The rākṣasa was rebuked for his childishness and lack of wisdom, told bluntly that he did not know what must be known; how then could he aspire to be a king? A true king, it was said, must have his spies, treasury, and policies firmly under his control—otherwise, he is no better than an ordinary man, even if he is called the best of conquerors. Kings are called ‘far-sighted’ because, through intelligence agents, they are able to perceive dangers even from afar. But the rākṣasa was found wanting: he had no spies, was surrounded by common counselors, and failed to realize that his own people and the stronghold of Janasthāna had been destroyed. It was recounted that fourteen thousand rākṣasas of dreadful deeds, including Khara and Dūṣaṇa, had been slain by Rāma alone. Rāma had granted safety to the sages, secured the Daṇḍaka forest, and violated Janasthāna, acting tirelessly. Yet the rākṣasa, greedy, careless, and dependent on others, did not perceive the danger that had arisen in his own realm. When a king is harsh, gives little, is careless, arrogant, and deceitful, no beings rush to his aid when he is in distress. Even his own people will destroy a king who is excessively proud, unapproachable, self-conceited, and angry. He who neglects his duties and does not fear danger is quickly deprived of his kingdom, becomes miserable, and is regarded as worthless as grass. Tasks may be accomplished with dry sticks, clods, or dust—but not by kings who have fallen from their position. Just as a garment once worn or a garland once crushed is discarded, so too, one who has lost his kingdom, though capable, becomes 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. Rāvaṇa, however, was accused of lacking these virtues, for he did not know, through spies, of the great slaughter of the rākṣasas. He insulted others, was attached to pleasures, failed to discern the proper division of place and time, and his judgment was unsound in distinguishing virtues and faults. His ruined kingdom would soon be destroyed. Having considered these faults, Rāvaṇa, lord of the night-walkers, endowed with wealth, pride, and power, pondered for a long time. Now begins the thirty-fourth sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. Rāvaṇa, seeing Śūrpaṇakhā speaking harshly, questioned her among his ministers, his anger rising. “Who is this Rāma? What is his strength? What is his appearance? What is his prowess? And for what reason has he entered the Daṇḍaka forest, so difficult to traverse? What weapon does Rāma possess, by which these rākṣasas—Khara, Triśiras, and Dūṣaṇa—were slain in battle? Tell me truly, lovely-limbed one—by whom were you disfigured?” Thus questioned by the lord of rākṣasas, the demoness, overcome with anger, began to describe Rāma as he truly is: long-armed, wide-eyed, clad in bark and black antelope skin. Rāma, son of Daśaratha, handsome as Kāmadeva, 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. She said she did not see Rāma drawing his bow in battle, but saw his enemies’ army struck down by showers of arrows. Like Indra destroying the finest crops with a hailstorm, Rāma struck 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 the Daṇḍaka forest is now secure. Śūrpaṇakhā confessed that she alone barely escaped, humiliated by that great-souled Rāma, who, knowing himself, refrained from killing a woman. His brother, too, she described: of great energy, equal in valor and virtue, devoted and loyal—Lakṣmaṇa by name, mighty in strength. Impetuous, unconquerable, a victor, courageous, wise, and strong—he is Rāma’s right arm, ever his life outside his body. Rāma’s wife, broad-eyed, with a face like the full moon, is ever devoted to her husband, delighting in his welfare. She is lovely-haired, fine-nosed, shapely, and renowned; she shines in the forest like a goddess, or like another Śrī herself. With the radiance of burnished gold, beautiful, with red, prominent nails, slender-waisted Sītā of noble form, daughter of Videha. Śūrpaṇakhā exclaimed that never before had she seen on earth a woman so lovely—not goddess, nor Gandharvī, nor Yakṣī, nor Kinnarī. He whose wife is Sītā, whom she embraces with joy, would surpass even Indra in happiness among all beings. Sītā is virtuous, admirable in form, unmatched in beauty on earth; she would be a fitting wife for Rāvaṇa, and he the best husband for her. Śūrpaṇakhā declared her resolve to bring Sītā, whose hips are broad, whose breasts are full and high, whose face is lovely, for Rāvaṇa as his wife. She had been disfigured by the cruel Lakṣmaṇa, who had mighty arms; but now, seeing Vaidehī, whose face was like the full moon—her desire was set.