Having crossed to the far shore of the great ocean—the lord of rivers—Rāvaṇa found himself in a secluded, sacred, and beautiful part of the forest. There, nestled in the quiet, he saw a hermitage. Within this tranquil retreat dwelled Mārīca, the rākṣasa, who wore black antelope skin and kept his matted locks bound, living with discipline and restraint in his food. Rāvaṇa, approaching in the proper manner, was received with honor by Mārīca, who welcomed him with all kinds of human enjoyments. After offering food and water with his own hands, Mārīca addressed his guest, speaking words of purpose: “Is all well with you, O king, lord of the rākṣasas in Laṅkā? For what reason have you come here so swiftly again?” Thus questioned, the radiant and eloquent Rāvaṇa, skilled in speech, began to speak. “Mārīca, listen closely, dear one, as I pour out my words. I am afflicted, and for one in distress, you are the highest refuge. “You know of Janasthāna, where my brother Khara, the mighty Dūṣaṇa, and my sister Śūrpaṇakhā reside. There, too, is Triśiras, the powerful, flesh-eating rākṣasa, along with many other valiant night-wanderers, all skilled in their aim. By my command, these rākṣasas dwell there, harassing the sages who practice righteousness in the great forest. Fourteen thousand rākṣasas of terrible deeds, all valiant and skilled, followers of Khara’s will, make their home in Janasthāna. “Recently, these mighty ones, gathered together and fully dependent, engaged in battle with Rāma. Led by Khara and armed with many weapons, they confronted Rāma, who became enraged in the midst of the fight. Without uttering a single harsh word, but with his bow set in motion by deadly arrows, Rāma slew all fourteen thousand fierce and powerful rākṣasas. Khara was struck down, Dūṣaṇa was brought low, and Triśiras too was killed. Rāma made the Daṇḍaka forest free from fear. Now, exiled by his angry father, he lives there with his wife, his life nearly spent. “That Rāma, destroyer of my army, is a disgrace among kṣatriyas—unrighteous, harsh, cruel, foolish, greedy, and lacking self-control. He has abandoned righteousness, his mind set on unrighteousness, delighting in the harm of beings. Without enmity, he has taken up violence in the forest. He even disfigured my sister, cutting off her ears and nose. Therefore, I will seize his wife Sītā—equal to a daughter of the gods—from Janasthāna. I will bring her by force. Be my ally in this, for with you by my side, mighty one, I shall succeed. “Even if all the gods and their kin come against me, I have no concern. So join me, for you are indeed capable, O rākṣasa. In strength, in battle, and in pride, there is none to equal you; you are a great hero, master of powerful magic and strategy. For this purpose I have come to you, O night-wanderer. Listen to what must be done as my ally, according to my words. “Take the form of a golden deer, adorned with silver spots, and wander before Sītā at Rāma’s hermitage. When she sees you in this enchanting guise, Sītā will certainly ask her husband and Lakṣmaṇa to capture you. Then, when those two are gone and the hermitage is deserted, I will seize Sītā at my ease, just as Rāhu steals the moon’s radiance. Afterwards, as Rāma is tormented by the abduction of his wife, I will strike him down at my leisure, my purpose accomplished and my heart satisfied.” As Rāvaṇa spoke, recounting Rāma’s deeds and his own plan, Mārīca’s mouth became dry, and he was filled with terror. He licked his parched lips, his eyes unblinking and lifeless like one already dead. Tormented, he gazed at Rāvaṇa, his mind disturbed and fearful in the depths of the forest. Yet, knowing well the might of Rāma, Mārīca joined his palms in respect and addressed Rāvaṇa with words of truth, meant for the king’s good as well as his own. “Hear me, O King,” Mārīca began, eloquent and radiant before the lord of the rākṣasas. “Men who always speak pleasant words are easy to find, but one who speaks and listens to what is unpleasant yet wholesome is rare indeed. “You do not truly understand Rāma—exalted in strength and virtue, unpredictable in his ways, restless, and the equal of Indra and Varuṇa. May all the rākṣasas be safe, dear one; may Rāma, if angered, not destroy the worlds and our race. May the daughter of Janaka not have arisen for the end of your life; may there not be great calamity because of Sītā. May the city of Laṅkā, along with all the rākṣasas, not perish with you, their lord, led astray by unchecked desires. “A king like you, ruled by desire, of bad character, and advised by wicked counselors, destroys himself, his kin, and his realm through misguided judgment. “Rāma was not abandoned by his father, nor did he ever transgress boundaries. He is not greedy, nor of bad character, nor a stain upon the kṣatriya race.” Thus, with deep concern and respect, Mārīca tried to dissuade Rāvaṇa from his reckless course, warning him of the dire consequences that might follow.