A tumultuous roar arose from the host of demons as they surged through the forest, their dreadful noise striking terror into the hearts of the wild beasts dwelling there. Frightened by this cacophony, the animals fled in panic, seeking the silent depths of the woods, not daring to look back. Meanwhile, the mighty army of Rakshasas, swift and unstoppable as a torrent, advanced upon Rama. This formidable host, brandishing a multitude of weapons and as deep and vast as the ocean itself, assembled before Rama. The prince, ever skilled in the art of war, surveyed the scene intently. He saw Khara’s army approaching, eager for battle. Without hesitation, Rama strung his mighty bow and drew arrows from his quiver, summoning a fierce and righteous wrath for the destruction of the demon horde. Enraged, Rama’s presence became awe-inspiring, blazing like the fire that consumes the world at the end of an age. Witnessing Rama’s radiance, the very deities of the forest trembled. In that moment, Rama’s furious form resembled Shiva himself, the wielder of Pinaka, intent on destroying Daksha’s sacrifice. The Rakshasa army, with their gleaming bows, ornaments, chariots, and armor shining like fire, appeared at sunrise as a mass of dark clouds gathering in the sky. Thus begins the next chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Araṇya Kāṇḍa. Khara, surrounded by his foremost warriors, came to the hermitage and beheld Rama, standing resolute with his bow in hand, his anger kindled, the slayer of foes. Seeing Rama ready for battle, Khara let out a thunderous roar and commanded his charioteer to drive straight toward him. Obeying Khara’s order, the charioteer urged the horses onward to where Rama, mighty-armed and alone, awaited with his bow poised. As Khara advanced, his ministers and all the night-dwelling Rakshasas surrounded him, raising a great clamor. Amidst them, Khara, standing tall in his chariot, shone like the red planet Mars rising among the stars. Then, with a thousand arrows, Khara assailed Rama, roaring fiercely as the battle commenced. Enraged, the gathered Rakshasas unleashed a storm of weapons upon Rama, who stood unconquerable, wielding his terrible bow. With maces, iron spears, javelins, swords, and axes, they struck at the valiant prince. The Rakshasas, massive in size and strength and resembling storm clouds, charged at Rama with their chariots and horses. Desiring nothing but his destruction, they advanced with elephants as mighty as mountain peaks, releasing showers of arrows upon him. Surrounded on all sides by Rakshasas of fearsome appearance, Rama stood like a mountain lord enveloped by great clouds pouring rain. As the Yatudhanas hurled weapons at him, Rama received them calmly, like the great god attended by hosts on festival days. He repelled their attacks with his arrows, just as the ocean receives the floods of many rivers; though his body was struck by dreadful weapons, Rama did not flinch. Covered in blood from countless wounds, Rama resembled a great mountain battered by blazing thunderbolts. His form was like the sun shrouded by evening clouds, and seeing him thus, the gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas, and great sages grew despondent. Surrounded alone by thousands of enemies, Rama’s fury blazed forth. He readied his bow in a circular stance and began releasing sharp arrows by the hundreds and thousands—irresistible and unbearable, like the nooses of Death itself. With effortless skill, he loosed feathered arrows adorned with gold, and these arrows, shot playfully by Rama, rained down upon the demon forces. The arrows, like Death’s own snares, seized the lives of the Rakshasas, piercing their bodies and becoming drenched in blood. Ascending into the sky, they shone with the brilliance of blazing fire, and countless arrows issued from the circle of Rama’s bow. Fierce and deadly, they struck down the Rakshasas, cutting through bows, banners, shields, and armor. In that battle, Rama severed by the hundreds and thousands the arms adorned with bracelets and the thighs as massive as elephant trunks. He struck down horses in golden harnesses yoked to chariots, along with their charioteers, elephants with their riders, and cavalrymen alike. Rama’s arrows, loosed from his bowstring, shattered and destroyed his foes; having slain the foot soldiers, he sent them to the abode of Yama, the lord of death. The demon army, pierced in their vital points by Rama’s relentless arrows, found no relief, just as a dry forest finds no respite from fire. Yet some among the Rakshasas, mighty and heroic, hurled spears, lances, and axes at Rama in their rage. But Rama, the great-armed and valiant, blocked their weapons with his arrows, taking their lives in battle and severing their heads and necks. Those with severed heads, broken shields, and shattered bows fell to the earth, scattered by the wind like uprooted trees. The remaining Rakshasas, wounded and disheartened, fled in terror to Khara, seeking his protection. Then Dūṣaṇa, taking up his bow and rallying the demons, charged forward in a fury like Death himself enraged. Encouraged by Dūṣaṇa’s strength, the Rakshasas regained their courage and turned back to face Rama, wielding sala and tāla trees and hurling stones as weapons. With spears, maces, and ropes in hand, those of great strength unleashed fresh showers of arrows and weapons in the fierce battle that raged on.