As Rāma, accompanied by Lakṣmaṇa and the renowned Vaidehī, entered the hermitage, the resolute ascetics who dwelled there welcomed them warmly, showering them with auspicious blessings. The forest-dwellers gazed in amazement at Rāma—marveling at his noble form, his graceful build, his gentle bearing, and his splendid attire. Their wonder extended to all three: Vaidehī, Lakṣmaṇa, and Rāma, upon whom they fixed their unblinking eyes, captivated by their presence. Within that tranquil hermitage, these greatly fortunate ascetics—ever devoted to the welfare of all beings—received Rāghava as an honored guest in their simple leaf-hut. According to sacred custom, these exalted sages, radiant as fire, brought pure water to Rāma, the righteous one, to honor him. With utmost joy, they presented him with roots, flowers, fruits, and all the wholesome resources their hermitage could offer, bestowing further auspicious blessings. Having made these offerings, the sages—well-versed in dharma—joined their palms in reverence and spoke: “You, protector of righteousness and refuge of the people, illustrious Rāma—know that the king, wielder of the rod of justice, must be honored and respected. Like a fourth part of Indra himself, Rāghava protects his people. Therefore, the king, when worshipped, enjoys the finest pleasures, but we, who dwell within your realm, must be protected by you. Whether in the city or the forest, you remain our king, lord of the people. O king, we have laid aside the rod, conquered anger and the senses; always, you must protect us ascetics, who are like embryos, rich in austerity.” Thus speaking, the ascetics honored Rāghava and Lakṣmaṇa with further offerings of fruits, roots, flowers, and the varied foods of the forest. Likewise, other ascetics and perfected beings, righteous in their conduct and radiant like fire, satisfied Rāma, the lord, as was proper and fitting. Now, hear the next part of this sacred tale, as related in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. After receiving the hospitality of the sages, Rāma took respectful leave of them all and set out again, moving toward the sunrise and deeper into the forest. Lakṣmaṇa accompanied him, and together they entered the heart of the wilds, where no birds called and only the crickets sounded their eerie chorus. There, with Sītā by his side, the scion of the Kakutstha dynasty beheld a terrifying sight—a man-eater, dreadful and loud, surrounded by fierce beasts, looming like a mountain peak. The creature had deep-set eyes, a cavernous mouth, a grotesquely swollen belly, and a huge, deformed body that was hideous and terrifying to behold. He wore a tiger’s hide, still wet with fat and stained with blood, his appearance striking terror into the hearts of all beings. His gaping mouth resembled Death itself. Impaled on an iron spike he carried were three lions, four tigers, two wolves, ten spotted deer, and the great head of an elephant, horned and smeared with fat. Roaring with a mighty voice, this monstrous being caught sight of Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā of Mithilā. In a rage, he rushed at them, his dreadful sound seeming to shake the very earth, like Death at the end of time. Seizing Vaidehī in his arms, the demon withdrew and spoke menacingly: “You two, with matted locks and bark garments, accompanied by your wife—your lives are nearly at an end. You have entered the Daṇḍaka forest, bearing 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!” Thus spoke the wicked, evil-minded Virādha. Hearing these arrogant and fearsome words, Janaka’s daughter Sītā trembled with terror, shaking like a plantain tree in a storm. Seeing Sītā, radiant yet now seated on Virādha’s lap, Rāghava, his mouth parched with distress, spoke to Lakṣmaṇa: “Behold, gentle one, the daughter of King Janaka, my wife of virtuous conduct, now placed on Virādha’s lap. A princess raised in utmost comfort and renown—whatever was dear to us, whatever she wished for—” “All that Kaikeyī has accomplished today, Lakṣmaṇa, she who is not satisfied with the kingdom and seeks only her son’s gain, far-sighted as she is. It is by her will that I, beloved of all, was sent to the forest; today, that middle mother of mine has her desire fulfilled. Nothing is more painful to me than Sītā being touched by another—not even my father’s death or the loss of my kingdom, O Saumitri.” As Kakutstha spoke thus, his voice choked with tears and grief. Seeing his brother’s anguish, Lakṣmaṇa, like a restrained serpent hissing in anger, replied: “You are the protector of beings, like Indra, though you appear as one without support; O Kakutstha, why do you grieve when I, your servant, am here? Today, struck down by my arrow in anger, the demon Virādha, his life departed, will stain the earth with his blood. The anger I once felt toward Bharata for the sake of the kingdom, I will now unleash upon Virādha, as Indra hurls his thunderbolt at a mountain. Let my great arrow, driven by the force and speed of my arm, fly at his massive chest, sever his life from his body, and then let him fall to the earth, writhing.” Now, listen to the next sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. At that moment, Virādha spoke again, his dreadful voice resounding through the forest: “Tell me, who are you two, and where are you going?