With the battle raging fiercely, Rāma, the mighty son of Daśaratha, displayed his unparalleled prowess. With a single arrow, he struck Khara’s head; with two more, he struck his arms, and then, with three crescent-shaped arrows, he wounded Khara’s chest. Not relenting, Rāma severed the yoke of Khara’s chariot with one arrow, struck the four dappled horses with four more, and with a sixth arrow, he cut off the head of Khara’s charioteer amidst the chaos of battle. Rāma’s assault continued unabated. With three arrows, he shattered the three poles of the chariot; with two more, he broke its axle. With his twelfth arrow, he struck Khara’s bow, snapping both bow and string. Then, with an arrow that shone like a thunderbolt, Rāghava, laughing lightly as if it were sport, pierced Khara in battle with a thirteenth arrow, his might rivaling that of Indra himself. Now, Khara stood on the ground—his bow broken, his chariot destroyed, his horses and charioteer slain. He leapt down, clutching a massive mace in his hand, ready to continue the fight on foot. At this sight, the gods and great sages, who had gathered in their aerial chariots, rejoiced. With palms joined in reverence, they honored the heroic Rāma for his extraordinary feat. Now begins the twenty-ninth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. Rāma, radiant and unshaken, saw Khara standing before him, weapon in hand but deprived of his chariot. He spoke first with gentle words, then with stern reproach: “You, who have stood amidst this great army bristling with elephants, horses, and chariots, have committed a terrible deed, despised by all the worlds. You are a terror to beings, cruel and a doer of evil. Even a lord of the three worlds cannot endure if he acts as you have. “One who acts against the world, O night-wanderer, is swiftly destroyed by all, just as a wicked serpent is killed when it appears. He who, out of greed or desire, commits sins without understanding, finds his end gladly—just as a Brahmani rejoices at the fate of a snake-catcher. You have dwelt in the Daṇḍaka forest, slaying 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 all, do not long retain their power, just as trees with withered roots cannot stand. Surely, the doer of evil must receive the fruit of his actions, dreadful when the time comes, just as a tree bears its flowers in season. Soon, the result of your evil will come upon you, 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. Today, my arrows—adorned with gold—will pierce and tear you apart, like serpents bursting from an anthill. The 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 see you struck down by arrows—those whom you killed before, now dwelling in celestial abodes, and you 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.” Khara, his eyes red with fury, laughed in anger and replied, “Having slain ordinary Rākṣasas in battle, O son of Daśaratha, how do you praise yourself for a deed unworthy of praise? Those truly valiant and powerful, the foremost among men, do not boast—even if they are proud of their strength. But ordinary, undisciplined men, the disgrace of the warrior class, boast meaninglessly in the world, just as you do, Rāma. What hero, declaring his lineage, will praise himself in battle, especially at the approach of death and unasked? “In any case, your boasting reveals your pettiness—like gold that is only 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 this 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 Rākṣasas have been slain by you; today, by your death, I will wipe away their tears.” Having spoken thus, Khara, burning with anger, hurled his mighty, blazing mace at Rāma. It sped through the air like a thunderbolt, reducing trees and bushes to ashes as it flew toward its target. Rāma, seeing the great mace rushing down like the noose of death itself, shattered it in midair with his arrows, breaking it into many pieces. The mace, pierced and broken by Rāma’s arrows, fell to the earth like a serpent struck down by the power of spells and herbs. Now begins the thirtieth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. Rāghava, ever devoted to righteousness, having destroyed Khara’s mace, smiled and spoke these heated words: “This, O vile Rākṣasa, is the full extent of your strength, now revealed. You are weaker than I, yet you roar in vain. Your mace, pierced by arrows, has fallen to the ground—destroying your boastful confidence. And what you said about wiping the tears of the slain Rākṣasas, claiming you would do so, is also a falsehood.