As Rāma, Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa made their way through the forest, the ascetics dwelling there were struck with amazement. They gazed upon Rāma’s noble form—his handsome build, graceful bearing, gentle features, and splendid attire—marveling at his presence among them. Their eyes, wide and unblinking, took in not only Rāma but also Vaidehī, the virtuous Sītā, and the devoted Lakṣmaṇa, overcome with wonder at the sight of these three noble souls. These fortunate forest-dwellers, ever devoted to the welfare of all beings, welcomed Rāghava as a guest within their humble leaf-thatched hermitage. According to sacred custom, the exalted ascetics, their austerities like fire, brought water to honor the righteous Rāma. With great joy and auspicious blessings, they offered him the fruits of their hermitage: roots, flowers, fruits, and all the simple abundance they possessed. Having made these offerings, the wise and virtuous ascetics, hands joined in reverence, addressed Rāma: “Protector of dharma, refuge of the people, famed Rāghava—just as the king, wielder of the rod of justice, must be honored and respected, so too do you protect the people like a fourth part of mighty Indra himself. Therefore, O king, worshipped by all, you are entitled to the finest pleasures; but we, who dwell in your domain, must be protected by you. Whether in the city or in the forest, you remain our king, lord of the people. We, O king, have laid aside the rod of punishment, conquered anger and the senses; always, you must protect us ascetics, who are like embryos, rich in austerity.” Having spoken thus, they honored Rāghava and Lakṣmaṇa with more fruits, roots, flowers, and the various foods the forest provided. In the same way, other ascetics and perfected beings—righteous in conduct, blazing with spiritual fire—satisfied Rāma, lord of men, as was proper and fitting. Now, hear the next chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. After receiving such heartfelt hospitality, Rāma took leave of all the sages. With Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa by his side, he set out toward the sunrise, venturing deeper into the heart of the forest. Together, they entered a region where no bird sang, but the air was alive with the incessant chirping of crickets. There, accompanied by Sītā, the descendant of the Kakutstha line beheld a dreadful sight—a man-eater, terrible and loud, surrounded by fierce beasts, looming like a mountain peak. This monstrous being had deep-set eyes, a gaping mouth, a grotesquely swollen belly, and a form so hideous, uneven, and tall that he inspired terror in all who beheld him. He wore a tiger’s hide, still wet with fat and stained with blood, his very presence a terror to all living beings, his mouth agape like Death itself. Upon an iron spike, he had impaled the carcasses of three lions, four tigers, two wolves, ten spotted deer, and the head of a great elephant, its horn smeared with fat. Roaring with a mighty, earth-shaking voice, he saw Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā of Mithilā and charged at them in a fury, like Death itself at the end of time. Seizing Sītā in his arms, he withdrew and declared, “You two, with matted locks and bark garments, wandering with your wife—your lives are nearly over. How is it that you, ascetics, dwell here in the Daṇḍaka forest, armed with bow, arrows, and sword, and in the company of a woman? Who are you, evil-doers, unrighteous and corruptors of sages? I am Virādha, a Rākṣasa who roams this impenetrable forest. I wander always armed, consuming the flesh of sages, and this woman of noble form shall become my wife. As for you two sinners, I will drink your blood in battle!” Hearing the demon’s arrogant and terrible words, Sītā, daughter of Janaka, trembled with fear, shaking like a plantain tree buffeted by the wind. Seeing Sītā, radiant even in distress and seated on Virādha’s lap, Rāghava spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, his mouth parched with grief: “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, renowned—whatever was dear to us, whatever was her chosen wish—all of it, Kaikeyī has swiftly accomplished today, Lakṣmaṇa. She, never satisfied with the kingdom and seeking only her son’s gain, has achieved her desire. By her, I—beloved of all beings—was sent to the forest; today that middle mother of mine has her wish fulfilled. Nothing is more painful to me than Sītā being touched by another, not even my father’s death or the loss of my own kingdom, O Saumitri.” As Rāma spoke, his voice choked with tears and grief, Lakṣmaṇa, enraged, replied like a serpent hissing despite restraint: “You are the protector of beings, O Kakutstha, like Indra himself, though you appear as one without support. Why do you grieve when I, your servant, am here? Today, struck down by my arrow in anger, the demon Virādha will fall, staining 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 let him fall to the earth, writhing.” Now hear the third sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. Virādha, his voice echoing through the forest, spoke again: “Tell me, who are you two, and where are you going?” To this demon with a blazing face, Rāma of great splendor, descendant of Ikṣvāku, replied as he was questioned.