Rama, resolute and unwavering, assured Sita with confidence: “By slaying Ravana in battle, along with all the Rakshasas and even myself if need be, I will surely bring you, O dark-eyed one, back to Ayodhya with my sharp arrows.” As these words echoed, a tremendous, tumultuous sound arose—the beating of drums and the blaring of conches filled the air, shaking the very earth and resounding through the assembled armies. The Vanara army’s mighty roar thundered forth, and within the city of Lanka, the servants of Ravana, their strength broken and their actions paralyzed by despair, heard it. Overcome by hopelessness, they saw no prospect for good, all because of their king’s deeds. Now begins the thirty-fifth sarga in the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda. Amidst the din of drums and conches, Rama, the mighty-armed conqueror of enemy cities, advanced with firm resolve. Ravana, lord of the Rakshasas, hearing this tumult, fell silent for a moment in contemplation, then looked upon his ministers gathered around him. His great strength filling the hall, Ravana addressed his counselors, his voice resounding: he spoke of the Vanaras’ crossing of the ocean, extolling his own valor, strength, and heroism. “I have heard your words about Rama,” Ravana said, “and I know well your prowess in battle. Yet, seeing your silence, it is clear you recognize Rama’s valor.” At this, Mālyavān, a Rakshasa of great wisdom and Ravana’s maternal grandfather, rose to speak. His words were measured and full of insight: “O King, a ruler who is learned and follows wise policy governs long and brings enemies under control. By forging alliances at the right time and engaging with foes wisely, while strengthening his own side, he attains great sovereignty. When fortune declines, a king should make peace on equal terms, never underestimating the enemy, and should only wage war against a superior foe. “Therefore, Ravana, I advise peace with Rama. Return Sita for the sake of that which has brought this conflict upon us. All the divine sages and Gandharvas, desiring victory, wish for no enmity with him; may peace with Rama be pleasing to you. “The Blessed Creator, the Grandfather, fashioned only two sides: that of the gods and that of the demons, founded on righteousness and unrighteousness. Righteousness is the side of the immortal great souls; unrighteousness is the side of the demons and Rakshasas, O Ravana. When the age of righteousness prevails, righteousness consumes unrighteousness; when the age of Tiṣya arises, unrighteousness consumes righteousness. “As you have acted in the worlds, even great righteousness has been destroyed; unrighteousness has been embraced, and because of this, our enemies have grown stronger than us. That unrighteousness, fed by your negligence, now devours us like a serpent, while the creator of the gods increases the strength of the gods’ side. “Because you, attached to sense-objects, have acted carelessly, you have brought great distress upon the sages, who are as powerful as fire. Their force is difficult to withstand, blazing with the purity of austerity, ever devoted to righteousness. “These twice-born ones worship with principal sacrifices, offering proper oblations into the sacred fires and loudly reciting the Vedas. Overcoming the Rakshasas and raising the sound of sacred chants, they have disturbed all directions, like thunder in the hot season. From their fire-offerings, a smoke arises that pervades the ten directions, sapping the energy of the Rakshasas. In every sacred place, the intense austerity of those of firm vows torments us further. “You have received boons from the gods, Danavas, and Yakshas; yet now, humans, monkeys, bears, and mighty langurs have come here, roaring in valor and determination. I see many dreadful omens, signs of the coming destruction of all Rakshasas. “Terrible clouds, dark as wild asses, loom threateningly, pouring hot blood over all of Lanka. Tears fall from the eyes of weeping animals, whose dust-covered forms now appear discolored and lack their former luster. Wild beasts, jackals, and vultures howl fearfully, entering Lanka’s gardens and gathering together. Black women with pale teeth are seen laughing in front; in dreams, women steal from houses and speak ominously. Dogs consume the offerings in homes; wild asses are born among cows, and mice among mongooses. Cats mingle with leopards, pigs with dogs; Kinnaras and Rakshasas are seen together with humans. Driven by time, pale pigeons with red feet wander about, heralding the destruction of the Rakshasas. The mynah birds, perching in houses, call out ‘cīcīkū’ and, defeated by quarrels, fall down. All the birds and beasts cry out facing the sun; a fierce, dreadful, bald man, dark and tawny, is seen. Time itself, in terrifying form, watches over every house, again and again; such evil omens now arise. “By whom the wondrous bridge was built across the ocean—make peace, O Ravana, with Rama, king of men. Know this and consider well what must be done for the future.” Having spoken thus, Mālyavān, observing the mind of the lord of the Rakshasas, that peerless and supremely valiant elder, fell silent, watching Ravana for his response.