In the depths of the Daṇḍaka forest, Rāma stood ready, his mind resolute, having undertaken the sacred vow for the sacrifice. With wondrous skill, he strung his bow, preparing to protect the rites. He appeared as a radiant, dark-complexioned youth—his auspicious eyes shining, his face smooth and unmarked by beard. Dressed in a single garment, a bow in hand, his hair was tied in a topknot adorned with a golden garland, and his very presence illuminated the forest like the newly risen young moon. It was then that I, dark as a thundercloud, entered the hermitage, my golden earrings blazing, my strength and pride swelling from a boon I had received. As I stepped in, Rāma saw me. Calm and unshaken, he took up his weapon and readied his bow without the slightest confusion. In my delusion, I scorned Rāghava, dismissing him as nothing more than a boy. Hastening past him, I rushed toward Viśvāmitra’s sacrificial altar, intent on disrupting the sacred rites. But Rāma, destroyer of enemies, loosed a sharp arrow that struck me with such force it hurled me a hundred yojanas into the sea. He did not wish to kill me, O father, but instead spared my life, restraining his power. Driven away by the force of his arrow, I lost consciousness and was flung into the deep ocean. When I finally regained my senses after a long while, I made my way back to the city of Laṅkā. Thus, I was spared in that encounter, but your allies were not so fortunate. Though still a boy, unwearied in action and new to the ways of weaponry, Rāma slew them all. That is why, father, I warn you: if you, disregarding my words, choose to engage in conflict with Rāma, you will swiftly bring upon yourself terrible calamities and will not survive. You will bring grief and disaster upon the Rākṣasas, who delight in games, pleasures, and festivities, and who gather for splendid assemblies. You will see Laṅkā itself—crowded with mansions and palaces, adorned with every kind of jewel—laid waste for the sake of Maithilī, Sītā. Even those who are innocent and pure perish through association with the wicked, just as fish die in a pool infested with serpents. You will witness the demons, adorned with divine sandalwood and celestial ornaments, struck down and lying on the ground because of your actions. You will see the night-wandering Rākṣasas, their wives taken from them, some fleeing in all directions with their families, the survivors left helpless and without refuge. You will surely see Laṅkā besieged by volleys of arrows, enveloped in flames, its buildings reduced to ashes. There is no greater sin, O king, than violating another’s wife. You already possess thousands of women. Be devoted to your own wife, protect your lineage and your people, and preserve your honor, prosperity, kingdom, and your own cherished life. If you wish to enjoy the company of your gentle wives and friends for many years, do nothing to displease Rāma. If, despite my earnest warnings as your friend, you forcibly violate Sītā, you and your kin, your strength diminished, will be slain by Rāma’s arrows and go to the abode of Yama. Now, listen as I recount what happened after that time when he released me in battle. Later, I was attacked by two fierce demons. Together, we took the form of deer and entered the Dandaka forest. With blazing tongues, great fangs, sharp horns, and immense strength, I roamed as a mighty beast, devouring flesh. At sacrificial altars, holy places, and sacred trees, O Rāvaṇa, I wandered, terrifying and harassing the ascetics. I slew the righteous sages of the Dandaka forest, drinking their blood and devouring their flesh. Intoxicated by my cruelty, I wandered the forest, a terror to all who dwelled there. Thus, corrupted by unrighteousness, I again encountered Rāma, the ascetic steadfast in dharma. There I saw Vaidehī, the noble Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa, the great charioteer and ascetic of restrained diet, devoted to the welfare of all beings. Disregarding Rāma—thinking him only an ascetic and recalling my former enmity—I approached him, my mind set on vengeance. In the form of a deer with sharp horns, I charged at him in great rage, intent on killing him and remembering the previous blow he had dealt me. Rāma, drawing his great bow, released three sharp arrows, destroyers of enemies, swift as Garuḍa and the wind. These arrows, like thunderbolts—terrifying, bloodthirsty, and bent in their joints—came at us together. Knowing Rāma’s valor, and having once experienced his might, I acted deceitfully and escaped, but the other two Rākṣasas were slain. Freed by Rāma’s arrow, I somehow preserved my life and wandered here, finally settling as an ascetic, my mind composed. Now, on every tree I see Rāma, clad in bark and black deer skin, bow in hand, appearing like Death himself with a noose. Even thousands of Rāmas I see, so great is my terror, O Rāvaṇa; the whole forest seems transformed into Rāma. Even when I am alone, I see only Rāma, O lord of Rākṣasas. Having seen him even in my dreams, I wander bewildered and senseless. Names beginning with ‘Ra’, gems, and chariots—all fill me with fear, for I am haunted by Rāma. This is my warning and my plea: heed these words, O king, before you bring destruction upon yourself and all of Laṅkā.