Rāvaṇa, the ten-headed lord of the rakshasas, was consumed by fury as he pondered the destruction of his dreadful Janasthāna. With anger blazing in his eyes, he demanded to know who had dared to unleash such devastation with weapons. In his wrath, he declared that none in all the worlds could escape death if they opposed him. Not even Indra, Kubera, Yama, or Viṣṇu—should they harm him—could ever find happiness. Rāvaṇa proclaimed himself to be Time itself, capable of burning even fire, and so powerful that he could unite Death with its own end. Boasting of his might, he claimed he could overcome the speed of the wind by force, and in his rage, could burn the sun and fire with his energy. As Rāvaṇa’s anger grew, Akampana approached him, hands joined in supplication, his voice trembling with fear, seeking assurance of safety. The ten-headed demon king, best among the rakshasas, granted Akampana sanctuary. Reassured, Akampana spoke openly. He described the destroyer of Janasthāna: a young prince, the son of Dasharatha, named Rama. Lion-shouldered, mighty-armed, and broad-chested, Rama was dark-complexioned, renowned, glorious, and equal to the gods in strength and valor. By Rama’s hand, Khara and Dūṣaṇa had been slain at Janasthāna. Hearing this, Rāvaṇa sighed deeply, like a great serpent, and asked if this Rama was joined by Indra and all the gods in his attack on Janasthāna. He urged Akampana to speak the truth. Akampana then recounted Rama’s strength and valor. Rama, radiant and mighty, was the foremost of archers, endowed with divine weapons, and supreme in righteousness in battle. His younger brother, Lakshmana, powerful and red-eyed, with a voice like a drum and a face like the full moon, matched Rama in strength. Together, like fire united with wind, these princes destroyed Janasthāna. Akampana insisted that neither gods nor great souls needed to deliberate; Rama’s golden-feathered, winged arrows alone sufficed. These arrows transformed into five-headed serpents, devouring the rakshasas, while the survivors fled in terror, only to find Rama standing before them wherever they went. Thus, Janasthāna was destroyed by Rama. Rāvaṇa, listening to Akampana, declared his intention to go to Janasthāna and kill Rama and Lakshmana. Akampana, however, urged him to listen carefully to the truth of Rama’s strength and prowess. Rama, famed for valor, was unconquerable when angered; his arrows could check the force of a full river. He could bring down the sky with its stars, planets, and constellations, and raise up the sinking earth. He could pierce the ocean’s shore and flood the worlds, disperse the force of the ocean or the wind, withdraw the worlds with his valor, and recreate living beings. Akampana warned Rāvaṇa that Rama could not be defeated by him or by the rakshasas, just as heaven cannot be attained by the wicked. He doubted that even all the gods and demons together could kill Rama, but suggested there was another way. He revealed that Rama’s wife, Sītā, renowned throughout the world, was slender-waisted, dark-complexioned, exquisitely proportioned, a jewel among women, adorned with jewels. No goddess, gandharvi, apsara, or serpent-woman could match her beauty—how could any human woman compare? Rāvaṇa approved Akampana’s suggestion. After reflecting, he announced that he would go at once, accompanied only by his charioteer, and joyfully bring Vaidehī, Sītā, to his great city. Having spoken, Rāvaṇa departed in a chariot drawn by mules, shining like the sun and illuminating all directions. His great chariot thundered along the path of the stars, shining like the moon among clouds. After a long journey, Rāvaṇa reached the hermitage of Tāṭakā, where he was honored by Mārīca with supernatural foods and delicacies. Mārīca personally welcomed him with a seat, water, and purposeful words, asking if all was well with his people and wondering why Rāvaṇa had come so quickly. Rāvaṇa, skilled in speech, replied that his protector had been slain by Rama, who acted without fault, and that all of Janasthāna, once invincible, had been destroyed in battle. He sought Mārīca’s assistance in abducting Rama’s wife. Mārīca, hearing these words, questioned who had pointed out Sītā to Rāvaṇa—surely a friend who was actually an enemy. He wondered who among the rakshasas would rejoice at such a perilous plan, who would urge Rāvaṇa to bring Sītā here, and who would wish to cut off his own horn. Mārīca warned that anyone who encouraged Rāvaṇa was truly an enemy, wishing him to draw the fang from the mouth of a venomous serpent.