O mighty conqueror, let me tell you what transpired. It is said that a king who does not keep his spies, treasury, and policies firmly in hand is no better than an ordinary man. Kings are called “far-sighted” because, through intelligence agents, they perceive dangers even from afar. But you, it seems, have not employed spies, and are surrounded by common counselors; you do not realize that your own people and the stronghold of Janasthāna have been destroyed. Know this: fourteen thousand fierce Rākṣasas, all of terrible deeds, have been slain by Rāma alone, together with Khara and Dūṣaṇa. Rāma has granted safety to the sages, brought security to the Daṇḍaka forest, and breached Janasthāna—all with tireless resolve. Yet you, O Rākṣasa, are blinded by greed, careless in your rule, and dependent on others. You do not perceive the danger that now threatens your own kingdom. When a king is harsh, stingy, careless, arrogant, and deceitful, none rally to his aid in times of distress. Even his own people may turn against a king who is proud, unapproachable, self-conceited, and angry when adversity strikes. A king who neglects his duties and does not fear danger soon loses his kingdom, falls into misery, and becomes as worthless as trampled grass. Tasks may be accomplished with even the humblest means—with sticks, clods, or dust—but never by a king who has lost his position. Just as a worn garment or a crushed garland is cast aside, so too is a fallen king, no matter his abilities, rendered useless. But a king who is vigilant, all-knowing, self-controlled, grateful, and righteous stands firm for a long time. Whether asleep or awake, he keeps watch with the eye of policy. A king whose anger and favor are clear and just earns the honor of his people. But you, Rāvaṇa, with your evil mind, lack these virtues. You failed to learn, through spies, of the great slaughter of the Rākṣasas. You insult others, are attached to pleasures, and do not discern the proper place and time. Your judgment is flawed in recognizing virtues and faults. Your kingdom, thus ruined, will soon be destroyed. Having considered these faults, Rāvaṇa, the lord of the night-walkers, rich in wealth, pride, and power, pondered deeply over these matters. Now, listen to the thirty-fourth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. At that time, seeing Śūrpaṇakhā speaking harshly, Rāvaṇa, angered in the midst of his ministers, questioned her: “Who is this Rāma? What is his strength, his appearance, his prowess? Why has he entered the Daṇḍaka forest, so difficult to traverse? What weapon does he possess, by which Khara, Triśiras, and Dūṣaṇa have been slain in battle? Tell me truly, O lovely-limbed one—who disfigured you?” Thus questioned by the lord of the Rākṣasas, the demoness, burning with anger, began to describe Rāma as he truly is: “He is long-armed, wide-eyed, clad in bark and black antelope skin. Rāma, son of Daśaratha, is as handsome as Kāmadeva, drawing 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 Rāma drawing his bow in battle, but I see his enemies’ armies struck down by showers of arrows. Like Indra destroying 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. His brother, too, is of great energy, equal in valor and virtue, steadfast and loyal—Lakṣmaṇa by name, mighty in strength. He is impetuous and unconquerable, a victor, courageous, wise, and strong. He is Rāma’s right arm, his very life outside his body. Rāma’s wife, broad-eyed and 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 this 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 is the daughter of Videha. Never before have I seen a woman so lovely—not among goddesses, nor Gandharvīs, nor Yakṣīs, nor Kinnarīs. He whose wife is Sītā, whom she embraces with joy, would surpass even Indra in happiness among all beings. She is virtuous, admirable in form, unmatched in beauty on earth; she would be a fitting wife for you, and you the best husband for her. I am resolved to bring her, whose hips are broad, whose breasts are full and high, and whose face is lovely, for you as your wife. I have been disfigured by the cruel Lakṣmaṇa, whose arms are mighty; but now, having seen Vaidehī, whose face is like the full moon—if you should desire her as your wife, you will be pierced by Kāma’s arrows. Quickly, lift your right foot here for victory.