A vast and terrifying army, swift as the wind and eager for battle, surged forward—an army of Rākṣasa heroes, dreadful in might. They confronted the two princes, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, as if the sun and the moon themselves were being assailed by a host of garlanded planets. Earlier, after the formidable Khara had set out for the forest hermitage, Rāma and his brother Lakṣmaṇa began to witness ominous signs—portents that filled Rāma with deep concern for the safety of all. Turning to Lakṣmaṇa, Rāma spoke with gravity, pointing out the great and destructive omens that had arisen, seemingly to herald the ruin of the Rākṣasas. He described how streams of blood, echoing with harsh cries, poured forth, and the clouds above twisted back, rough and tinged the color of donkey’s blood. Rāma’s own arrows, wreathed in smoke and adorned with golden backs, quivered restlessly, eager for battle. The birds of the forest called out in strange, unsettling ways, and Rāma sensed that safety was uncertain and even their lives hung in the balance. A tremendous battle was certain to come—Rāma’s arm trembled repeatedly, foretelling the conflict ahead. Yet, seeing Lakṣmaṇa’s face shining bright with clarity, Rāma took it as a sign that victory would be theirs, and defeat would befall the enemy. He explained that when a warrior’s face loses its luster before battle, it signals the nearness of death. The air trembled with the terrible roars of the Rākṣasas and the pounding of their drums. Rāma, ever wise and prudent, counseled Lakṣmaṇa that one who seeks good must always prepare for what is to come, anticipating danger. He instructed Lakṣmaṇa to take Sītā, armed with bow and arrows, and find shelter in a fortified, tree-thick cave upon the mountain. Rāma insisted on facing the enemy alone, commanding Lakṣmaṇa not to argue or delay, for though Lakṣmaṇa was brave and strong enough to slay their foes, Rāma wished to destroy these night-wanderers himself. Obediently, Lakṣmaṇa took Sītā and, equipped with bow and arrows, sought the safety of the cave. With Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā secure, Rāma stood ready, donning his shining armor, his form blazing in the darkness like a great fire arisen. He raised his bow and took up his mighty arrows, the twang of his bowstring echoing through the quarters. In the heavens, the gods, gandharvas, siddhas, and cāraṇas—all noble souls—gathered, eager to witness the coming battle. The great sages, foremost among the brahmarṣis, assembled and spoke amongst themselves, wishing welfare for cows, brāhmaṇas, and all the worlds. They prayed for Rāghava’s victory over the Paulastyas, the night-wanderers, and likened him to the wielder of the discus who destroys the asuras in battle. They marveled: “Fourteen thousand dreadful Rākṣasas, and Rāma alone, righteous—how will this battle unfold?” All beings, witnessing Rāma ablaze with energy at the forefront, were seized with awe and fear. His incomparable form, tireless in deeds, shone like Rudra himself in wrath. As the gods, Gandharvas, and Cāraṇas spoke, a host of Rākṣasas arose with deep, terrifying roars. Clad in dreadful skins, bearing weapons and banners, the night-demons assembled in all directions, their warrior shouts filling the air as they advanced. They stretched their bows again and again, yawning and roaring, while the tumult of their voices and the thunder of their drums resounded through the forest. The wild beasts, terrified by the noise, fled to distant, silent places, not daring to look back. The mighty host, swift as a torrent, surged toward Rāma, bearing countless weapons and massing like the deep ocean before him. Rāma, ever alert, surveyed the army of Khara as it approached, stringing his formidable bow and drawing arrows from his quiver. Summoning all his wrath for the destruction of the demons, Rāma became terrible to behold, blazing like the fire at the end of the age. Seeing him thus, the forest deities themselves trembled; Rāma’s form, radiant and wrathful, appeared like Shiva wielding Pinaka, intent on destroying Daksha’s sacrifice. The army of flesh-eating demons, their bows, ornaments, chariots, and armor gleaming like fire, looked at sunrise like a dark mass of storm clouds. Khara, accompanied by his foremost warriors, arrived at the hermitage and beheld Rāma—bow in hand, fierce in anger, destroyer of enemies. Seeing Rāma prepared for battle, Khara roared and commanded his charioteer to drive straight toward him. The great and dreadful battle was about to begin.