As ominous signs swept through the city of Laṅkā, wild beasts, jackals, and vultures gathered in the gardens, their howls echoing fearfully in the night. Strange visions appeared: black women with pale teeth stood laughing before the city, and in dreams, women were seen stealing from houses and uttering dire words. Dogs consumed offerings meant for the gods within homes, wild asses were born among cows, and mice among mongooses—unnatural occurrences everywhere. Cats mingled with leopards, pigs with dogs, and even Kinnaras and Rākṣasas were seen together with humans, blurring the boundaries between species and realms. Pale pigeons with red feet wandered the city, driven by the force of time, heralding destruction for the rākṣasas. Mynah birds settled in houses, calling out “cīcīkū,” only to become entangled and defeated, falling down as if overwhelmed by quarrelsome forces. All the birds and beasts cried out facing the sun, and a fierce, dreadful, bald man—dark and tawny—appeared, a harbinger of doom. Time itself, in a terrifying form, was seen observing every house, again and again, as evil omens continued to arise throughout Laṅkā. Amidst these portents, Mālyavān, the wise elder, addressed Rāvaṇa, urging him to make peace with Rāma, the king of men—he who had accomplished the wondrous feat of building a bridge across the ocean. Mālyavān advised Rāvaṇa to consider carefully what actions would be fitting for the future. Having spoken these words, Mālyavān observed the mind of the lord of the rākṣasas. The peerless, supremely valiant elder fell silent, watching Rāvaṇa’s reaction. Now begins the thirty-sixth sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Book of War. But Rāvaṇa, the ten-headed one, his heart hardened and wicked, overcome by fate, could not tolerate the beneficial counsel offered by Mālyavān. His brow furrowed and his eyes flashed with anger as he spoke, his voice ringing with indignation. “When harsh words, even if spoken with good intent, are uttered in favor of the enemy, such speech does not reach my ears,” he said. “How can you consider Rāma—a miserable man, alone, dwelling among forest creatures and abandoned by his father—as capable? How can you regard me, the lord of the rākṣasas and a terror to the gods, as lacking in prowess when I possess every valor?” Rāvaṇa accused Mālyavān of either hatred for heroes, partiality toward the enemy, or encouraging the other side by speaking such harsh words. “Who, being wise and learned in the essence of the scriptures, would speak so to one established in power, except to encourage the enemy?” he asked. He declared, “Having brought Sītā from the forest, like fortune bereft of the lotus, why should I return her to Rāghava out of fear? Surrounded by countless monkeys, with Sugrīva and Lakṣmaṇa, see how, within a few days, I will slay Rāghava. Even the gods cannot stand against me in battle; why then should Rāvaṇa feel fear in war? Even if I were split in two, I would not bow to anyone; this is my innate fault, a nature impossible to overcome.” Rāvaṇa dismissed the marvel of the bridge built by Rāma across the ocean, saying, “If indeed a bridge has been built, merely by chance, what is there to marvel at? Why has fear come upon you? But Rāma, having crossed the sea with the army of monkeys, I assure you in truth, will not return alive.” As Rāvaṇa spoke thus, angry and agitated, Mālyavān, ashamed, offered no reply. He blessed the king with wishes for victory, as was proper, and after receiving permission, returned to his own residence. Rāvaṇa then gathered his ministers and began deliberations, arranging the defense of mighty Laṅkā. He assigned Prahasta, the rākṣasa, to the eastern gate; the powerful Mahāpārśva and Mahodara to the southern gate; and at the western gate, his son Indrajit, skilled in great magic, surrounded by many rākṣasas. At the northern city gate, he placed Śuka and Sāraṇa, declaring that he himself would be present there. In the central division, he stationed Virūpākṣa, a rākṣasa of great strength and valor, along with many others. Having arranged the city’s defenses, Rāvaṇa, foremost among rākṣasas, believed he had fulfilled his duty, prompted by fate. After instructing his ministers and ensuring the city’s complete arrangement, he was honored with blessings for victory and entered his splendid inner palace. Now begins the thirty-seventh chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Book of War. On the opposing side, the human and monkey kings gathered: the wind-born monkey Hanumān, Jāmbavān the king of bears, and Vibhīṣaṇa the rākṣasa. Aṅgada, son of Vāli, Saumitri (Lakṣmaṇa), Śarabha the monkey, Suṣeṇa with his son, Mainda, and Dvivida assembled as well. Gaja, Gavākṣa, Kumuda, Nala, and Panasa—all these mighty warriors entered the enemy’s territory, encouraging one another. Before them lay the city of Laṅkā, ruled by Rāvaṇa, visible and imposing; unconquerable even by gods, asuras, serpents, and gandharvas. They resolved to deliberate, keeping success in their task foremost, for Rāvaṇa, the lord of rākṣasas, was ever present within. As they spoke, Vibhīṣaṇa, Rāvaṇa’s younger brother, addressed them, his words clear and full of meaning, ready to guide the assembly as the great siege of Laṅkā approached.