When the fierce battle had ended and the ground was strewn with the bodies of slain demons, Śūrpaṇakhā, terrified and wounded, fled from the scene. She made her way to her brother Khara, her heart heavy with grief, and recounted to him all that had transpired—the utter destruction of the rākṣasas and the slaughter of their kind. Now, listen to the next part of this sacred tale from the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. Seeing his sister Śūrpaṇakhā fallen before him once again, Khara’s anger blazed forth. Speaking in clear and forceful words, he addressed her, for she had come seeking his protection. “I sent those heroic, flesh-eating rākṣasas for your sake,” he said, “so why do you weep again? They are always loyal and devoted to me; if they are being killed, it cannot be for lack of obedience. What is happening? Tell me the reason you cry out for protection and writhe on the ground like a wounded snake. Why do you lament as if you are alone in this world, when I am here for you? Rise, rise! Do not be so faint-hearted—cast aside this weakness.” Comforted by her formidable brother’s words, Śūrpaṇakhā wiped the tears from her blood-streaked face and spoke in a trembling voice. “I have come to you, brother, my ears and nose cut off, drenched in blood. You sent fourteen heroic rākṣasas, armed for battle, to destroy Rāghava and Lakṣmaṇa for my sake. But all of them, furious and brandishing spears and pikes, were slain in battle by Rāma, who struck with arrows that never miss their mark. Seeing those mighty warriors fall to the ground in an instant, and beholding Rāma’s astonishing deed, I was seized by terror. Fearful and despondent, I have come to you again, seeking refuge from this danger that threatens me at every turn. “I am submerged in a vast ocean of grief, filled with 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, and if you possess the strength to stand against Rāma, then act! Strike down the thorn that torments the demons of the Daṇḍaka forest. If you do not kill Rāma, the destroyer of enemies, today, I will give up my life before your eyes. In my judgment, you are not able to face Rāma in battle. “Even with your forces, you cannot stand before him in the great war. You claim to be a hero, but your valor is empty words. Leave Janasthāna with your kin, or kill those foes in battle; otherwise, you will bring disgrace upon our lineage. You are unable to slay those two men, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa. What sort of existence is this, lacking strength and power? Overcome by Rāma’s energy, you will soon perish, for Rāma, son of Daśaratha, is endowed with immense might.” Beside her brother, overwhelmed by grief, Śūrpaṇakhā struck her belly with her hands and wept, her sorrow intense and unrestrained. Now, hear the next chapter of this holy narrative. Thus provoked by Śūrpaṇakhā’s harsh words, the warrior Khara spoke among the assembled demons, his words harsher even than himself. “This anger that blazes within me because of your humiliation cannot be contained, like the surging salt sea. I do not regard Rāma as powerful—he is a mere mortal, his life 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 shall drink the hot blood of Rāma, struck down by my axe as he lies weak upon the earth, O demoness.” Hearing these words pour from Khara’s mouth, Śūrpaṇakhā was delighted. In her folly, she again praised her brother, the foremost among the demons. Having been rebuked by her before, and now praised, Khara turned to his general, Dūṣaṇa, and spoke. “Fourteen thousand fierce demons, relentless in battle, follow my will. They are dark as rain clouds, roaming the world to do harm, and all are fully prepared. Gather them at once, gentle one. Quickly bring me my chariot, along with bows, arrows of many kinds, swords, and sharp spears. I will lead the way, advancing at the front for the destruction of that unruly Rāma, who is skilled in battle, along with the great-souled Paulastyas.” As Khara gave these commands, Dūṣaṇa ordered for him a magnificent chariot, shining like the sun and yoked with dappled steeds. The chariot was splendid as the peak of Mount Meru, adorned with refined gold, golden wheels, and a yoke of precious cat’s-eye gems. Its surface was covered with images of fish, flowers, trees, mountains, golden moons and suns, auspicious birds in flocks, and stars. Equipped with banners and swords, adorned with excellent bells, and always yoked to the finest horses, Khara, burning with anger, mounted his chariot. Surveying his great army, bristling with chariots, armor, weapons, and banners, Khara gave the command to all the rākṣasas: “Set out!” he said to Dūṣaṇa. And thus the stage was set for the next act in this epic tale.