Vaidehī, having subdued your foes and placed your foot upon their heads. Act with force, mighty one, like a cock among hens—seize Sītā again and again, enjoy her, and take your pleasure.” He continued, “Once your desire is fulfilled, what fear could touch you? Whatever may come, timely or untimely, you will handle it all. Kumbhakarṇa, Indrajit, and all of us are capable of opposing even Indra himself, armed with his thunderbolt. We have surpassed all means—gifts, conciliation, division—so now I prefer the use of punishment to achieve our aims. All your enemies who have come here, mighty one, we shall subdue by the power of our weapons—there is no doubt.” Hearing Mahāpārśva’s bold words, Rāvaṇa honored his speech and replied, “Listen, Mahāpārśva, as I reveal to you a secret from long ago. Once, I saw Puñjikasthalā as she was flying to Brahmā’s abode, shining in the sky like a tongue of flame, her wings fluttering. I overpowered her and violated her, stripping her of her garments; then, like a swaying lotus, she reached the abode of the Self-born. From that day forward, a curse was laid upon me: if I force myself upon another woman, then my head will split into a hundred pieces—there is no doubt. Frightened by that curse, I have never compelled Sītā, the daughter of Videha, to ascend my splendid bed.” Rāvaṇa’s pride flared as he went on, “My speed is like the ocean’s, my swiftness like the wind’s; Daśaratha’s son does not know this, nor can he reach me. Who would wish to awaken a lion sleeping in a mountain cave, or rouse death itself, seated in anger? Rāma does not see the arrows that fly from my bow in battle, like venomous serpents with two tongues; thus he approaches me unknowing. Soon, with arrows as hard as thunderbolts, I will set Rāma ablaze, as meteors burn an elephant. I will seize his strength, surrounded by my great power, just as the risen sun at dawn takes away the brilliance of the stars. Not even Indra, the thousand-eyed, nor Varuṇa, can defeat me in battle. Long ago, I conquered this city, once ruled by Vaiśravaṇa, with the strength of my arms.” As these proud words echoed, Vibhīṣaṇa, chief among the rākṣasas and ever wise, spoke up, his words full of meaning and concern for the king’s welfare. “O King, surrounded by coils of arms, filled with the poison of anxiety, with sharp teeth revealed in a slight smile, five-fingered, five-headed, and of immense size—by whom is your great serpent Sītā possessed? Before the foremost warriors, as massive as mountain peaks, armed with fangs and claws, rush upon Lanka, let Maithilī be returned to the son of Daśaratha. Before the arrows loosed by Rāma, swift as the wind and hard as thunderbolts, seize the heads of the foremost rākṣasas, let Maithilī be given back.” Vibhīṣaṇa warned, “Neither Kumbhakarṇa, nor Indrajit, nor Mahāpārśva or Mahodara, nor Nikumbha, Kumbha, or Atikāya, O King, are able to stand against Rāghava in battle. Even if you live, you will not escape from Rāma—whether guarded by Savitṛ or the Maruts; not even if you take refuge with Indra, with Death, in the sky, or in the netherworld.” Hearing Vibhīṣaṇa’s words, Prahasta responded defiantly, “We have never known fear, neither from the gods nor from the dānavas, at any time. We have no fear of yakṣas, gandharvas, great serpents, nor in battle from the bird Garuḍa or other serpents. How then could we ever fear Rāma, prince among men, in combat?” Vibhīṣaṇa replied, his mind set on righteousness and the king’s true welfare, “Prahasta, O king, Mahodara, you, and Kumbhakarṇa—what you say about Rāma is not possible. Such is the fate of one whose mind is set on unrighteousness: to fall from heaven. The killing of Rāma by you, by me, Prahasta, or by all the rākṣasas—how could that be possible, as for one skilled in means to cross a great ocean by swimming? Even the gods stand before this king, the great chariot-warrior, scion of the Ikṣvāku line, whose mind is set on righteousness and who is capable in such deeds—fools are those who oppose him. Your sharp arrows, with vulture-feathered shafts, are not so formidable when released at Rāghava. Prahasta, those arrows pierce the body and enter it—yet you boast thus.” He concluded, “Neither Rāvaṇa, nor the exceedingly strong Triśirā, nor Nikumbha, son of Kumbhakarṇa, nor Indrajit, nor you, Prahasta, are capable of defeating the son of Daśaratha in battle, even if you were equal to Indra. Neither Devāntaka nor Narāntaka, nor Atikāya, the mighty chariot-warrior, nor Akampana, whose strength equals a mountain, are able to stand against Rāghava in battle.” Thus, in the halls of Lanka, pride and wisdom clashed, as the fate of all rākṣasas trembled before the might of Rāma.