Fueled by wrath and vengeance, Khara, the fierce rākṣasa, declared his intent with chilling certainty: “Whose body, struck down by me in battle, will the vultures, delighted, tear apart and devour the flesh from his limbs? Neither gods, nor Gandharvas, nor spirits, nor Rakshasas will be able to save that wretch from me in the great battle.” He turned to his sister, Śūrpaṇakhā, urging her to recount how she had been overcome in the forest by this wicked one. Gradually recovering her senses, Śūrpaṇakhā, with tears streaming down her face, spoke to her brother. She described two young men, radiant and beautiful, delicate yet strong, with eyes wide like lotuses and clad in bark and black antelope skin. They lived on fruits and roots, self-controlled and ascetic, devoted to chastity; they were the sons of Daśaratha, the brothers Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa. Their bearing was regal, resembling the king of the Gandharvas, marked by royal signs, yet she confessed she could not discern whether they were gods or demons. Between them stood a young woman, beautiful in form, adorned with every ornament, slender-waisted. It was concerning this woman that both brothers had brought Śūrpaṇakhā to her wretched, helpless state. Her voice trembled with desire and fury: “Let my first wish be fulfilled by you—let me drink the blood of those two in battle!” Hearing her plea, Khara, enraged, summoned fourteen mighty rākṣasas, fierce as the end of time. He commanded them: “Two men, armed, clad in bark and black antelope skin, have entered the dreadful Daṇḍaka forest with a woman. Slay those two and that wicked woman, then return. My sister shall drink their blood for me. This is her wish—let it be quickly accomplished. Go, overpower them with your own might. When you have slain those two brothers in battle, she will be delighted and joyful, drinking their blood in the fight.” Thus commanded, the fourteen rākṣasas set out with Śūrpaṇakhā, like clouds driven by the wind. Soon, Śūrpaṇakhā arrived at Rāghava’s hermitage and reported the presence of the two brothers, along with Sītā, to the rākṣasas. They saw Rāma, of great strength, seated in the leaf-hut, attended by Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa. As the rākṣasas approached, Rāma, blazing with energy, spoke to his brother: “Wait for a moment, Saumitri, stay close to Sītā. I will destroy those who have come upon this path.” Lakṣmaṇa honored Rāma’s command, replying, “So be it.” Rāma, righteous by nature, took up his great bow adorned with gold, strung it, and addressed the demons: “We are the sons of Daśaratha, brothers Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, who have entered the difficult Daṇḍaka forest together with Sītā. We live on fruits and roots, disciplined, ascetic, observing celibacy, dwelling in Daṇḍaka forest—why do you harm us? Armed with bow and arrows, I have come, by the command of the sages, to slay you evil-hearted ones who commit outrages in this great conflict. Remain here content; you should not retreat. If you value your lives, depart from here, O night-dwellers.” The fourteen rākṣasas, murderers of Brahmins, wielding spears, replied in great anger. Terrible, with bloodshot eyes, gazing at Rāma whose eyes were also bloodshot, they spoke harshly with mocking sweetness, delighted at his display of valor: “By provoking the wrath of our master Khara, of great might, you alone will lose your life, slain by us in battle this very moment. What power do you have, alone, to stand before many in the midst of battle, let alone to fight us in this conflict? With these clubs, spears, and pikes hurled by our arms, you will lose your life, your strength, and the bow gripped in your hand.” With their anger unleashed, the fourteen rākṣasas, weapons and swords raised, rushed straight at Rāma, hurling their spears at him. Rāma, unconquerable, met their attack. With arrows adorned with gold, he cut down all their spears. Then, the mighty one took up nārāca arrows, shining like the sun. Extremely enraged, he seized fourteen sharp, stone-tipped arrows, drew his bow, and aimed at the demons. The rākṣasas fell to the ground like serpents from anthills, their hearts shattered, lying on the earth like trees with roots cut. Bathed in blood, deformed and lifeless, they lay fallen on the ground. Seeing them thus, the demoness Śūrpaṇakhā was seized by wrath. With blood somewhat dried, she approached Khara, then, afflicted, fell again like a vine deprived of its sap. Distressed with grief, she let out a great cry near her brother, her voice trembling, tears streaming down her pale face. Thus unfolds the twentieth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa.