Kaikeyī, ever shrewd and determined, has achieved all she desired today, Lakṣmaṇa,” said Rāma, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Unmoved by the kingdom itself, she has sought only her son’s advantage, her vision fixed on Bharata’s gain. It is by her will, Saumitri, that I—beloved by all—was sent away to this forest. Today, my middle mother’s wishes have come true.” Rāma’s grief was profound, but what pained him most was not the loss of his father or even the kingdom. “Nothing wounds me more than the thought of Sītā being touched by another, Lakṣmaṇa,” he confessed, “not even the death of my father or the loss of all my royal rights.” As Rāma spoke, his voice choked with emotion and tears. Lakṣmaṇa, burning with anger like a serpent held back, responded fiercely, “You are the protector of all beings, O Kakutstha, like Indra himself, though you appear unsupported. Why should you grieve when I, your devoted servant, am here at your side?” With righteous fury, Lakṣmaṇa declared, “Today, struck down by my arrow, the demon Viradha—his life force gone—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 Viradha, as Indra hurls his thunderbolt at a mountain. Let my great arrow, propelled by the strength and swiftness of my arm, strike his mighty chest, sever his life from his body, and cast him down to the earth, writhing.” Now begins the third sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. Suddenly, Viradha, the fearsome demon, spoke once more, his voice booming through the forest, “Tell me, who are you two, and where are you going?” Rama, radiant and descended from Ikṣvāku, answered the demon’s challenge. Viradha replied to Rāma, whose valor was apparent, “Very well, O king, listen to me, O Rāghava. I am called the son of Java; my mother is Śatahradā. All the demons on earth know me as Viradha. Through asceticism, I gained boons from Brahma: in this world, no weapon can slay me, nor can I be cut or pierced. Abandon this woman and flee as you came, both of you, without delay, or I will take your lives.” Rāma’s eyes blazed with anger as he replied, “Wretch! Shame on you, so base and deprived! Surely you seek your own death. Stand your ground in battle, for you shall not escape alive from me.” With that, Rāma strung his bow and swiftly loosed sharp arrows at the demon. Seven golden-feathered arrows, swift as Garuda’s wind, flew from his bow and pierced Viradha’s body, which was adorned with peacock feathers. The arrows, blazing like fire, fell to the earth, bloodstained. Wounded, the demon set Sītā down, then seized his massive spear and charged at Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, roaring fiercely. He shone terrifyingly, his mouth agape like Death itself, brandishing his spear like Indra’s banner. The two brothers responded with a blazing rain of arrows upon Viradha, who seemed like Death at the end of time. Yet the demon only laughed, stood his ground, and yawned; as he did, the arrows fell from his body, powerless against the boon he had received. Suppressing his life-breaths from the touch of the arrows, Viradha raised his spear once more and charged at the Raghavas. But Rāma, master of weapons, cut down the blazing, thunderbolt-like spear with two swift arrows. The severed spear crashed to the ground like a peak shattered from Mount Meru. Then, raising their swords, flashing like black serpents, the two brothers rushed at Viradha with force. Though struck repeatedly, the terrible demon seized both Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa in his arms, unshakable as they were, and began to carry them away. Sensing his intent, Rāma said to Lakṣmaṇa, “Let this demon carry us along his path for now. Wherever this night-wanderer goes, that is our path too.” Confident in his own strength, Viradha lifted the two sons of Raghu as if they were children riding on his shoulders, his pride swelling. With the two Raghavas upon him, Viradha roared terribly and strode straight into the depths of the forest. He entered a vast wood, dark as a storm cloud, filled with great trees, flocks of birds, auspicious creatures, and wild beasts and serpents. Hear now the fourth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. Sītā, seeing her beloved Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa carried off by the mighty-armed demon, cried out loudly, grasping after them, “This is Rāma, son of Daśaratha, truthful, virtuous, and pure, being carried away by a demon of terrible form, along with Lakṣmaṇa! Tigers and leopards will devour me—release me, O best of Rakṣasas! O Kakutsthas, I bow to you!” Then, in that desperate moment, Saumitri broke the demon’s left arm, and Rāma forcefully broke his right. With both arms shattered, the demon—huge as a cloud—shaken and unconscious, crashed swiftly to the ground like a mountain struck by a thunderbolt.