As the fierce conflict in the Dandaka forest unfolded, the enraged rākṣasas confronted Rāma. Mocking him, they questioned his strength, wondering aloud what power a lone man could possibly have to stand before so many warriors in the midst of battle, let alone to challenge them in open conflict. They threatened him, boasting that the clubs, spears, and pikes hurled by their mighty arms would strip him of his life, his strength, and even the bow he gripped so firmly. With these words, fourteen furious rākṣasas, weapons and swords raised high, charged straight at Rāma. In a coordinated assault, they hurled their spears at Rāghava, who stood unconquerable before them; all fourteen spears flew toward him. Yet Rāma, undaunted, met their attack with arrows adorned in gold, cutting down every spear before it could reach him. Then, the mighty one seized a set of nārāca arrows, brilliant as the sun itself. His fury burning ever brighter, Rāma selected fourteen sharp, stone-tipped arrows. Drawing his bow, he took careful aim at the advancing demons. His arrows found their marks, and the rākṣasas fell to the earth like serpents tumbling from their anthills, their hearts shattered, lying lifeless as trees felled at the roots. Their bodies, bathed in blood, lay twisted and motionless upon the ground. Witnessing this slaughter, the demoness Śūrpaṇakhā was seized by a terrible wrath. Blood still drying on her wounds, she approached her brother Khara, but overcome by grief and pain, she collapsed once more, like a vine deprived of its nourishing sap. Near her brother, she let out a piercing cry, her voice trembling with sorrow as tears streamed down her pale face. Seeing the rākṣasas struck down in battle, Śūrpaṇakhā, fleeing from the carnage, came before Khara and told him everything—the destruction of all the rākṣasas, the slaughter she had witnessed. Now begins the twenty-first sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. Seeing his sister collapsed before him, Khara grew enraged and addressed her in clear, forceful words, for she had come seeking his aid. “I sent those heroic, flesh-eating rākṣasas for your sake—why do you weep again? They are ever loyal and devoted to me; if they are being killed, it is not for lack of obedience to my command. What has happened? Tell me why you cry out ‘Alas, protector!’ and writhe on the ground like a wounded snake. Why do you lament as though you have no protector, when I am here? Rise, rise! Cast off this weakness—do not be so faint-hearted.” Thus spoken to by the formidable Khara, Śūrpaṇakhā was comforted. She wiped her tear-filled eyes and spoke to her brother: “I have come to you, my ears and nose cut off, drenched in blood, and you have comforted me. You sent those fourteen heroic rākṣasas, armed and ready, to kill Rāghava and Lakṣmaṇa for my sake. But all of them, furious and armed with spears and pikes, were slain in battle by Rāma, whose arrows pierced their vital points. Seeing those mighty warriors fall to the ground in an instant, and witnessing Rāma’s great feat, I was seized by immense fear. “Thus I am frightened, agitated, and despondent, O night-wanderer; seeing danger everywhere, I have come to you again for refuge. I am submerged in an ocean of grief, inhabited by crocodiles of despair and waves of terror—why do you not rescue me? The flesh-eating rākṣasas who came to my aid have been struck down by Rāma’s sharp arrows. If you have any compassion for me or for those rākṣasas, if you have any strength or power against Rāma, O night-wanderer—strike down the thorn of the demons dwelling in Dandaka forest. If you do not kill Rāma, the destroyer of enemies, today, I will abandon my life before your very eyes, shameless one. In my judgment, you are not able to face Rāma in battle, not even with your forces. You claim to be a hero, but your valor is falsely attributed. “Leave Janasthana at once with your kin; otherwise, slay these fools in battle, or you will bring disgrace upon your lineage. You are unable to slay those two men, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa; what sort of existence do you have here, lacking strength and possessing little power? Overcome by Rāma’s energy, you will soon perish, for Rāma, son of Daśaratha, is endowed with that very power.” Beside her brother, grief-stricken and unconscious, Śūrpaṇakhā struck her belly with her hands and wept, overwhelmed by intense sorrow. Now begins the twenty-second chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Aranya Kanda. Thus provoked by Śūrpaṇakhā’s bitter words, the warrior Khara spoke among the assembled demons, his words harsher than even his own nature. “This anger of mine, arising from your insult, is unparalleled; it cannot be contained, like the turbulent salt sea. I do not regard Rāma as powerful—a mere mortal whose life is nearly at its end. Today, by his own misdeeds, he will lose his life. “Hold back your tears and let go of your agitation; I will send Rāma and his brother to the abode of Yama. Today, you will drink the hot blood of Rāma, struck down by my axe as he lies weak upon the earth, O demoness.” Hearing these words flow from Khara’s mouth, Śūrpaṇakhā became delighted. In her folly, she praised her brother once again, foremost among the demons, her heart filled with hope for vengeance.