Armed with lances, dreadful iron bars, immense bows, maces, swords, pestles, and thunderbolts—all weapons terrifying to behold—fourteen thousand fearsome Rākṣasas, utterly devoted to Khara’s will, marched forth from Janasthāna. Their ranks surged with dreadful energy, and behind them, Khara himself followed in his chariot, keeping a measured distance as he watched his formidable army surge ahead. At Khara’s command, his chariot—driven by a skilled charioteer—sped forth, its thunderous sound filling every direction, echoing across the land and sky. Khara, his anger blazing, his voice harsh and booming, urged his charioteer on with fierce shouts. He seemed like Death incarnate, roaring like a storm-laden cloud casting stones, intent on the utter destruction of his enemy. As this dreadful, ill-omened army set out, the heavens themselves seemed to rebel. A horrifying, tumultuous rain of blood—dark and thick as the hide of a donkey—poured down upon the Rākṣasas. The swift horses yoked to Khara’s chariot suddenly collapsed on the royal road, their fall marked by a scattering of flowers. Overhead, a blazing, blood-red circle appeared around the sun, like a fiery wheel. Ominous signs multiplied. A great vulture, massive and dreadful, perched atop the raised golden banner of Khara’s chariot. Near Janasthāna, carnivorous beasts and birds approached, uttering cries that echoed Khara’s name, their voices mingling in a cacophony of dread. In the blazing sky, other terrifying creatures—though auspicious in form—joined with ghastly shrieks, their cries chilling the hearts of all who heard them. The sky darkened with massive, blood-streaked clouds, resembling split elephants. Streams of blood and water poured from the heavens, blotting out the very sky. A terrible, unnatural darkness descended, so dense that neither the directions nor the intermediate quarters could be seen; the world seemed to shudder with foreboding. Twilight fell, but it was not the hour for it. The horizon glowed with the hue of fresh blood, and dreadful beasts and birds faced Khara, their cries filled with ill omen. Herons, jackals, and vultures uttered their sinister calls, always portending disaster in battle. In the sky, a monstrous Kabandha—its mouth aflame, its form iron-club-like—appeared near the sun, facing Bala. Then, Svarbhānu, the great demon, seized the sun at an inauspicious moment, robbing it of its brilliance as fierce winds howled. Stars, shining like fireflies, appeared in the daylight; lotuses withered, their birds and fish hidden. Trees lost their flowers and fruits, and crimson dust rose in the air, though no wind stirred it. The starlings began to cry out with eerie “cīcī” and “kūcī” sounds, while dreadful meteors fell, resounding with ominous thunder. The earth itself trembled—mountains, forests, and groves all shook—as Khara, wise yet wrathful, roared from his chariot. His left arm quivered, his voice faltered, and tears welled in his eyes as he cast his gaze about, troubled by these hair-raising omens. A sharp pain throbbed on his forehead, yet Khara did not turn back; confusion could not sway him from his path. Laughing harshly, he addressed his Rākṣasa warriors: “All these great and dreadful omens have arisen. Yet I do not fear them. By my strength, I consider the strong and the weak alike. I could bring down the very stars from the sky with my sharp arrows! Enraged, I will bring death, as fate decrees, upon that Rāghava, proud of his strength, and his brother Lakṣmaṇa. I will not return without slaying them; their destruction is my sole purpose. This I declare before you, and I do not speak falsely. Even if Indra himself, king of the gods, mounted on Airāvata, faced me in battle, I could slay him in my wrath. He who wields the thunderbolt could fall to my hand—what, then, of those two mere men?” Hearing Khara’s defiant roar, the great army of Rākṣasas felt a surge of delight, even as they marched toward certain doom. Meanwhile, the seers, gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas, and Cāraṇas gathered in the heavens, speaking amongst themselves of the righteous Rāma. “May there be well-being for cows and Brāhmaṇas, and for all the revered in the worlds. May Rāghava triumph in battle over the Paulastyas—the night-roaming demons—just as Viṣṇu, bearing the discus, destroyed the foremost Asuras.” The gods, filled with curiosity, watched from their celestial chariots as the Rākṣasa army—its life-force already spent by fate—marched to its end. At the head of the army, Khara advanced swiftly in his chariot, like a hawk diving upon its prey. Around him gathered twelve mighty warriors: Pṛthugrīva, Yajñaśatru, Vihaṃgama, Durjaya, Karavīrākṣa, Paruṣa, Kālakārmuka, Hemamālī, Mahāmālī, Sarpāsya, and Rudhirāśana. Behind them, four more heroes—Mahākapāla, Sthūlākṣa, Pramātha, and Triśiras—marched in support of Dūṣaṇa, bringing up the rear. This terrifying, swift-moving army, eager for battle and brimming with Rākṣasa might, surged forward to confront the two princes—Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa—like the sun and moon beset by a host of garlanded planets. The stage was set for a momentous clash, as the forces of darkness closed in upon the champions of dharma.