Having spoken fiercely to Rāma, Khara, the night-stalker, furrowed his brow in anger and cast his gaze about, searching for a weapon. Nearby, he spied a towering śāla tree. Consumed by fury, he seized the great tree, biting his lips in rage, and with both arms uprooted it from the earth. Roaring mightily, Khara hurled the massive trunk at Rāma with a thunderous shout, declaring, “You are slain!” But Rāma, valiant and composed, met the oncoming assault. He cut down the mass of arrows and the hurtling tree with his own shafts, summoning a fierce wrath within himself, determined to destroy Khara in battle. Sweat beaded on his brow and his eyes blazed red with anger as he drew his bow, unleashing a thousand arrows that pierced Khara’s body. From the wounds opened by Rāma’s arrows, frothy blood gushed forth in torrents, like streams bursting from a mountain’s spring. Stricken and made helpless by Rāma’s relentless attack, Khara, maddened by the scent of his own blood, gathered himself and charged once more at his foe, weapons at the ready. As Khara, furious and blood-soaked, rushed in, Rāma—agile and swift—stepped back two or three paces to evade his assault. Then, Rāma took up a blazing arrow, radiant like the staff of Brahmā himself, intent on ending the battle. This arrow, a divine weapon once given by the lord of the gods, Maghavan (Indra), was fitted to Rāma’s bow. With righteousness and resolve, Rāma released it upon Khara. With a thunderous sound, the mighty arrow sped from Rāma’s bow and struck Khara squarely in the chest as he drew his own weapon. Consumed by the fire of the arrow, Khara fell to the earth, just as Andhaka was once destroyed by Rudra in the white forest. Thus was Khara slain—he fell like Vṛtra struck by Indra’s thunderbolt, like Namuci felled by froth, or Bala shattered by Indra’s mighty weapon. At that moment, the gods gathered in the heavens with the celestial sages. Their drums resounded across the sky, and they rained down flowers in celebration. In that great battle, fourteen thousand rākṣasas—masters of illusion, led by Khara and Dūṣaṇa—were slain. All the gods marveled at Rāma’s accomplishment: “What a mighty deed by Rāma, who knows his true self! What strength, what firmness—he appears as Viṣṇu himself!” Having spoken thus, the gods departed as they had come, and all the royal sages and great seers assembled there. With joy and reverence, together with the sage Agastya, they honored Rāma and spoke: “For this purpose, mighty Indra, slayer of Vṛtra, came to the sacred hermitage of Śarabhaṅga. You were brought to this land by the great sages through their efforts. For the destruction of these wicked rākṣasa enemies, this task has been accomplished by you, O son of Daśaratha. Now, the great sages will practice their own dharma in Daṇḍaka, while the heroic Lakṣmaṇa, together with Sītā—” Having emerged from the mountain stronghold, Rāma, victorious and honored by the great sages, happily entered the hermitage. There, Lakṣmaṇa greeted and honored him. Seeing Rāma—the destroyer of enemies and bringer of comfort to the sages—Vaidehī (Sītā) was filled with delight. She embraced her husband with joy, her heart satisfied to see the hosts of demons slain and Rāma, the imperishable one, safe before her. As Rāma was honored by the delighted sages for crushing the rākṣasa host, Janaka’s daughter, her face radiant with happiness, embraced him once more, exceedingly glad at his victory. Now, listen to the thirty-first sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. Meanwhile, Akampana, fleeing swiftly from Janasthāna, entered the city of Laṅkā and came before Rāvaṇa. He spoke urgently: “O King, the demons stationed at Janasthāna have been slain—Khara too has fallen in battle. I alone have managed to escape.” Hearing these words, the ten-headed Rāvaṇa was seized by wrath. His eyes burned red as he addressed Akampana, his energy blazing like fire: “Who has destroyed my dreadful Janasthāna with weapons? Who in all the worlds could do this and not meet their end? Not even Indra, nor Kubera, nor Yama, nor Viṣṇu could harm me and find happiness. I am Time itself to time; I could burn even fire, and by the law of death, I could unite Death with his own end. By force I surpass the wind’s speed; in my wrath, I could burn the sun and fire with my energy.” As Rāvaṇa raged, Akampana, trembling and fearful, joined his palms and sought assurance of safety from the demon king. Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, granted him protection, and thus reassured, Akampana spoke without hesitation: “There dwells a son of Daśaratha, young, lion-shouldered, named Rāma—mighty-armed and broad-chested. Dark-complexioned and of great fame, glorious, equal in strength and valor; by him, Khara and Dūṣaṇa were slain at Janasthāna.” Hearing Akampana’s words, Rāvaṇa, lord of the demons, 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.” Thus questioned, Akampana began to speak of the strength and valor of that great soul, Rāma.