After Rama and his companions had been received with proper hospitality, other ascetics and perfected beings, pure in conduct and glowing with the radiance of fire, came to honor Rama, the lord, in ways befitting his stature. When all the sages’ courtesies were completed, Rama took his leave from them, and, turning toward the sunrise, journeyed deeper into the forest. With Lakshmana by his side, Rama ventured into the very heart of the wilds—a place so dense and remote that no birds sang, only the relentless chorus of crickets filled the air. Sita accompanied them, and together they beheld a dreadful sight: a monstrous man-eater, terrifying and loud, surrounded by fierce beasts, looming like a mountain peak. This creature had deep-set eyes, a monstrous mouth, and a grotesquely swollen belly. His form was hideous and uneven, his body towering, deformed, and horrifying to behold. He wore a tiger’s hide, still wet with fat and stained with blood, and his gaping mouth was as fearsome as Death itself. Impaled on an iron spike he bore were three lions, four tigers, two wolves, ten spotted deer, and the great, fat-smeared head of an elephant. Roaring mightily, he caught sight of Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita of Mithila. Enraged, the demon rushed at them, thundering like Death at the end of time, his dreadful voice seeming to shake the very earth. With a single motion, he seized Vaidehī—Sita—in his arms and withdrew, declaring, “You two, with your matted locks and bark garments, wandering here with your wife—your lives are nearly over. You have entered the Dandaka forest, armed with bows, arrows, and swords; how is it that you, ascetics, dwell here with a woman?” He sneered, “Who are you, evil-doers, unrighteous and corruptors of sages? I am Viradha, a Rakshasa who haunts this perilous forest. I wander always armed, feeding on 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 Viradha. Hearing these terrible words, Sita, daughter of Janaka, trembled with fear, shaking like a plantain tree in the wind. Seeing her, radiant yet now seated on Viradha’s lap, Rama, his mouth parched, spoke to Lakshmana: “Behold, gentle one, the daughter of King Janaka—my wife of virtuous conduct—placed on Viradha’s lap. She, a princess raised in utmost comfort and renown, for whom whatever was dear or desired was always granted—now, all that Kaikeyi wished has come to pass. She, who was not satisfied with the kingdom and sought only her son’s gain, has now achieved her aim. By her doing, I, beloved of all beings, was sent to the forest; today, that middle mother of mine has her desire fulfilled.” He continued, his voice choked with grief, “Nothing is more painful to me, Saumitri, than Sita being touched by another—not even my father’s death or the loss of my own kingdom.” As Rama spoke thus, Lakshmana, enraged and trembling like a restrained serpent, replied: “You are the protector of all beings, like Indra himself though you appear unsupported. O Kakutstha, why do you grieve when I, your servant, am here? Today, struck down by my arrow in anger, this demon Viradha will stain the earth with his blood. The wrath I once felt toward Bharata for the kingdom, I will now unleash upon Viradha, as Indra hurls his thunderbolt at a mountain. Let my great arrow, driven by the force of my arm, fly at his massive chest, sever his life from his body, and let him fall to earth, writhing.” At that moment, Viradha’s voice thundered through the forest once more: “Tell me, who are you two, and where are you going?” Rama, the illustrious descendant of Ikshvaku, replied to the demon as he was questioned. Viradha then said to Rama, “Well, I shall tell you, O king; listen to me, O Raghava. I am said to be the son of Java, my mother is Śatahrada; all the demons on earth call me Viradha. Through asceticism I gained boons from Brahma’s favor: in this world, I cannot be slain by weapons, nor can I be cut or pierced. Abandon this woman and flee as you came, both of you, without delay; otherwise, I will take your lives.” Rama, his eyes reddened with anger, replied fiercely to the deformed and evil-minded demon: “Wretch, shame on you—so base and depraved! Surely you seek death. Stand your ground in battle, for you shall not escape alive from me.” Rama strung his bow and swiftly aimed sharp arrows at the demon. With the bow strung, he released seven golden-feathered arrows of great speed, swift as Garuda’s wind. These arrows pierced Viradha’s body, clad in peacock feathers, and fell to the earth, stained with blood and blazing like fire. Wounded, the demon set Vaidehī down, then, raising his spear in fury, charged fiercely at Rama and Lakshmana.