As Rāma, the noble descendant of the Kakutstha line, journeyed through the dense Daṇḍaka forest with his beloved Sītā by his side, a dreadful sight met their eyes. There, amidst the tangled wilderness, they beheld a monstrous man-eater—a being so terrible and loud that he seemed surrounded by savage beasts and loomed before them like a towering mountain peak. This fearsome figure had deep-set, menacing eyes, a gaping, enormous mouth, and a grotesquely swollen belly. His form was hideous and uneven, unnaturally tall and deformed, terrifying to even glance upon. Draped in a tiger’s hide, still slick with fat and stained with fresh blood, he struck terror into the hearts of all living beings. His mouth hung open, dreadful as Death itself. Upon an iron spike, he had impaled the heads and bodies of three lions, four tigers, two wolves, ten spotted deer, and, most ghastly of all, the massive head of an elephant—horned and smeared with fat. Roaring with a voice that echoed through the forest, he caught sight of Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā of Mithilā. With a terrible sound that seemed to shake the very earth, the demon rushed towards them, enraged like Death at the end of time. In his fury, he seized Sītā—Vaidehī—in his arms and withdrew, declaring, “You two, wearing matted locks and bark garments, wandering the forest with your wife—your lives are nearly over!” He glared at them, questioning, “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 perilous forest. Always armed, I feed upon 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 these arrogant and terrible words, Sītā, daughter of Janaka, trembled in fear, shaking like a plantain tree battered by the wind. Seeing Sītā, radiant and now seated helplessly on the demon’s lap, Rāma’s heart was seized with anguish, and he spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, his mouth parched with sorrow. “Behold, gentle one, the daughter of King Janaka—my wife of virtuous conduct—now placed on Virādha’s lap. She, a princess raised in utmost comfort, renowned and cherished—everything dear to us, all her chosen wishes—today Kaikeyī has accomplished her aim, Lakṣmaṇa. Unsatisfied with the kingdom, seeking only her son’s gain, she has achieved her desire. By her, I—beloved of all beings—was sent to the forest. Today, my middle mother has what she wanted.” Rāma’s grief deepened as he continued, “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 sorrow, Lakṣmaṇa’s anger blazed forth. Like a restrained serpent hissing, he replied, “You are the protector of all beings, like Indra himself, though you appear as one without support. O Kakutstha, why do you grieve when I, your servant, stand with you? Today, struck down by my arrow in anger, this demon Virādha will stain the earth with his blood. The anger I once felt toward Bharata for 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.” At this moment, the demon Virādha’s terrible voice filled the forest once more as he demanded, “Tell me, who are you two, and where are you going?” To this blazing-faced demon, Rāma—the illustrious descendant of Ikṣvāku—replied as he was questioned. Virādha then addressed Rāma, “Well, I shall tell you, O king; listen to me, O Rāghava. I am said to be the son of Java, and my mother is Śatahradā. All the demons on earth call me Virādha. Through asceticism, I gained boons granted by 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.” Rāma’s eyes reddened with anger as he replied to the deformed, evil-minded demon, “Wretch, shame on you, so base and deprived! Surely you seek death. Stand your ground in battle, for you shall not escape alive from me.” With that, Rāma strung his bow and swiftly aimed sharp arrows at the demon. Seven golden-feathered arrows, swift as the wind of Garuḍa, flew from his bow and struck the demon’s body. Yet, the arrows, though they pierced Virādha—who was clad in peacock feathers—fell to the earth, stained with blood and blazing like fire. Wounded but undeterred, the demon set Sītā down, raised his mighty spear in fury, and charged at Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa. Roaring loudly, brandishing his spear like Indra’s banner, he shone with his mouth agape, dreadful as Death itself. The two brothers responded by unleashing a blazing rain of arrows upon Virādha, who seemed then like Death at the world’s end. But Virādha, exceedingly fierce, only laughed, stood firm, and yawned. As he yawned, the swift arrows fell out from his body, powerless against him. Protected by his boon, Virādha suppressed his life-breaths from the touch of the arrows, then raised his spear and charged once more at the sons of Raghu, undaunted and relentless.