Seated upon a magnificent golden throne, radiant as the sun and blazing like fire atop a golden platform, Rāvaṇa shone with incomparable splendor. In dreadful battle, he was unconquerable—not even the gods, Gandharvas, spirits, or great sages could overcome him. He appeared as Death itself, his mouth agape, striking terror into all who beheld him. His chest bore scars from thunderbolts and lightning, remnants of fierce encounters with gods and demons, and was marked by the tusks of Airāvata, Indra’s mighty elephant. Rāvaṇa’s form was awe-inspiring: twenty powerful arms and ten heads, adorned in splendid attire, his broad chest marked with royal signs, his heroic stature unmistakable. He was covered in ornaments that gleamed like cat’s-eye gems and heated gold, his strong arms and white teeth framing a great mouth, his body massive as a mountain. In battle, he had been struck hundreds of times by Viṣṇu’s discus and other divine weapons, yet none had broken his limbs. So mighty was he that he could stir even the unshakable oceans with ease. His strength enabled him to hurl mountain peaks, crush the gods, destroy righteousness, and violate the wives of others. He was the wielder of all celestial weapons, always disturbing sacrifices, and he had conquered Vāsuki, entering the city of Bhogavatī. He defeated Takṣaka and seized his beloved wife, and, conquering Naravāhana, reached the heights of Mount Kailāsa. Rāvaṇa took possession of the wondrous, wish-fulfilling Puṣpaka chariot and the divine forests of Caitraratha, Nalinī, and Nandana. In his fury, he destroyed the gardens of the gods and, with his might, restrained the glorious Sun and Moon, holding them back with arms like mountain peaks, having performed austerities for ten thousand years in the great forest. Long ago, in the time of Svayambhu, Rāvaṇa had severed the heads of gods, demons, Gandharvas, Piśācas, birds, and serpents. In battle, he feared no one but a human. Praised with mantras by the twice-born at sacred rites, he was considered auspicious, yet he was a mighty being who greedily took the soma offerings, disrupted sacrifices, and was wicked—a slayer of Brahmins, cruel in his deeds. Harsh and pitiless, delighting in the harm of others, Rāvaṇa was a terror to all creatures and all worlds. It was to this cruel and mighty brother that the rākṣasī, Śūrpaṇakhā, came. She saw him adorned with divine garments and ornaments, shining with celestial garlands, seated upon his throne like Death arisen at the appointed time—the illustrious king of rākṣasas, the noble scion of the Paulastya line. Trembling with fear, she approached Rāvaṇa, the destroyer of enemies, who was surrounded by his counselors. His eyes blazed wide and bright as Śūrpaṇakhā, disfigured but fearless, revealed her terror, greed, and delusion, and spoke dreadful words. Now begins the thirty-third sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. Distressed and angry, Śūrpaṇakhā addressed Rāvaṇa, the terror of the worlds, in the midst of his ministers. “Absorbed in pleasures, unrestrained and self-willed, you do not perceive the dreadful danger that has arisen,” she said. “A king attached to base enjoyments, ruled by desire and greed, is not respected by his people, just as the fire of a cremation ground is disregarded. A king who does not carry out his duties at the proper time perishes, along with his kingdom and those very duties. People avoid a king who is careless in his spies, hard to approach, and not self-controlled, just as elephants avoid a muddy riverbank. Kings who do not protect their domains and lack self-mastery do not shine with prosperity, just as mountains are not visible in the sea. “How will you, lacking proper intelligence and unstable, be a king when opposed by gods, Gandharvas, and demons who are wise and self-possessed? You, rākṣasa, are childish in nature and lacking in wisdom; you do not know what must be known—how then will you be a king? Kings whose spies, treasury, and policy are not under their control are like ordinary men, O best of conquerors. Because kings perceive all dangers, even those far away, through intelligence agents, they are therefore called ‘far-sighted.’ “I consider you to be one who does not employ spies, surrounded by ordinary counselors; you do not realize that your own people and Janasthāna have been destroyed. Fourteen thousand rākṣasas of terrible deeds have been slain by Rāma alone, along with Khara and Dūṣaṇa. He has granted safety to the sages, the Daṇḍaka forest is now secure, and Janasthāna has been violated by Rāma, who acts without fatigue. But you, O rākṣasa, are greedy, careless, and dependent on others; you do not perceive the danger that has arisen in your own realm. “No beings rush to a king who is harsh, gives little, is careless, arrogant, and deceitful, when he is in distress. Even his own people destroy a king who is excessively proud, unapproachable, self-conceited, and angry, when he is in trouble. He who does not perform his duties and does not fear in times of danger is quickly deprived of his kingdom, becomes miserable, and is regarded as worthless as grass here. Tasks may be accomplished with dry sticks, with clods, or with dust, but not by kings who have fallen from their position.” Thus, Śūrpaṇakhā, trembling and full of anger and distress, rebuked her mighty brother Rāvaṇa, warning him of the peril that threatened his realm and his very kingship.