Tasks in this world, it is said, may be accomplished even with the simplest of means—dry sticks, clods of earth, or mere dust. Yet, there is one thing that cannot be achieved by such means: the restoration of a king who has fallen from his throne. Just as a garment that has been worn or a garland once crushed is cast aside and no longer valued, so too does a ruler, once dethroned, become powerless and disregarded, no matter his former abilities. On the other hand, a king who remains vigilant, knowledgeable, self-controlled, grateful, and steadfast in righteousness holds his kingdom firmly and endures. Whether he is awake or asleep, such a king is ever watchful, his mind guided by the wisdom of policy. When his anger and his favor are both clear and just, the people honor him. But you, Rāvaṇa, are far from these virtues. You have neglected the art of rule; you did not even learn, through your spies, of the terrible slaughter of the rākṣasas. You insult others, indulge in pleasures, and fail to discern the proper time and place. Your understanding of virtue and fault is clouded, and your ruined kingdom stands on the brink of destruction. Reflecting on these harsh truths, Rāvaṇa, lord of the night-walkers, rich in wealth, pride, and power, sat pondering his faults for a long time. Now, listen to the thirty-fourth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Araṇyakāṇḍa. At this time, Rāvaṇa, seeing his sister Śūrpaṇakhā speak harshly among his ministers, was filled with anger and questioned her. “Who is this Rāma?” he demanded. “What is his strength? 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 he 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, Śūrpaṇakhā, her heart burning with anger, began to describe Rāma as he truly was: “He is long-armed, broad-eyed, clad in bark and black antelope skin. Rāma, son of Daśaratha, is as handsome as Kāmadeva. He draws his bow like Indra himself and is adorned with golden armlets. His arrows blaze like deadly serpents, and with immense strength, he releases them in an unceasing, fearsome torrent. I did not see him draw his bow in battle, yet I saw the army of his enemies fall, 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—Khara and Dūṣaṇa included—in little more than half a muhūrta. He granted safety to the sages, and now the Daṇḍaka forest is secure. “I alone barely escaped, humiliated by that great-souled Rāma, who, knowing himself, refrained from killing a woman. His brother, too, is of great energy, equal in valor and virtue, devoted and loyal—Lakṣmaṇa by name, mighty in strength. He is impetuous, unconquerable, victorious, courageous, wise, and strong—the very right arm of Rāma, his life outside his body. “And Rāma’s wife, broad-eyed and with a face like the full moon, is ever devoted to her husband and delights 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. Sītā, daughter of Videha, is radiant as burnished gold, beautiful, with red, prominent nails and a slender waist. Never, on earth, have I seen a woman so lovely—not among goddesses, nor among Gandharvīs, Yakṣīs, or 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, and 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, to you as your wife. “I have been disfigured by the cruel Lakṣmaṇa, who has mighty arms. But now, seeing Vaidehī, whose face is like the full moon—if your desire for her arises, you will be pierced by the arrows of Kāma himself. Quickly, lift your right foot here for victory! If my words please you, O lord of the rākṣasas, let my counsel be carried out without hesitation. Let their weakness be understood and let action be taken, O mighty one; Sītā, flawless in form, should become your wife, O lord of the rākṣasas. Having heard that the night-dwellers at Janasthāna were slain by Rāma’s straight-flying arrows, and seeing Khara and Dūṣaṇa killed, you must now undertake your task.” Now, let the thirty-fifth chapter be heard. Having listened to Śūrpaṇakhā’s words, which made his hair stand on end, Rāvaṇa took counsel with his ministers. He weighed the matter carefully, gathering information as needed, and considered the strengths and weaknesses, the faults and virtues involved. Having resolved that this deed must be done, he made up his mind and, with firm determination, proceeded to the splendid chariot hall. There, concealed, the lord of the rākṣasas commanded his charioteer, “Let the chariot be yoked.” At his command, the swift and skillful charioteer quickly prepared his master’s favored, excellent chariot.