Rāma, standing firm on the battlefield, unleashed torrents of arrows that roared through the air like a great raincloud, their thunderous sound echoing like a drum soaked in water. As Triśiras, the fearsome rākṣasa, advanced upon him, Rāma swiftly prepared his bow, his hands steady as he welcomed the foe with a shower of razor-sharp arrows. A mighty clash erupted between the two warriors, their strength immense—like the ferocious struggle between a lion and an elephant. Suddenly, Triśiras struck Rāma on the forehead with three well-aimed arrows. Though wounded, Rāma's anger flared, and, burning with indignation, he cried out, “What strength this valorous rākṣasa possesses! I have been wounded on my forehead by his arrows as though by flowers.” Incensed, Rāma declared, “Now accept from me these arrows loosed from my bowstring!” Gripping arrows as deadly as venomous serpents, he let fly his wrath. Fourteen arrows struck Triśiras squarely on the chest, while four more, sharp and perfectly feathered, brought down the rākṣasa’s horses. With eight swift arrows, Rāma struck the charioteer, sending him collapsing to the chariot floor. Not stopping, Rāma severed Triśiras’s raised banner with a single shaft. As Triśiras, the night-stalking rākṣasa, leapt from his shattered chariot, Rāma’s arrows found his heart, rendering him senseless. With unmeasured spirit, Rāma pierced him again and again, until, with three swift arrows, he struck down the rākṣasa’s three heads. Smoke and blood streamed from Triśiras as, tormented by Rāma’s shafts, he fell lifeless in the midst of battle. Witnessing Triśiras’s fall, the remaining rākṣasas, already wounded and routed, fled in terror toward Khara, like deer scattering before a tiger. Seeing his warriors in flight, Khara’s fury blazed—he turned them back and, in wrath, charged at Rāma with the speed and inevitability of Rāhu rushing to devour the moon. Thus begins the twenty-eighth sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. Khara, beholding Dūṣaṇa and Triśiras slain, felt fear rise within him at the sight of Rāma’s unmatched valor. The once-mighty rākṣasa army, vast and formidable, now lay destroyed by Rāma alone. Disheartened, Khara advanced upon Rāma, just as the demon Namuci once challenged Indra. Drawing his powerful bow, Khara loosed barbed, bloodthirsty arrows at Rāma, their deadly flight like enraged serpents. Displaying his mastery, Khara moved swiftly in his chariot, his bowstring singing as he filled all directions with a ceaseless rain of arrows. Rāma, seeing the sky darkened by Khara’s assault, took up his own mighty bow. With arrows blazing like sparks of fire, he made the heavens seem without space, as if a torrential downpour had swallowed the sky. The air became thick with arrows from both warriors, leaving not a patch of open sky. The sun itself was veiled by their missiles, and its light failed as the two combatants fought fiercely, each intent on the other’s destruction. Khara, wielding nalikas, narachas, and sharp-tipped vikarni arrows, struck Rāma in the fray, as an elephant is prodded by goads. All beings beheld Khara, standing tall in his chariot with bow in hand, surrounded by death—he was like Yama himself holding a noose. Khara, seeing Rāma—slayer of armies, steadfast in valor, and mighty in spirit—thought him exhausted. Yet Rāma, bold as a lion and moving with a lion’s stride, felt no fear, just as a lion does not fear a lesser beast. Khara, his chariot shining like the sun, sped toward Rāma like a moth drawn to the flame. With a display of skill, Khara cut Rāma’s bow and its arrow at the grip in the thick of battle. Undeterred, Rāma seized seven arrows blazing like Indra’s thunderbolt and, enraged, struck Khara in his vital points. Khara, roaring, tormented Rāma with a thousand arrows, but Rāma’s spirit did not waver. Struck by Khara’s shafts, Rāma’s radiant armor fell to the earth, shining as brightly as the sun. Blood streaming from countless wounds, Rāma blazed with fury, his form like fire burning without smoke. Determined, Rāma readied another great bow, stringing it with a deep, resonant sound, preparing for his enemy’s end. He took up the mighty Vaiṣṇava bow, a sacred gift from a great sage, and advanced toward Khara. Enraged, Rāma cut down Khara’s golden banner with tightly bound, golden-feathered arrows. The banner, severed in many places, tumbled to the ground like the sun falling from the heavens at the gods’ command. Khara, his rage undiminished, pierced Rāma’s limbs with four well-aimed arrows, striking his heart as an elephant is struck with spears. Rāma, wounded and drenched in blood, became fiercely angry. Then, best among archers, Rāma took up his bow in that supreme battle and released six perfectly aimed arrows, ready to bring the conflict to its climax.