“O King,” said Viśvāmitra, his voice edged with urgency, “a terrible fear of Mārīca has arisen in me.” Hearing these words, the righteous King Daśaratha responded with concern to the illustrious sage: “This Rāghava, my son, is not yet twelve years old and untrained in the use of arms. Allow me instead: I shall go, accompanied by my army. With my fourfold force, I myself will confront the night-stalker. I will slay your enemy, best of sages, just as you desire.” But Viśvāmitra replied with calm conviction, “O King, there is no other force in this world, apart from Rāma, that is sufficient against that Rākṣasa. Even among the gods, you are a protector in battle, and the deed you performed is renowned throughout the three worlds. Yet, though you possess a great army, let it remain here, O scorcher of foes. Even though he is a mere boy, this one of great brilliance is capable of restraining the demon. I will go, taking Rāma with me—may you fare well, O subduer of enemies.” Having spoken thus, the sage, exceedingly pleased, took the young prince and departed for his hermitage. There, in the depths of the Daṇḍaka forest, Rāma stood ready, having undertaken the sacred vow for the sacrifice, wondrously stringing his bow. He was yet unmarked by beard, radiant, dark-complexioned, with auspicious eyes, clad in a single garment, carrying a bow, his topknot adorned with a golden garland. Rāma’s own blazing splendor illuminated the forest, and he appeared then like the newly risen young moon. It was then that I, Mārīca, dark as a raincloud and wearing blazing golden earrings, strong and proud from the boon I had received, entered the hermitage. As I crossed the threshold, Rāma saw me, weapon in hand. Calmly and without confusion, he readied his bow. In my arrogance and delusion, I scorned Rāghava, dismissing him as nothing but a boy, and, with haste, I rushed toward Viśvāmitra’s sacrificial altar. But then, a sharp arrow—released by Rāma, 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 the force of Rāma’s arrow, I lost consciousness. Cast into the deep ocean by his hand, I regained my senses after a long time, and made my way to the city of Laṅkā. Thus I was spared, but your allies, O Rāvaṇa, were slain by Rāma—though he was but a boy, unwearied in action and untrained in 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 delight in games, pleasures, and festivities, who witness assemblies and celebrations. You will see the city of Laṅkā, crowded with mansions and palaces and adorned with jewels, destroyed for the sake of Maithilī. Even those who are pure and do not commit sins 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 celestial ornaments, struck down upon the ground because of your fault. You will see the night-wanderers, their wives taken, some fleeing in all directions, the survivors helpless and without refuge. You will surely see Laṅkā, surrounded by volleys of arrows, enveloped in flames, its buildings burned. There is no greater sin than violating 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. Now, listen to what happened next. At that time, I was somehow released by Rāma in battle. Later, I was attacked by two demons, and 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 forest as a mighty beast, eating flesh. At sacrificial altars, holy places, and sacred trees, O Rāvaṇa, I wandered, extremely fierce, harassing ascetics. Slaying the righteous ascetics in the Daṇḍaka forest, I drank their blood and devoured their flesh. Cruel, feasting on the flesh of sages, terrifying the dwellers of the forest, I wandered, intoxicated with blood. Roaming the Daṇḍaka forest, a corrupter of righteousness, I then encountered Rāma, the ascetic devoted to dharma. I saw Vaidehī, the noble lady, and Lakṣmaṇa, the great charioteer and ascetic of restrained diet, devoted to the welfare of all beings. Disregarding Rāma, who was dwelling in the forest and possessed great strength, thinking him merely an ascetic and recalling my former enmity, I approached him. In the form of a deer with sharp horns, I rushed at him in great anger, intent on killing, remembering the previous blow.