O gentle Saumitri, Rama cautioned his brother Lakshmana, “One must never jest with cruel and ignoble beings. See to it, kind one, that Vaidehī—our Sītā—remains alive by any means.” Then, urging Lakshmana further, he said, “O tiger among men, you should disfigure this ugly, wicked, frenzied, big-bellied demoness.” Thus instructed, the mighty Lakshmana, angered and in the presence of Rama, drew his sword. With a swift movement, he cut off the ears and nose of the dreadful Shurpanakha. Mutilated in this way, Shurpanakha shrieked in a distorted voice and fled back into the forest, the same way she had come. Disfigured, terrifying, and covered in blood, she roared with many kinds of cries, like a raincloud thundering in the monsoon. Ghastly to behold, streaming blood in many ways, clutching her arms and howling, she plunged into the depths of the great forest. In her agony and humiliation, Shurpanakha made her way to her brother Khara, who was surrounded by a horde of fierce Rakshasas in Janasthana, his energy blazing. She collapsed at his feet, falling to the ground like a thunderbolt from the sky. Her form disfigured and covered in blood, overcome by fear, delusion, and faintness, she recounted everything to Khara—about Rama, his wife Sītā, Lakshmana’s presence in the forest, and her own grievous disfigurement. Now begins the nineteenth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇya Kāṇḍa. Seeing his sister fallen so, disfigured and blood-soaked, Khara, the Rakshasa, burned with anger and questioned her, “Rise up now and tell me—cast off your confusion and fear; clearly say who has done this to you. Who, like a reckless fool toying with a black serpent, has carelessly touched a deadly snake with the tip of his finger as it lay coiled? Who, with the noose of death already around his neck, fails to realize it out of delusion, and, having encountered you today, has drunk the supreme poison? You, endowed with strength and valor, able to go where you wish and assume any form—by whom have you been brought to this state, as if meeting Death himself? Who among the gods, Gandharvas, spirits, or great sages possesses such might as to have disfigured you thus?” Khara’s pride blazed as he continued, “I see no one in the world who would dare do me harm—not even among the immortals, not even Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt. Today I will take the life of that one with my arrows, ending his existence as a swan drinks up milk from water. Whose blood, foaming and gushing from his vital points, will the earth drink when he is slain by me? Whose body, struck down in battle by me, will vultures delight to tear apart and devour? Neither gods, nor Gandharvas, nor spirits, nor Rakshasas will be able to save that wretch from me in the great battle. Now, as you gradually regain your senses, tell me how you were overcome in the forest by that wicked one.” Hearing these words, especially as her brother’s anger rose, Shurpanakha, with tears in her eyes, spoke: “Two young men, endowed with beauty, delicate yet of great strength, with eyes wide as lotuses, clad in bark and black antelope skin—they live on fruits and roots, self-controlled, ascetics, devoted to chastity. They are the sons of Dasharatha, those brothers Rama and Lakshmana. They resemble the king of the Gandharvas, bearing royal marks, and whether they are gods or demons, I cannot tell. There I saw a young woman, beautiful in form, adorned with every ornament, slender-waisted, standing between them. Because of her, by both brothers together, I have been brought to this miserable state, as if I were a wretched, helpless one.” Shurpanakha’s voice trembled with rage and pain as she pleaded, “This is my first desire—let it be fulfilled by you: let me drink the blood of those two in battle.” As she spoke thus, Khara, enraged, commanded fourteen mighty Rakshasas, fierce as the end of time. He ordered, “Two men, armed with weapons, clad in bark and black antelope skin, have entered the dreadful Dandaka forest with a woman. Slay those two and that wicked woman, and return; then this, their sister, shall drink their blood for me. This is my sister’s wish, O Rakshasas—let it be swiftly accomplished. Go, overpower them with your might. When you have slain those two brothers in battle, this one, delighted and joyful, will drink their blood in the fight.” Thus commanded, the fourteen Rakshasas set out with Shurpanakha, like storm clouds driven by the wind. Now begins the twentieth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇya Kāṇḍa. The terrible Shurpanakha, arriving at Rama’s hermitage, pointed out the two brothers and Sītā to the Rakshasas. The Rakshasas saw Rama, of great strength, seated in the leaf-hut, attended by Sītā and by Lakshmana. Seeing Shurpanakha arrive with the Rakshasas, the illustrious Raghava spoke to his brother Lakshmana, his energy blazing: “Wait for a moment, Saumitri, staying close to Sītā; I will destroy those who have come upon this path.” Hearing this command from Rama, who knows himself, Lakshmana honored his brother’s words, replying, “So be it.