As dawn broke and the night’s darkness faded, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, those tigers among men, completed the sacred fire rituals for the ascetics and prepared to depart. Before they left, the forest-dwelling hermits, righteous and wise, warned them of the dangers lurking in that wild expanse. They spoke earnestly to Rāma, saying, “O Rāghava, within this great forest dwell rākṣasas—man-eaters of many terrifying forms—and wild beasts who feed on blood. These creatures attack ascetics devoted to righteousness, whether they are careless or simply have leftovers. You must protect them.” Pointing out the path, the ascetics said, “This is the way the great sages take when gathering fruits in the forest. By this route, O Rāghava, it is fitting for you to enter these difficult woods.” Receiving their blessings with joined palms, Rāma, his wife Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa entered the forest, their presence likened to the sun slipping into a mass of clouds. Thus concluded the one hundred and nineteenth sarga of the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the first great poem of twenty-four thousand verses. Now begins the first sarga of the Araṇya Kāṇḍa. Within the forest, a hermitage appeared, encircled by kuśa grass and bark garments. Its divine splendor shone like the blazing orb of the sun, difficult to behold. This refuge for all beings had a courtyard kept always clean, teeming with deer and surrounded by flocks of birds. Groups of Apsarases honored and attended it, and it was adorned with spacious fire-altars, ladles, vessels, deerskins, and kuśa grass. Kindling sticks, water pots, fruits, and roots graced the hermitage, while great forest trees bore auspicious, sweet fruits overhead. Sanctified by offerings and oblations, the air resounded with the chanting of Brahman, and the grounds were encircled by flowers and a lotus pond blooming with lotuses. Self-restrained ascetics, subsisting on fruits and roots, clad in bark and black antelope skins, shone like the sun and fire; ancient sages dwelled among them. Noble sages of pure diet filled the place, making it resemble the abode of Brahmā, and their chanting of Brahman echoed throughout. Learned and fortunate Brāhmaṇas graced the circle of hermitages, and Rāma, the illustrious Rāghava, beheld them. Great-souled sages, endowed with divine knowledge, approached him after stringing their mighty bows, having seen Rāma. Pleased, they greeted the illustrious Sītā, Vaidehī, rejoicing at her radiance, which shone like the rising moon. Seeing Lakṣmaṇa and renowned Vaidehī, the resolute ascetics welcomed them with auspicious blessings. Amazed, the forest-dwellers gazed upon Rāma’s form, his build, his grace, his delicacy, and his splendid attire. Their eyes remained unblinking as they looked at Vaidehī, Lakṣmaṇa, and Rāma. Those greatly fortunate ones, devoted to the welfare of all beings, received Rāghava as a guest in their leaf-hut. Honoring Rāma according to custom, the exalted, fire-like ascetics brought water for the righteous one. With utmost joy, they offered auspicious blessings, presenting roots, flowers, fruits, and all the resources of their great soul’s hermitage. Having offered these, the knowers of dharma, with joined palms, spoke: “You, the protector of dharma and refuge of the people, famed one—” They continued, “The king, wielder of the rod, is to be honored and respected; like a fourth part of Indra, Rāghava protects the people. Therefore, the king, worshipped, enjoys the finest pleasures; we, the dwellers in your domain, must be protected by you. Whether in the city or the forest, you are our king, lord of the people.” “O king, we have laid down the rod, conquered anger and the senses; always, you must protect us ascetics, who are like embryos, rich in austerity.” After speaking thus, they honored Rāghava and Lakṣmaṇa with fruits, roots, flowers, and various forest foods. Other ascetics and perfected beings, righteous in conduct and radiant like fire, likewise satisfied Rāma, the lord, as was proper. Now hear the second chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. After receiving hospitality, Rāma took leave of all the sages and set out toward the sunrise, entering deeper into the forest. Accompanied by Lakṣmaṇa, Rāma saw the heart of the forest, a place where no birds called, but the crickets resounded. There, together with Sītā, the descendant of Kakutstha beheld a man-eater—terrible and loud, surrounded by fierce beasts, resembling a mountain peak. The creature had deep-set eyes, a huge mouth, a grotesque and swollen belly, hideous, uneven, tall, deformed, and terrifying to behold. He wore a tiger’s hide, still wet with fat and stained with blood, a terror to all beings, his mouth agape like Death itself. Upon an iron spike, he had impaled three lions, four tigers, two wolves, ten spotted deer, and the head of a great elephant, horned and smeared with fat. Roaring with a mighty voice, he saw Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā of Mithilā. Enraged, he rushed at them like Death at the end of time, making a dreadful sound as if shaking the earth. Seizing Vaidehī in his arms and withdrawing, he declared, “You two, wearing matted locks and bark garments, with your wife—your lives are nearly over.