Trembling with fear, the rākṣasī Śūrpaṇakhā approached Rāvaṇa, the mighty destroyer of enemies, who sat surrounded by his counselors. Though her body was disfigured, her spirit was undaunted. With eyes wide and blazing, Rāvaṇa listened as Śūrpaṇakhā, driven by terror, greed, and delusion, began to speak words of dire warning. Distressed and angry, she spoke harshly to Rāvaṇa, the terror of the worlds, right in the midst of his ministers. “You are lost in pleasures, unrestrained and willful,” she said, “and you do not see the dreadful danger that now threatens us. A king who is attached to lowly enjoyments, ruled by desire and greed, is not respected by his people—just as the fire of a cremation ground is ignored. If a king neglects his duties at the right time, he perishes, along with his kingdom and all his responsibilities. People avoid a king who is careless with his spies, difficult to approach, and lacking in self-control, just as elephants avoid a muddy riverbank. Kings who fail to protect their realms and lack self-mastery do not shine with prosperity, any more than mountains are visible beneath the sea. “How can you, lacking wisdom and stability, hope to rule when even gods, gandharvas, and demons, who are wise and self-possessed, would oppose you? You are childish and ignorant of what must be known—how then will you be a true king? Those kings whose spies, treasury, and policies are not under their own control are no better than ordinary men, O best of conquerors. Kings are called ‘far-sighted’ because, through intelligence agents, they perceive dangers even from afar. “But I see you as a king 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 laid waste by Rāma, who acts tirelessly. Yet you, O rākṣasa, are greedy, careless, and dependent on others, blind to the danger that threatens your own realm. “No one comes to the aid of a king who is harsh, ungenerous, careless, arrogant, and deceitful when he is in distress. Even his own people will destroy a king who is excessively proud, unapproachable, self-conceited, and angry when trouble arises. One who neglects his duties and does not fear danger quickly loses his kingdom, becomes miserable, and is regarded as worthless as grass. Tasks may be accomplished even with dry sticks, clods, or dust—but not by a king who has fallen from his position. Just as a worn garment or a crushed garland is cast aside, so is a fallen king, no matter how capable, rendered useless. “But a king who is vigilant, all-knowing, self-controlled, grateful, and righteous remains established for a long time. Whether asleep or awake, he keeps watch with the eye of policy; a king whose anger and favor are clear is honored by his people. But you, Rāvaṇa, of evil mind, lack these virtues. You did not learn, through spies, of the great slaughter of the rākṣasas. You insult others, are attached to pleasure, cannot distinguish the right place and time, and your judgment is unsound in discerning virtues and faults. Because of these failings, your ruined kingdom will soon be destroyed.” Having heard these harsh truths and considered his faults, Rāvaṇa, lord of the night-walkers, endowed with wealth, pride, and power, sat in deep contemplation for a long time. Seeing Śūrpaṇakhā’s anger and hearing her bitter words, Rāvaṇa’s own fury was kindled. Among his ministers, he questioned her, “Who is this Rāma? What strength does he possess? What does he look like? What is his prowess? And for what reason has he entered the Daṇḍaka forest, so difficult to traverse? What weapon does Rāma wield, by which Khara, Triśiras, and Dūṣaṇa were all slain in battle? Tell me the truth, O lovely-limbed one—who disfigured you?” Thus questioned by the lord of the rākṣasas, the demoness—her heart burning with anger—began to describe Rāma as he truly was. “Rāma, son of Daśaratha, is long-armed and wide-eyed, clad in bark and black antelope skin. Handsome as Kāmadeva himself, he draws a bow like Indra’s, adorned with golden armlets. He launches blazing arrows, like deadly serpents, never ceasing to release his fierce shafts with immense strength. I do not see him drawing his bow in battle, but I see his enemies’ armies struck down by showers of arrows. Just as Indra destroys the finest crops with a hailstorm, so did he strike down fourteen thousand fierce rākṣasas. With sharp arrows, that one man on foot slew them all in little more than half a muhūrta—Khara and Dūṣaṇa included. He granted safety to the sages, and now the Daṇḍaka forest is secure. I alone barely escaped, humiliated by that great-souled one, Rāma, who, knowing himself, refrained from killing a woman.” Thus did Śūrpaṇakhā lay before Rāvaṇa the full measure of Rāma’s strength and virtue, and the peril that now faced the rākṣasa king and his realm.