From Janasthāna, a terrifying army of Rākṣasas surged forth, their armor and weapons glinting ominously, banners fluttering as they roared with ferocious voices. They moved with astonishing speed, wielding clubs, spears, tridents, axes sharpened to a deadly edge, swords, and even wheels, their hands bristling with maces and javelins. Lances, dreadful iron bars, massive bows, pestles, thunderbolts—all manner of fearsome arms were in their grasp, making them a sight dreadful to behold. Fourteen thousand formidable Rākṣasas, all unwavering in their devotion to Khara, set out together, intent on carrying out his will. As these fearsome warriors rushed forward, Khara himself followed a short distance behind in his chariot, his presence commanding and grim. Urged on, Khara’s chariot, the vehicle of a destroyer of enemies, thundered across the land, its sound filling every quarter and intermediate direction. Khara’s anger was inflamed, his voice harsh and terrible. He hastened toward his enemy’s destruction, like Death itself incarnate. Roaring like a mighty storm cloud hurling stones, he shouted at his charioteer, his fury echoing across the landscape. Now listen to the twenty-third sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇya Kāṇḍa. As this dreadful and inauspicious army marched forth, a terrible, tumultuous rain of blood—colored like a donkey—poured down upon them, a dire omen. The swift horses yoked to Khara’s chariot suddenly collapsed on the royal road, amid scattered flowers, as if fate itself opposed their advance. Around the sun appeared a dark, blood-red circle, blazing like a fiery wheel. A great-bodied, dreadful vulture descended and perched upon the raised golden banner, another ill portent. Near Janasthāna, carnivorous beasts and birds, uttering cries resembling Khara’s own, approached the army and made various dreadful sounds. In the blazing direction, fierce and terrifying creatures—auspicious yet dreadful—uttered the ghastly cries of night-dwellers. Massive clouds, resembling split elephants and bearing streams of blood and water, obscured 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. Twilight, robbed of its usual time of day, glowed with the hue of fresh blood. Dreadful beasts and birds cried out, facing Khara, their voices filled with foreboding. Herons, jackals, and vultures gave forth ominous cries, portending evil in battle, appearing as dreadful omens. Facing Bala, a Kabandha, monstrous and resembling an iron club, was seen near the sun, its mouth emitting flames. The great demon Svarbhānu seized the sun during the wrong phase, the wind blew fiercely, and the sun lost its brilliance. Stars, shining like fireflies, appeared though it was not night; lotuses, with their fish and birds hidden, withered and dried up. At that moment, trees lost their flowers and fruits; dust, red as clouds, rose up without any wind. Starlings began to cry out with ‘cīcī’ and ‘kūcī’ sounds; dreadful meteors, resounding, fell from the sky. The earth, with its mountains, forests, and groves, trembled as Khara, wise yet wrathful, roared from his chariot. His left arm quivered, his voice faltered, and tears filled his eyes as he looked all around. Pain arose on his forehead, yet he did not turn back, confused by the great, hair-raising omens. Then Khara, laughing, addressed his Rākṣasa warriors: “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 sharp arrows. Enraged, I will bring death, in accordance with the law of mortality, 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. This is evident before you; I do not speak falsely. Even if enraged, I could slay the king of the gods, who rides the intoxicated Airavata. He who wields the thunderbolt in battle could be slain by me—what then of those two men?” Hearing Khara’s mighty roar, the great army of Rākṣasas felt incomparable delight, even though they were bound by the noose of death. Great souls, eager to witness the battle, assembled. The seers, gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas, and Cāraṇas gathered, speaking among themselves about the one of virtuous deeds. “May there be well-being for cows and Brāhmaṇas, and for those esteemed in the worlds. May Rāghava conquer in battle the Paulastyas, the night-roaming demons. As Viṣṇu, bearing the discus, destroyed all the foremost Asuras, so may he.” Thus, and in many other ways, the supreme seers spoke. Filled with curiosity, the gods stationed in their aerial chariots watched the army of the Rākṣasas, whose life-force was already spent. Then Khara, swift as a hawk, emerged rapidly at the head of his army in his chariot. Around him advanced twelve warriors of great valor: Pṛthugrīva, Yajñaśatru, Vihaṃgama, Durjaya, Karavīrākṣa, Paruṣa, Kālakārmuka, Hemamālī, Mahāmālī, Sarpāsya, and Rudhirāśana. These twelve surrounded Khara, while Mahākapāla, Sthūlākṣa, Pramātha, and Triśiras—four mighty warriors—followed Dūṣaṇa at the rear of the army. Thus, the stage was set for a great and fateful battle, as omens and portents gathered, and the forces of darkness marched against the righteous.