In the heart of the forest, Rāma, Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa came upon a remarkable circle of hermitages. These sacred dwellings were constantly honored by groups of Apsarases and adorned with spacious fire-altars, ladles, vessels, deerskins, and kuśa grass. Kindling sticks and water pots stood ready, while fruits and roots were gathered, and great forest trees spread their branches, bearing sweet, auspicious fruits overhead. The air was sanctified by offerings and oblations, and the chanting of Brahman resounded throughout. The hermitages were encircled by blooming flowers and a lotus pond, its surface covered with lotuses. Within this serene place lived self-restrained ascetics, subsisting on fruits and roots, clad in bark and black antelope skins. They shone with the radiance of the sun and fire, joined by ancient sages whose wisdom endured through the ages. Noble sages of pure diet graced the hermitages, making the place resemble the very abode of Brahmā. The chanting of Brahman filled the air, and learned, highly fortunate Brāhmaṇas dwelled there. Rāma, illustrious descendant of Raghu, beheld this circle of hermitages with reverence. When the sages, endowed with divine knowledge, saw Rāma, they approached him, stringing their mighty bows. Pleased, they greeted the illustrious Vaidehī, Sītā, rejoicing at the sight of the righteous one, radiant like the rising moon. Seeing Lakṣmaṇa and the renowned Sītā, the resolute ascetics welcomed them with auspicious blessings. The forest-dwellers gazed in amazement at Rāma’s form, his build, his grace, his delicacy, and his splendid attire. Their eyes remained unblinking as they took in Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, and Rāma. Those greatly fortunate ones, devoted to the welfare of all beings, received Rāma as a guest in their leaf-hut. Honoring Rāma according to custom, the exalted ascetics, radiant as fire, brought water for the righteous one. With utmost joy, they offered roots, flowers, fruits, and all the resources of their great soul’s hermitage, along with auspicious blessings. Having made these offerings, the knowers of dharma, with joined palms, addressed Rāma: “You, the protector of dharma and refuge of the people, famed one—” “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. We, O king, have laid down the rod, conquered anger and the senses; always, you must protect us ascetics, who are like embryos, rich in austerity.” Having spoken thus, they honored Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa with fruits, roots, flowers, and various forest foods. Other ascetics and perfected beings, righteous in conduct and radiant as fire, likewise satisfied Rāma, the lord, as was proper. And now, hear the second chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. After receiving this warm hospitality, Rāma took leave of all the sages. Accompanied by Lakṣmaṇa, he set out toward the sunrise and entered deeper into the forest. Together with Sītā, the descendant of Kakutstha beheld the heart of the woods, where no birds called, but the crickets resounded. There, they encountered a dreadful man-eater, terrible and loud, surrounded by fierce beasts and resembling a mountain peak. His eyes were deep-set, his mouth huge, his belly grotesque and swollen. Hideous, uneven, tall, deformed, and terrifying to behold, he wore a tiger’s hide still wet with fat and stained with blood. He was a terror to all beings, his mouth agape like Death itself. Impaled on an iron spike he carried were 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 and rushed at them in rage, like Death at the end of time, making a dreadful sound that seemed to shake the earth. He seized Vaidehī, Sītā, in his arms and withdrew, declaring, “You two, wearing matted locks and bark garments, with your wife, your lives are nearly over. You have entered the Daṇḍaka forest, armed with bow, arrows, and sword; how is it that you, ascetics, dwell here with a woman? Who are you, evil-doers, unrighteous and corruptors of sages? I am Virādha, a Rākṣasa, who roams this difficult forest. I wander always armed, consuming the flesh of sages; this woman of noble form shall become my wife. And as for you two sinners, I will drink your blood in battle.” Hearing his arrogant words, Janaka’s daughter Sītā trembled with fear, shaking like a plantain tree in the wind. Seeing Sītā, radiant and seated on Virādha’s lap, Rāghava spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, his mouth parched: “Behold, gentle one, the daughter of King Janaka, my wife of virtuous conduct, placed on Virādha’s lap. A princess raised in utmost comfort, renowned—whatever was dear to us, whatever was her chosen wish—” “All that Kaikeyī has swiftly accomplished today, Lakṣmaṇa, she who is not satisfied with the kingdom and seeks only her son’s gain, far-sighted as she is. By whom I, beloved of all beings, was sent to the forest; today, that middle mother of mine has her desire fulfilled.