Rama, his body pierced with arrows and burning with fury, stood out in the midst of battle like a blazing fire, fierce and without smoke. Enraged and resolute, the destroyer of enemies grasped another formidable bow, stringing it with a deep, thunderous sound, intent on bringing his foe to an end. Rama then took up the mighty Vaishnava bow, a sacred weapon bestowed upon him by a great sage, and advanced toward Khara, his enemy. With his anger mounting, Rama unleashed a volley of golden-feathered, tightly bound arrows, cutting down Khara’s battle standard. That splendid golden banner, severed in many places, tumbled to the earth like the sun sinking from the heavens at the gods’ command. Khara, now filled with rage, retaliated fiercely, piercing Rama’s limbs with four sharp arrows, each striking with the force and accuracy of spears driven into a mighty elephant’s heart. Though his body was pierced by many of Khara’s arrows and blood flowed from his wounds, Rama’s anger only grew. Steadfast and supreme among archers, he seized his bow and released six arrows, each perfectly aimed. One arrow struck Khara’s head, two more pierced his arms, and three crescent-tipped shafts wounded his chest. Rama’s assault continued: with a single arrow he severed the yoke of Khara’s chariot, with four he struck down the dappled horses, and with a sixth arrow, he beheaded Khara’s charioteer in the heat of battle. Then, with three more arrows, the mighty Rama broke the chariot’s three poles; with two, he shattered the axle; and with his twelfth arrow, he struck and broke Khara’s bow, string and all. Laughing lightly, as if it were a sport, Rama then pierced Khara himself with a thirteenth arrow, its force like Indra’s thunderbolt. With his bow broken, chariot destroyed, horses and charioteer slain, Khara leapt down to the ground, clutching a massive mace in his hand, determined to continue the fight on foot. Witnessing this heroic feat, the gods and great sages, assembled in their celestial chariots, rejoiced and honored Rama with joined palms, delighted by his valor. Now begins the twenty-ninth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. Rama, radiant and steadfast, saw Khara standing before him, weapon in hand but deprived of his chariot. He addressed Khara first with gentle words, then with harsh ones: “You, who have stood at the head of this great army of elephants, horses, and chariots, have committed terrible deeds despised by all the worlds. You are a terror to beings, cruel and evil in your actions. Even a lord of the three worlds cannot stand if he acts as you have. “One who opposes the world, O night-wanderer, is quickly destroyed by all, just as a wicked serpent is killed when it appears. He who, out of greed or desire, commits sins without understanding, meets his end gladly, as a Brahmani rejoices at the fate of a snake-catcher. Living in the Dandaka forest, you have slain ascetics devoted to righteousness—what fruit will you gain, O Rākṣasa, by killing such noble ones? “Those who commit cruel and evil deeds, despised by the world, do not long retain their power, like trees with withered roots. The doer of evil must surely reap the dreadful fruit of his actions in due time, just as a tree brings forth flowers in its season. The result of evil deeds comes swiftly in this world, O night-wanderer, just as food mixed with poison reveals its effect after being eaten. “For those who commit terrible sins and wish harm upon the world, I have been sent by the king to take your life, O night-wanderer. Today, my arrows adorned with gold will pierce and tear you apart, like serpents bursting from an anthill. Those righteous ones whom you have devoured in the Dandaka forest—today, slain in battle, you shall follow them, along with your army. Let the great sages witness you struck down by my arrows—those whom you killed before, now dwelling in celestial abodes, while you are cast into hell. “Strike as you wish, make every effort, O disgrace of your lineage; today I will bring down your head as easily as a palm fruit.” Hearing Rama’s words, Khara, his eyes red with anger, replied with a mocking laugh, though rage consumed him: “Having slain ordinary rakshasas in battle, O son of Dasharatha, how do you praise yourself for a deed unworthy of praise? Truly valiant and powerful men, the foremost among warriors, do not boast, even if they are proud of their might. But ordinary, undisciplined men, the disgrace of the warrior class, boast meaninglessly in the world, just as you do, Rama. “What hero, declaring his lineage, praises himself in battle—especially when death approaches and without being asked? Your boasting reveals your pettiness, like gold that is merely plated, or kusa grass heated by fire. But you do not see me standing here, mace in hand, unshakable like a mountain covered with ores. With my mace, I am fully capable of taking your life in battle, like Death himself with his noose, ready to destroy even the three worlds. “There is much I could say, but I will not; the sun is setting, and delay would only hinder the battle. Fourteen thousand rakshasas have been slain by you; today, by your destruction, I will wipe away their tears.” With these words, his anger at its peak, Khara hurled his mighty, blazing mace at Rama, its force and brilliance like a thunderbolt.