Urged on by Khara, the destroyer of enemies, his chariot thundered forth, its sound filling all the directions and the spaces between, echoing ominously through the land. Khara, his anger surging, his voice harsh and terrible, pressed onward for the destruction of his foes, as if he were Death itself. He shouted fiercely at his charioteer, his roar like a mighty storm cloud hurling stones. As the dreadful and inauspicious army of Khara set out, a terrible and tumultuous rain of blood, as dark as a donkey’s hide, poured down upon them. The swift horses yoked to Khara’s chariot stumbled and collapsed by chance on the royal road, which was strewn with flowers—a sign both strange and foreboding. Overhead, a dark, blood-red circle, blazing like a fiery wheel, appeared around the sun. Approaching the army’s raised golden banner, a great and dreadful vulture with a massive body perched atop it, as if claiming the standard for death. Near Janasthāna, carnivorous beasts and birds, uttering cries that echoed Khara’s own name, drew near and filled the air with their dreadful sounds. In the blazing direction, fierce and terrifying beings, both auspicious and dreadful, called out with ghastly cries like those of the night-dwelling Rākṣasas. The sky became shrouded in massive clouds, dark as split elephants and pouring forth streams of blood and water, so that it seemed there was no sky at all. A terrible and tumultuous darkness arose, causing the hair to stand on end; the directions and quarters of the world were lost in gloom. The twilight, out of its proper time, glowed with the color of fresh blood. Dreadful beasts and birds cried out facing Khara, their voices ominous. Herons, jackals, and vultures gave forth baleful cries, portending evil in battle—dreadful omens for all who heard. In the sky, facing Bala, a monstrous Kabandha appeared, with a mouth emitting flames, its form like a great iron club near the sun. The demon Svarbhānu seized the sun at the wrong phase, the wind blew fiercely, and the sun lost its brilliance, casting the world into further dread. Stars shone like fireflies though it was not night, and the lotuses, their fish and birds hidden, withered and dried. Trees lost their flowers and fruits, and red dust, like clouds, was stirred up without any wind. The starlings began to cry out with strange 'cīcī' and 'kūcī' sounds, and dreadful meteors, resounding through the heavens, fell to the earth. The earth itself, with its mountains, forests, and groves, trembled as Khara, the wise yet wrathful, roared from his chariot. Khara’s left arm quivered, his voice faltered, and tears filled his eyes as he looked around. Pain throbbed on his forehead, yet he did not turn back, though confusion and fearsome omens surrounded him. Then Khara laughed and addressed all the Rākṣasas: “All these great and dreadful omens have arisen, but I do not worry about them. By my strength, I consider the strong and the weak alike. If I wished, I could bring down the very stars from the sky with my sharp arrows. “Enraged, I will bring death, in accordance with the law of 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. This is evident before you; I do not speak falsely. Even if enraged, I could slay the king of the gods, who rides the mighty Airavata. He who wields the thunderbolt in battle could be slain by me—what then of those two men?” Hearing Khara’s thunderous boast, the great army of the Rākṣasas felt a fierce joy, though they were already ensnared by the noose of death. The great souls, eager to witness the battle, assembled from every quarter. Seers, gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas, and Cāraṇas gathered together and spoke among themselves about the one of virtuous deeds: “May there be well-being for cows and Brāhmaṇas, and for all those esteemed in the worlds. May Rāghava conquer in battle the Paulastyas, the night-roaming demons. As Viṣṇu, bearing the discus, destroyed the foremost Asuras, so may he now prevail.” Thus, and in many ways, the supreme seers prayed. Filled with curiosity, the gods took their places in aerial chariots, watching 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. Twelve mighty Rākṣasas advanced around him: Pṛthugrīva, Yajñaśatru, Vihaṃgama, Durjaya, Karavīrākṣa, Paruṣa, Kālakārmuka, Hemamālī, Mahāmālī, Sarpāsya, and Rudhirāśana. Four others—Mahākapāla, Sthūlākṣa, Pramātha, and Triśiras—followed behind Dūṣaṇa at the rear of the host. That army, fierce and eager for battle, filled with dreadful Rākṣasa heroes, suddenly confronted the two princes, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, like the sun and moon approached by garlanded planets. When Khara, mighty in valor, departed for the hermitage, Rāma and his brother beheld these same terrible omens. Seeing these dreadful signs, Rāma, deeply concerned for the welfare of all, spoke to Lakṣmaṇa: “Behold, O mighty-armed one, these great and destructive omens that have arisen to bring about the destruction of all the Rākṣasas.