Rāma, standing resolute in the Daṇḍaka forest, addressed Khara, the night-wandering Rākṣasa, with words filled with righteous indignation. He declared, “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 joyfully, much like a Brahmani who witnesses the fate of a snake-catcher. You, dwelling in this forest, have slain ascetics devoted to righteousness; what fruit will you gain, O Rākṣasa, by killing these noble ones?” Rāma continued, his voice unwavering, “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, O night-wanderer, just as food mixed with poison brings its effect after being eaten.” He then revealed his purpose: “For those who commit terrible sins, wishing harm to the world, I have been sent by the king to take your life, O night-wanderer. Today, the arrows released by me, adorned with gold, will pierce and tear you apart, like serpents bursting from an anthill. Those righteous ones whom you have devoured in the Daṇḍaka 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, 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.” Thus addressed, Khara, his eyes blazing with rage, replied to Rāma, laughing despite his fury. “Having slain ordinary Rākṣasas 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 at all, even if they are exceedingly proud of their might. But ordinary, undisciplined men, the disgrace of the warrior class, boast meaninglessly in the world, just as you boast, Rāma. What hero, declaring his lineage, will praise himself in battle, especially at the approach of death and without being asked? In any case, your boasting has shown 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 in hand, I am fully capable of taking your life in battle, like Death himself with his noose, ready to destroy even the three worlds. Indeed, there is much I could say to you, but I will not; the sun is setting, and delay would hinder the battle. Fourteen thousand Rākṣasas have been slain by you; today, by your destruction, I will wipe away their tears.” With great anger, Khara hurled his mighty, blazing mace at Rāma, its brilliance like a thunderbolt. As it sped toward Rāma, it reduced trees and bushes to ashes. But Rāma, seeing the mace rush down like the noose of death, shattered it in the air with his arrows, breaking it into many pieces. The mace fell to the earth, pierced and broken, like a serpent struck down by the power of spells and herbs. Now begins the thirtieth sarga in the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Aranya Kanda. Rāghava, devoted to righteousness, having shattered the mace, smiled and spoke heated words to Khara: “This, O vile Rākṣasa, is the full extent of your strength, now revealed; you are weaker than I, yet you roar in vain. This 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. Today, the earth will drink your blood, foaming and bubbling, as your throat is torn by my arrows. Covered in dust, your arms fallen limp, you will sleep on the ground, embracing it as one would a beloved woman hard to attain.” Rāma continued, “When you, O defiler of Rākṣasas, lie in deep sleep, these Daṇḍaka forests will become a refuge for those seeking shelter. When you, Rākṣasa, are slain by my arrows at Janasthāna, the sages will roam the forest everywhere, free from fear. Today, the Rākṣasīs, their faces wet with tears, bereft of kin, miserable and fearful, will flee in terror. Today, those wives, of worthy families, whose husband you are, will become acquainted with the taste of grief and be left without purpose. O cruel-natured, base-souled, constant thorn to the Brāhmaṇas, because of you, the sages, in fear, offer oblations into the fire with suspicion.” As Rāghava spoke thus, enraged in the forest, Khara rebuked him, his voice harsh from anger. “Indeed, you are deeply arrogant and fearless even in danger; thus you speak what should and should not be spoken, unaware that you are in the grip of death.