A strange and unsettling transformation came over the forest. Stars, usually hidden by the sun, shone in the daylight like fireflies, and the lotuses, their fish and birds vanished from sight, withered and dried up. The trees, too, lost all their flowers and fruits, and red dust rose in the air, swirling like clouds, though no wind stirred. Among the branches, starlings cried out with eerie ‘cīcī’ and ‘kūcī’ calls, while dreadful meteors blazed and thundered as they fell from the heavens. The earth itself trembled, along with its mountains, forests, and groves, as Khara, the wise and fierce leader of the Rākṣasas, roared from atop his chariot. Ominous signs afflicted him: his left arm quivered, his voice faltered, and tears welled up in his eyes as he gazed all around. Pain throbbed on his forehead, yet, confused but resolute, Khara did not turn back, even as these terrifying, hair-raising omens unfolded before him. Laughing, Khara addressed his assembled Rākṣasas: “All these great and dreadful omens have arisen. Yet I do not worry about them. By my strength, I consider the strong and the weak alike. Even the stars themselves, I could bring down from the sky with my sharp arrows. Enraged, I will bring death, as fate decrees, upon that Rāghava, so proud of his prowess, and his brother Lakṣmaṇa. Without slaying them with my arrows, I cannot return; for their downfall is my purpose. This is evident before you—I do not speak falsely. Even if enraged, I could slay the king of the gods himself, who rides the mighty Airavata. The wielder of the thunderbolt could be slain by me—what then of these two mere men?” His roar filled the Rākṣasa army with incomparable delight, though they were already bound by the noose of death. The great souls among them, eager for battle, gathered together. Meanwhile, seers, gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas, and Cāraṇas assembled in the heavens, speaking among themselves of the one of virtuous deeds: “May cows and Brāhmaṇas, and all those esteemed in the worlds, be well. May Rāghava conquer in battle the Paulastyas, the night-roaming demons. As Viṣṇu, bearing the discus, destroyed the foremost Asuras, so may he.” In many ways, the supreme seers prayed and spoke. Filled with curiosity, the gods watched from their aerial chariots, gazing at the Rākṣasa army whose life-force was already spent. Then Khara, swift as a hawk, emerged at the head of his army in his chariot. Around him advanced twelve mighty warriors: Pṛthugrīva, Yajñaśatru, Vihaṃgama, Durjaya, Karavīrākṣa, Paruṣa, Kālakārmuka, Hemamālī, Mahāmālī, Sarpāsya, and Rudhirāśana. Four followed Dūṣaṇa at the rear: Mahākapāla, Sthūlākṣa, Pramātha, and Triśiras. This army, fierce and swift, eager for battle and filled with Rākṣasa heroes, suddenly confronted the two princes, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, as the sun and moon are approached by garlanded planets. Now begins the twenty-fourth sarga. When Khara, mighty in valor, departed for the hermitage, Rāma and his brother Lakṣmaṇa beheld those same ominous portents. Disturbed by the dreadful signs, Rāma, 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. Streams of blood, echoing with harsh cries, pour forth; in the sky, clouds turn back, rough and colored like donkey’s blood. All my arrows, wreathed in smoke and golden-backed, move restlessly, eager for battle, O discerning one. The forest birds are calling in strange ways; safety does not lie ahead for us, and I am uncertain even about our lives. A tremendous battle will surely take place—of this there is no doubt; my arm, trembling again and again, foretells it. Yet, O hero, when we draw near, victory for us and defeat for the enemy are certain, for your face shines bright and clear. For those about to fight, O Lakṣmaṇa, when their faces lose their luster, it is a sign that their life nears its end. A terrible roar is heard from the howling of the rākṣasas and the drums struck by those cruel-doing demons. One who desires good must prepare for what is yet to come, being wise and anticipating danger. Therefore, take Vaidehī with you, armed with bow and arrows, and seek refuge in a cave on the mountain, one that is fortified and thick with trees. I wish to oppose them myself; do not argue with me about this. Go, my child, as I command you—do not delay. You are brave and strong, and could certainly slay these foes; but I wish to destroy all these night-wanderers myself.” Thus addressed by Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, together with Sītā, took up his arrows and bow and sought shelter in the fortified cave. When they had entered, Rāma said, “Now, let them come!” and donned his armor. Adorned with shining armor, Rāma appeared in the darkness like a great blazing fire. Raising his bow and taking his great arrows, the valiant one stood ready, filling the quarters with the resounding twang of his bowstring.