Shurpanakha, tormented and humiliated, lashed out in scorn at Khara, her brother. “You are powerless to slay those two men, Rama and Lakshmana,” she cried out bitterly. “What sort of existence do you lead here, lacking strength and possessing little power? Overcome by Rama’s energy, you will soon perish, for Rama, son of Dasharatha, is endowed with that very force.” Consumed by grief and unable to bear her anguish, she collapsed beside her brother. In her sorrow, she struck her belly with her hands and wept, overwhelmed by intense suffering. Thus begins the twenty-second chapter of the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, in the Aranya Kanda. Provoked by his sister’s sharp words, the fierce warrior Khara addressed the assembled demons with words even harsher than his own nature. “This anger that has arisen within me from your insult, Shurpanakha, is without equal. It cannot be contained, like the surging salt waters of the sea. I do not regard Rama as powerful—a mere mortal whose life is nearly spent. Today, he will lose his life through his own misdeeds. Cease your tears and agitation; I will send Rama and his brother to the abode of Yama. Today, you shall drink the hot blood of Rama, struck down by my axe as he lies weak upon the earth, O demoness.” Hearing these fierce words from Khara, Shurpanakha was delighted. In her folly, she praised her brother, the foremost among the demons, forgetting her earlier harshness. Having been thus addressed, both with reproach and with praise, Khara turned to Dushana, his general, and commanded, “Fourteen thousand fierce and relentless demons follow my will. They are dark as rain clouds, wanderers who harm the world, all fully prepared. Assemble all these demons, gentle one. Quickly bring me my chariot, along with bows, arrows of every kind, swords, and sharp spears. I wish to lead from the front, for the destruction of that unruly Rama, skilled in battle, along with the great-souled Paulastyas.” As Khara spoke, Dushana summoned a magnificent chariot for him. It shone like the sun, yoked with dappled steeds, and resembled the peak of Mount Meru. The chariot was adorned with refined gold, golden wheels, and a yoke set with 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. Banners and swords hung from it; excellent bells adorned it, and it was always yoked with fine horses. In his anger, Khara mounted the splendid chariot. Khara beheld his great army—chariots, armor, weapons, and banners at the ready—and said to Dushana and all the Rakshasas, “Set out!” At his command, the terrifying Rakshasa army, bristling with armor, weapons, and banners, departed from Janasthana, roaring loudly and moving with great speed. They brandished clubs, spears, tridents, sharp axes, swords, wheels, maces, and javelins. They carried lances, dreadful iron bars, immense bows, pestles, and thunderbolts—fearsome to behold. Fourteen thousand terrifying Rakshasas, devoted to Khara’s will, marched forth from Janasthana. Khara’s chariot followed a little behind as the dreadful horde rushed forward. Urged on, Khara’s chariot, the destroyer of enemies, sped swiftly, filling the quarters and intermediate directions with its thunderous sound. Khara, his anger blazing, his voice harsh, hastened for the destruction of his enemy like Death himself. He shouted at his charioteer again and again, his roar echoing like a mighty storm cloud hurling stones. Now begins the twenty-third sarga of the Aranya Kanda. As that dreadful, inauspicious army set out, terrible omens arose. A tumultuous rain of blood, colored like a donkey, poured down upon the Rakshasas. The swift horses yoked to Khara’s chariot collapsed by chance on the royal road, in a place strewn with flowers. Around the sun appeared a dark, blood-red circle, blazing like a fiery wheel. Upon the raised golden banner of Khara’s chariot, a massive, dreadful vulture perched. Near Janasthana, carnivorous beasts and birds, uttering the cries of Khara, approached and made various dreadful sounds. In the blazing direction, fierce and terrifying ones—though auspicious—uttered the ghastly cries of the night-dwellers. Massive clouds, resembling split elephants and bearing streams of blood and water, covered the sky so completely that it seemed there was no sky at all. A terrible, tumultuous darkness arose, causing the hair to stand on end; neither the directions nor the intermediate quarters could be clearly seen. The twilight, robbed of its proper time, shone with the hue of fresh blood. Dreadful beasts and birds cried out, facing Khara. Herons, jackals, and vultures gave forth ominous cries, always portending evil in battle—dreadful omens indeed. Facing Bala, with mouths emitting flames, a Kabandha—like an iron club—was seen near the sun. The great demon Svarbhanu seized the sun during the wrong phase; the wind blew fiercely, and the sun lost its brilliance. Thus, as Khara and his terrible host advanced, nature itself seemed to cry out in warning, foretelling the calamity that was to come.