Khara, having once been rebuked harshly by Shurpanakha and now again receiving her praise, turned to his general Dūṣaṇa with resolve. “Fourteen thousand fierce and relentless Rākṣasas,” he declared, “are under my command. They are as dark as rain clouds, roaming the earth to wreak havoc, and are always ready for battle. Gather all these mighty demons, gentle one.” He continued, “Quickly bring my chariot, along with bows, arrows of every kind, swords, and sharp spears. I wish to lead from the front and destroy that unruly Rāma, skilled as he is in battle, along with the great-souled Paulastyas.” As Khara spoke with such determination, Dūṣaṇa promptly ordered a magnificent chariot for him. It shone like the sun, yoked with dappled steeds, and resembled the lofty peak of Mount Meru. This chariot was adorned with refined gold, golden wheels, and a yoke inlaid 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 shining stars. Banners fluttered from it, swords gleamed, and excellent bells adorned its sides. Always ready with fine horses, Khara, burning with anger, mounted his splendid chariot. Surveying his vast army—chariots, armor, weapons, and banners all in readiness—Khara ordered Dūṣaṇa and the assembled Rākṣasas, “Set out!” The terrifying army, clad in dreadful armor and bearing weapons and banners, departed from Janasthāna, roaring fiercely and moving with great speed. They carried clubs, spears, tridents, sharp axes, swords, wheels, maces, and javelins. In their hands glinted lances, iron bars, huge bows, pestles, and thunderbolts, all fearsome to behold. Fourteen thousand terrifying Rākṣasas, loyal to Khara’s will, surged forth from Janasthāna. As this fearsome host rushed ahead, Khara’s chariot followed slightly behind. Urged on, the chariot of Khara, destroyer of enemies, thundered forth, its sound filling all directions. Khara, his anger mounting, his voice harsh, hastened to destroy his enemy like Death itself. Roaring like a storm-laden cloud hurling stones, he shouted again at his charioteer. Now, listen to the twenty-third sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇya Kāṇḍa. As that dreadful and inauspicious army set out, a terrible and tumultuous rain of blood, the color of a donkey, poured down upon them. Suddenly, the swift horses yoked to Khara’s chariot collapsed by chance on the royal road, which was strewn with flowers. Around the sun appeared a dark, blood-red circle, blazing like a fiery wheel. Then, as the army approached the raised golden banner, a great-bodied and dreadful vulture descended and perched upon it. Near Janasthāna, carnivorous beasts and birds, uttering cries like those of Khara himself, gathered and made various dreadful sounds. In the blazing direction, fierce and terrifying beings, both auspicious and dreadful, uttered ghastly cries like those of the night-dwellers. Massive clouds, resembling split elephants and streaming with blood and water, covered the sky so completely that it seemed there was no sky at all. A terrible, tumultuous darkness arose, making the hair stand on end; the directions and the intermediate quarters were lost from sight. The twilight, untimely and ominous, glowed with the hue of fresh blood. Dreadful beasts and birds cried out, facing Khara. Herons, jackals, and vultures gave forth ominous cries, portending evil in battle and serving as dreadful omens. Facing Bala, a Kabandha—its mouth spewing flames and its form like an iron club—was seen near the sun. The great demon Svarbhānu seized the sun at an inauspicious time, the wind howled fiercely, and the sun’s brilliance faded away. Stars, shining like fireflies, appeared though it was not night. Lotuses, with their fish and birds hidden, withered and dried. Trees shed their flowers and fruits, and dust, red as clouds, was stirred up even without wind. Starlings began to cry with strange “cīcī” and “kūcī” sounds, and dreadful meteors fell from the sky with resounding crashes. The earth itself, along with its mountains, forests, and groves, trembled as Khara, wise yet wrathful, roared from his chariot. As he looked around, Khara’s left arm quivered, his voice faltered, and tears filled his eyes. Pain throbbed on his forehead, but confusion did not make him turn back, even when confronted with these terrifying, hair-raising omens. Laughing, Khara addressed all the Rākṣasas, “All these great and dreadful omens have arisen. I do not worry about them. By my strength, I consider the strong and the weak alike. Even the stars I could bring down from the sky with my sharp arrows. Enraged, I shall bring death, as ordained by fate, upon that Rāghava, proud of his strength, and his brother Lakṣmaṇa. Without slaying them with sharp arrows, I cannot turn back; for the downfall of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa is my purpose.