In the heat of battle, Rāma, the scion of Raghu, displayed his peerless skill. With a single arrow, he severed the yoke of Khara’s chariot; four more struck the dappled horses, and with a sixth, he cut off the head of Khara’s charioteer. Then, with three arrows, Rāma broke the three poles of the chariot; two more shattered its axle, and with his twelfth arrow, he struck Khara’s bow and string. Rāma, his arrows shining like thunderbolts, laughed as if in sport and pierced Khara with a thirteenth arrow, his prowess rivaling Indra’s. Now, Khara stood stripped of his strength: his bow broken, his chariot destroyed, his horses and charioteer slain. Leaping down to the ground, he grasped a mighty mace in his hand, ready to fight on foot. Witnessing this, the gods and great sages gathered above in their celestial chariots, delighted and reverent. With joined palms, they honored Rāma for his heroic feat. As the next chapter of this tale unfolds, Rāma, radiant and steadfast, saw Khara standing before him, weapon in hand, bereft of his chariot. Rāma addressed him first gently, then harshly, condemning his deeds: “You, who have stood amid a great army of elephants, horses, and chariots, have committed acts abhorred 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 such wickedness. 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, meets his end joyfully, as a Brahmani rejoices at the fate of a snake-catcher. Dwelling in the Daṇḍaka forest, you have slain ascetics devoted to righteousness—what fruit will you gain by killing these noble ones? Those who commit cruel and evil deeds, despised by the world, do not long retain their power, like trees whose roots have withered. Surely, the doer of evil must receive the fruit of his actions, dreadful when the time comes, just as a tree bears its seasonal flowers. Soon, the result of evil deeds is obtained in this world, just as food mixed with poison brings its effect after being eaten. “For those who commit terrible sins, wishing harm to 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. 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 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.” Thus challenged, Khara, his eyes red with rage, laughed bitterly and replied, though anger overwhelmed him: “Having slain ordinary rakshasas in battle, O son of Dasharatha, how do you praise yourself for a deed unworthy of praise? Those who are truly valiant and powerful, the foremost among men, do not boast, even if they are exceedingly proud of their might. But ordinary, undisciplined men, the disgrace of the warrior class, boast meaninglessly, just as you do, Rāma. What hero, declaring his lineage, will praise himself in battle, especially at the approach of death and without being asked? Your boasting reveals your pettiness, like gold merely plated over, 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 to you, but I will not; the sun is setting, and delay would hinder the battle. Fourteen thousand rakshasas have been slain by you; today, by your destruction, I will wipe away their tears.” Having spoken thus, Khara, consumed by anger, hurled his mighty, blazing mace at Rāma, its brilliance like a thunderbolt. As it sped toward him, it reduced trees and bushes to ashes. Rāma saw the mace rushing down, like the noose of death itself, and with his arrows, he shattered it in midair into countless pieces. The broken mace, pierced by arrows, fell to the earth like a serpent struck down by the power of spells and herbs. Now, as the next chapter begins, Rāma, devoted to righteousness, having destroyed the mace, smiled and spoke sharply: “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. What you said about wiping the tears of the slain Rākṣasas, claiming you would do so, is also a falsehood. I will take the life of you, a base, low-minded, deceitful Rākṣasa, just as Garuḍa takes the nectar.” Thus, the fierce duel between Rāma and Khara continued, each word and deed echoing through the worlds, witnessed by gods and sages alike.