Listen to my tale, O Ravana, for it is one of warning and remembrance. In days past, I wandered the wild expanse of the Daṇḍaka forest, driven by hunger and darkness, consuming the flesh of sages and terrorizing all who dwelt there. My presence struck fear even into the heart of Viśvāmitra, the great and righteous sage. Troubled, Viśvāmitra went himself to King Daśaratha and pleaded, “Let Rāma protect me, intent, at the time of sacrifice. O king, a terrible fear of Mārīca has arisen in me.” Upon hearing this, the noble Daśaratha replied to the illustrious sage, “Rāghava is not yet twelve years old and untrained in arms. My army will go with me; with my fourfold force, I myself will come against the night-stalker. I will slay your enemy, best of sages, as you desire.” But Viśvāmitra answered, “There is no force in this world, apart from Rāma, sufficient against that Rākṣasa. Even among the gods, you are the protector in battles. The deed you performed, O king, is renowned throughout the three worlds; though you have a great army, let it remain here, O scorcher of foes. Even though he is a boy, this one of great brilliance is capable of restraining him. I will go, taking Rāma with me—may you fare well, O subduer of enemies.” So, having spoken thus, the sage, exceedingly pleased, took the prince and departed for his own hermitage. There, in the Daṇḍaka forest, Rāma stood ready, having undertaken the vow for the sacrifice, wondrously stringing his bow. He was unmarked by beard, radiant, a dark-complexioned boy with auspicious eyes, wearing a single garment, carrying a bow, his topknot adorned with a golden garland. Rāma illuminated the Daṇḍaka forest with his own blazing splendor, appearing like the newly risen young moon. Then I, dark as a cloud, wearing blazing golden earrings, strong and proud from the boon I had received, entered the hermitage. As I entered, Rāma saw me, weapon in hand; seeing me, he calmly readied his bow, without any confusion. Out of delusion, I scorned Rāghava, thinking him just a boy, and, hastening, I rushed toward Viśvāmitra’s sacrificial altar. But then, a sharp arrow released by him, destroyer of enemies, struck me and hurled me a hundred yojanas into the sea. He did not wish to kill me then, O father, but protected me; driven away by Rāma’s arrow’s force, I lost consciousness. I was cast into the deep ocean by him; regaining consciousness after a long time, I went to the city of Laṅkā. Thus I was spared at that time, but your allies were slain by Rāma, though he was a boy, unwearied in action and unused to weapons. Therefore, if you, despite my warning, engage in conflict with Rāma, you will quickly meet with terrible calamities and will not survive. You will bring grief and disaster upon the Rākṣasas, who are skilled in games, pleasures, and festivities, and who witness assemblies and celebrations. You will see the city of Laṅkā, crowded with mansions and palaces, adorned with various jewels, destroyed for the sake of Maithilī. Even those who do not commit sins, being pure, perish through association with the wicked—just as fish perish in a serpent-infested pool. You will see the demons, adorned with divine sandalwood and decorated with celestial ornaments, struck down upon the ground because of your fault. You will see the night-wanderers, their wives taken, some with their wives fleeing in all directions, and the survivors, helpless and without refuge. You will surely see Laṅkā, surrounded by volleys of arrows and enveloped in flames, its buildings burned. There is no greater sin than the violation of another's wife; O king, you have thousands of women in your possession. Be devoted to your own wife, protect your lineage and the demons, and preserve your honor, prosperity, kingdom, and your own cherished life. If you wish to enjoy your gentle wives and circle of friends for a long time, do not do anything displeasing to Rāma. If, despite my earnest warnings as your friend, you forcibly violate Sītā, you will go, with your kin and diminished strength, to the abode of Yama, slain by Rāma's arrows. Hear now what happened next. After being released by Rāma in battle, I was attacked by two demons. Together with them, in the form of deer, I entered the Daṇḍaka forest. With blazing tongue, great fangs, sharp horns, and immense strength, I roamed the Daṇḍaka forest as a mighty beast, eating flesh. At sacrificial altars, holy places, and sacred trees, O Ravana, I wandered, extremely fierce, harassing ascetics. Slaying the righteous ascetics in the Daṇḍaka forest, I drank their blood and devoured their flesh. Cruel, eating the flesh of sages, terrifying the dwellers of the forest, I wandered the Daṇḍaka forest, intoxicated with blood. Roaming the Daṇḍaka forest, a corrupter of righteousness, I then encountered Rāma, the ascetic devoted to dharma. I saw Vaidehi, the noble lady, and Lakṣmaṇa, the great charioteer, the ascetic of restrained diet, devoted to the welfare of all beings. Such is the truth of my encounters, O Ravana. Take heed, for the consequences of defying Rāma are dire, and the fate of those who ignore righteousness is destruction.