Those who are ensnared by the inescapable noose of Time lose their senses, unable to discern what ought to be done from what ought not. In the heat of battle, after speaking thus to Rāma, the fierce night-stalker Khara, his brow furrowed in rage, cast his gaze about and spotted a great śāla tree nearby. Searching all around for a weapon, he seized the tree with both arms, biting his lips in furious determination. Uprooting it with a mighty effort, Khara roared loudly and hurled the massive trunk at Rāma, shouting, “You are slain!” But Rāma, valiant and steadfast, cut down the onrushing mass of arrows with his own, summoning an intense wrath to bring Khara to his end. Sweat beaded on Rāma’s brow, his eyes reddened with anger as he pierced Khara with a thousand arrows. From between those wounds, frothy blood poured forth, streaming from Khara as if from a mountain’s spring. Though struck and made helpless by Rāma’s arrows, Khara, maddened by the scent of his own blood, charged once again at his foe, weapons raised high. As the furious, blood-soaked Khara rushed in with weapons ready, Rāma, quick and agile, stepped back two or three paces. Then, Rāma took up a blazing arrow, radiant like the staff of Brahmā, intent on ending Khara’s reign of terror. This arrow, a mighty weapon bestowed by Maghavan, the wise lord of the gods, was fitted to Rāma’s bow by his righteous hands. With a thunderous sound, Rāma released the arrow, and it struck Khara squarely in the chest as he drew his own bow. Khara, burned by the fire of that divine arrow, fell to the ground, just as Andhaka was once consumed by Rudra in the white forest. Thus was Khara slain, falling like Vṛtra by Indra’s thunderbolt, or Namuci by froth, or Bala struck down by Indra’s bolt. At that moment, the gods themselves gathered with the celestial sages, sounding their heavenly drums and showering flowers in celebration. Fourteen thousand rākṣasas, masters of illusion and followers of Khara and Dūṣaṇa, had been slain in that great battle. “What a mighty deed by Rāma, who knows his true self! What strength, what firmness—truly, he appears like Viṣṇu himself,” exclaimed the gods in awe. Having spoken thus, the gods departed as they had come, and all the royal sages and great seers assembled together. Filled with joy, they honored Rāma alongside the sage Agastya, and spoke, “For this very purpose, mighty Indra, slayer of Vritra, came to the sacred hermitage of Śarabhaṅga; you were brought to this land by the great sages through their means. For the destruction of these wicked rākṣasa enemies, this task has now been accomplished by you, O son of Daśaratha.” The great sages, now free from fear, would practice their own dharma in Daṇḍaka. Meanwhile, the heroic Lakṣmaṇa, together with Sītā, awaited Rāma’s return. Emerging from the mountain stronghold, Rāma, victorious and honored by the sages, happily entered the hermitage. Lakṣmaṇa greeted and honored his brother, the destroyer of enemies and bringer of comfort to the sages. Vaidehī—Sītā—delighted at the sight of her husband, embraced him. Supreme joy filled her heart as she beheld the host of demons slain and gazed upon Rāma, the imperishable one. Once again, as Rāma was honored by the delighted great sages for crushing the rākṣasa host, Janaka’s daughter, her face radiant with joy, embraced him and was exceedingly glad. Now, listen to the thirty-first sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. At this time, Akampana, fleeing swiftly from Janasthāna, entered Laṅkā and came before Rāvaṇa. He spoke: “O King, many demons stationed at Janasthāna have been slain, and Khara too has been killed in battle; I alone have escaped.” Hearing these words, Rāvaṇa, the ten-headed lord, was seized with rage. His eyes bloodshot, he spoke to Akampana, his very energy seeming to scorch all around him: “By whom has my dreadful Janasthāna been destroyed with weapons? Who, indeed, in all the worlds will not meet their end for this? Not even Indra, nor Kubera, nor Yama, nor Viṣṇu can find happiness if they have harmed me. Indeed, I am Time to time itself; I could burn even fire, and by the law of death, I could unite Death with his own end. By force, I can outstrip the wind; in my wrath, I could burn the sun and fire with my energy!” To the ten-headed one thus enraged, Akampana, hands joined and voice trembling with fear, sought assurance of safety. The lord of demons granted him safety, and thus reassured, Akampana spoke freely: “There dwells a son of Daśaratha, young, lion-shouldered, named Rāma, mighty-armed and broad-chested. Dark-complexioned, of great fame and glory, equal in strength and valor—by him, Khara and Dūṣaṇa were slain at Janasthāna.” Upon hearing Akampana’s words, Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, sighed deeply like a great serpent and asked, “Is this Rāma joined with Indra and all the gods, who has come to Janasthāna? Tell me truly, Akampana.