With deep concern and earnestness, Maricha spoke to Ravana, warning him of the dire consequences that would befall him should he persist in his hostile intentions toward Rama. “If you ignore my warning and engage in conflict with Rama,” Maricha cautioned, “you will swiftly encounter terrible calamities and will not survive. Your actions will bring grief and disaster upon the Rakshasas—those skilled in games, pleasures, and festivities, who delight in assemblies and celebrations.” He painted a vivid picture of the doom that awaited: “You will witness the magnificent city of Lanka, crowded with splendid mansions and palaces adorned with jewels, laid to ruin for the sake of Maithili, Sita. Even those who are pure and innocent, who have committed no sin, may perish through association with the wicked—just as fish die in a pool infested with serpents. You will see the demons, adorned with divine sandalwood and celestial ornaments, struck down and lying upon the earth because of your deeds. The night-wandering Rakshasas, their wives taken or fleeing in all directions, will be left helpless and without refuge. You will surely see Lanka besieged by volleys of arrows, enveloped in flames, its buildings burned to ashes.” Maricha continued, “There is no greater sin than violating another’s wife. O king, 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 a long time, do nothing that would displease Rama. But if, despite my earnest warnings as your friend, you forcibly violate Sita, you and your kin, weakened, will surely be slain by Rama’s arrows and descend to the abode of Yama.” Maricha then began to recount his own tale: “Thus, at that time, I was somehow released by him in battle. Now, listen to what happened next. I, still unwearied, was attacked by two demons. Together, in the form of deer, we entered the Dandaka forest. With blazing tongue, great fangs, sharp horns, and immense strength, I roamed the forest as a mighty beast, devouring flesh. At sacrificial altars, holy places, and sacred trees, O Ravana, I wandered, extremely fierce, harassing ascetics. I slew the righteous ascetics of Dandaka, drank their blood, and devoured their flesh. Cruel and intoxicated with blood, I terrified the dwellers of the forest. “In my wanderings, a corrupter of righteousness, I encountered Rama, the ascetic devoted to dharma. I saw Vaidehi, the noble Sita, and Lakshmana, the great charioteer and ascetic, devoted to the welfare of all beings. Disregarding Rama, 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. Rama released three sharp arrows, destroyers of enemies, drawing his great bow—arrows swift as Garuda and the wind. They were like thunderbolts, terrifying and thirsting for blood, and all three advanced together. “Knowing Rama’s valor, and being deceitful and wary from past danger, I escaped; but the other two Rakshasas were slain. Freed by Rama’s arrow and somehow preserving my life, I have wandered here, now settled as an ascetic, composed in mind. On every tree I see Rama, clad in bark and black deer skin, holding his bow—like Death itself with a noose in hand. Even thousands of Ramas I see, terrified, O Ravana; the whole forest appears to me as if it has become Rama. Even in solitude, I see only Rama, O lord of Rakshasas. Having seen Rama in a dream, I wander, bewildered and senseless. Names beginning with ‘Ra’, gems, and chariots—all fill me with fear, for I am terrified by Rama. “I know his power; battle with him is not suitable for you. The descendant of Raghu could slay even Bali or Namuci. Fight Rama in battle, or show patience, O Ravana. If you wish to see me, you need not speak of Rama. Many virtuous people in the world, devoted to righteousness, have perished, along with their possessions, because of others’ offenses. Thus, by another’s offense, I too may perish, O night-wanderer. Do what you deem proper; I will not follow you. Rama possesses great splendor, courage, and strength; he could indeed destroy even the world of Rakshasas. “If Khara, because of Shurpanakha, went to Janasthana and was excessively violent, and was slain by Rama—whose deeds are effortless—then tell me, what fault is there in Rama? If you do not heed these words, spoken for your welfare and that of your kin, you and your relatives will lose your lives in battle, slain today by Rama’s straight-flying arrows.” When Maricha had spoken thus, the fortieth chapter begins. Ravana, hearing Maricha’s words—so proper and fitting—did not accept them, just as one who wishes for death rejects medicine. Driven by fate, the lord of Rakshasas spoke harsh and unfitting words to Maricha, who had only offered wholesome and beneficial advice.