Rāma, the joy of Kausalyā, is a prince without fault, steadfast in dharma and gentle to all beings, ever devoted to the welfare of every creature. When he witnessed his truthful father, Daśaratha, deceived by Kaikeyī, Rāma—righteous and resolute—simply said, “I will do it,” and departed for exile in the forest. For the sake of Kaikeyī’s wishes and out of duty to his father, he relinquished his kingdom and every comfort, entering the wilds of the Daṇḍaka forest. Rāma is neither harsh nor ignorant nor lacking in self-control, and it is wrong to speak anything untrue or unfounded about him. He is the very embodiment of dharma, noble, unwavering in truth and valor, a king among men as Indra is among the gods. How could you even think to seize Vaidehī, Sītā, who is shielded by her own radiance? It would be as futile as trying to grasp the brilliance of the sun itself. Do not attempt to face Rāma in battle, for he is like a blazing fire—his arrows are flames, his strength unspent and unapproachable. He stands, bow drawn wide, his face aglow, his arrows burning, unyielding and fierce, the destroyer of enemy armies. He has abandoned kingdom, comfort—even life itself—out of duty. Therefore, do not, dear one, bring about your own destruction for the sake of Rāma. The glory of Rāma, protector of Janaka’s daughter, is immeasurable. You cannot hope to take her from him, for she is guarded by his bow in the depths of the forest. To this lion among men, broad-chested and radiant, his wife—ever faithful—is dearer than life itself. Sītā, slender-waisted, beloved of the mighty son of Mithilā, is as inviolable as the sacred flame of a sacrificial fire. Why, lord of the rākṣasas, pursue such a fruitless endeavor? If Rāma sees you in battle, your end is certain. If you wish to enjoy life, happiness, and your rare kingdom for a long time, do not do what would displease Rāma. Gather your counselors, led by Vibhīṣaṇa, and, after careful deliberation, weighing faults and virtues, strengths and weaknesses, decide what is truly beneficial and proper for you. Know your own strength and the true power of Rāghava, and choose wisely your course of action. Yet, I do not think it wise for you to meet the son of the king of Kosala in battle. Hear again this excellent and fitting counsel, lord of the night-walkers. Now, listen to another tale from the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakāṇḍa. Once, by my own might, I roamed this earth with the strength of a thousand elephants, towering like a mountain—dark as a rain cloud, adorned with blazing golden earrings, crowned and wielding a mighty mace, terrifying the world. I wandered the Daṇḍaka forest, feasting on the flesh of sages. The great sage Viśvāmitra, righteous and renowned, grew terrified of me. Viśvāmitra went to King Daśaratha and pleaded, “Let Rāma protect me during my sacrifice, for I am seized by a terrible fear of Mārīca.” To this, Daśaratha replied, “Rāghava is not yet twelve years old and untrained in arms. I will go myself, with my army, to face this night-stalker. I will slay your enemy as you wish, best of sages.” But the sage said, “There is no force in this world, apart from Rāma, that can stand against that rākṣasa. Though you are protector even among the gods, let your army remain here. Even as a boy, Rāma’s brilliance is such that he alone can restrain him. I will take Rāma with me—fare well, O subduer of foes.” So, pleased, the sage took the prince and departed to his hermitage. There, in the Daṇḍaka forest, Rāma, having taken the vow for the sacrifice, stood ready, wondrously stringing his bow. He was a dark-complexioned youth with auspicious eyes, unmarked by beard, wearing a single garment, carrying a bow, his topknot adorned with a golden garland. He illuminated the forest with his own radiant splendor, appearing like the newly risen young moon. Then I, Mārīca, dark as a storm cloud, adorned with blazing golden earrings, full of pride from my boon, entered the hermitage. As I strode in, Rāma saw me, weapon in hand; calmly, without confusion, he readied his bow. Deluded, I scorned Rāghava, thinking him just a boy, and rushed toward Viśvāmitra’s sacrificial altar. But Rāma, destroyer of enemies, released a sharp arrow that struck me and hurled me a hundred yojanas into the sea. He did not wish to kill me then, but spared me; dazed by the force of his arrow, I lost consciousness. Cast into the deep ocean, I eventually regained my senses and made my way to Laṅkā. Thus I was spared by Rāma’s mercy, but your other allies were not so fortunate—they were slain by him, though he was but a boy, untiring in action and untrained in weapons.