Bound by the very noose of death, the rākṣasa army felt an incomparable, strange delight as they surged toward battle. Great souls from all realms, eager to witness the mighty clash, assembled in anticipation. The seers, gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas, and Cāraṇas gathered together, speaking among themselves about the one whose deeds were ever virtuous. “May there be well-being for the cows and Brāhmaṇas and for all those esteemed in the worlds,” they prayed. “May Rāghava triumph in battle over the Paulastyas, the night-roaming demons. Just as Viṣṇu, wielder of the discus, destroyed the foremost of the Asuras, so may he prevail now.” Thus, and in many other auspicious ways, the supreme seers expressed their hopes. The gods, filled with curiosity, took their places in their aerial chariots and gazed down upon the army of the rākṣasas, whose life-force seemed already spent. At the head of this formidable force, Khara, swift as a hawk, emerged rapidly in his chariot. Surrounding him were twelve mighty heroes: Pṛthugrīva, Yajñaśatru, Vihaṃgama, Durjaya, Karavīrākṣa, Paruṣa, Kālakārmuka, Hemamālī, Mahāmālī, Sarpāsya, and Rudhirāśana. These valiant warriors advanced around Khara, while Mahākapāla, Sthūlākṣa, Pramātha, and Triśiras followed Dūṣaṇa at the rear. The army, fierce in speed and dreadful in appearance, was filled with powerful rākṣasa heroes, all eager for battle. They surged forward, confronting the two princes—Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa—like the sun and moon approached by a host of garlanded planets. When Khara, mighty in valor, departed for the hermitage, Rāma and his brother beheld the same ominous portents as before. Disturbed by these terrible signs, Rāma, ever mindful of the welfare of all beings, spoke to Lakṣmaṇa: “Behold, O mighty-armed one, these great and destructive omens! They have arisen to signal the end of all the rākṣasas. Streams of blood pour forth with harsh cries, while the clouds in the sky turn back, rough and colored like donkey’s blood. My arrows, wreathed in smoke and golden-backed, move restlessly, eager for battle. “The forest birds call in strange ways; safety does not lie ahead for us, and even our lives are in doubt. A tremendous battle is surely at hand—of this there is no doubt. My arm trembles again and again, foretelling it to me. 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, when their faces lose their luster, it is a sign that their end is near. “Hear the terrible roar from the howling of the rākṣasas and the pounding of their drums. One who desires good must prepare for what is yet to come, wisely anticipating danger. Therefore, Lakṣmaṇa, take Vaidehī with you, armed with bow and arrows, and seek shelter in a fortified cave on the mountain, thick with trees. I wish to face them myself; do not argue with me. Go, my child, as I command—do not delay. “You are brave and strong, and could surely slay these foes, but I desire to destroy these night-wanderers myself.” Thus addressed, Lakṣmaṇa, together with Sītā, took up his bow and arrows and sought shelter in the fortified cave. When Lakṣmaṇa had entered the cave with Sītā, Rāma said, “Now, let them come!” and donned his shining armor. Clad in that radiant mail, Rāma stood in the darkness like a blazing fire arisen. Raising his bow and taking his great arrows, the valiant one stood ready, filling all quarters with the twang of his bowstring. Once more, the gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas, and Cāraṇas—those great souls—assembled, eager to witness the battle. The great sages, foremost among the brahmarṣis, gathered together and spoke among themselves: “May there be welfare for cows, Brāhmaṇas, and all the worlds! May Rāghava conquer in battle the Paulastyas, the night-wanderers! Just as the wielder of the discus destroys the foremost Asuras in battle, so may he prevail now.” They spoke thus, looking at one another, marveling at the odds: “Fourteen thousand rākṣasas of terrible deeds, and Rāma alone, righteous—how will this battle unfold?” Seeing Rāma, blazing with energy and standing at the forefront of battle, all beings were seized with awe and fear. Rāma’s form, whose deeds knew no weariness, became incomparable—like the great-souled Rudra himself when enraged. As the gods, Gandharvas, and Cāraṇas spoke thus, a host of rākṣasas arose with deep, terrifying roars, clad in dreadful skins, brandishing weapons and banners. The armies of the night-demons assembled all around, uttering the shouts of warriors as they advanced. They drew their bows, stretching them again and again, and yawned repeatedly; their tumultuous voices and the beating of drums resounded throughout the forest. The dreadful noise of the demons filled the woods, and all the wild beasts dwelling there, terrified by the sound, fled in panic. They ran to silent places, not daring to look back. Meanwhile, the mighty host of rākṣasas, swift as a torrent, advanced relentlessly upon Rāma, who stood alone, ready and radiant, awaiting the storm of battle.