Hear now the tale as recounted in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa, in its thirty-ninth and fortieth chapters. At that time, Maricha began to speak, recalling the events that had transpired. He told Ravana how, in battle, he had somehow been released, and what followed thereafter. Maricha described how, untiring, he was attacked by two demons; together, adopting the forms of deer, they entered the wild expanse of the Dandaka forest. There, Maricha roamed as a mighty beast, his tongue blazing, his fangs great, his horns sharp, and his strength immense. He wandered through the forest, eating flesh, terrifying all who dwelled there. At sacrificial altars, holy places, and sacred trees, he harassed ascetics, his presence fierce and dreadful. He slew the righteous sages of Dandaka, drinking their blood and devouring their flesh, intoxicated by his own cruelty. He terrified the dwellers of the forest, corrupting righteousness wherever he went. It was during these wanderings that Maricha encountered Rama, the ascetic devoted to dharma. He saw Vaidehi, the noble Sita, and Lakshmana, the great charioteer, disciplined and devoted to the welfare of all beings. Maricha, disregarding Rama—thinking him merely a forest-dwelling ascetic and recalling their former enmity—approached him in anger. Taking the form of a deer with sharp horns, Maricha rushed at Rama, intent on killing, remembering the previous blow he had suffered. Rama, however, drew his great bow and released three sharp arrows, destroyers of enemies, swift as Garuda and the wind. The arrows, resembling thunderbolts, terrifying and thirsty for blood, sped forth together, their joints bent as they advanced. Maricha, knowing Rama’s valor and recalling past dangers, escaped through deceit; but the other Rakshasas were slain by Rama’s arrows. Freed by Rama’s arrow, Maricha somehow survived, and wandered thereafter, settling as an ascetic, his mind composed. Yet, on every tree, Maricha saw Rama—clad in bark and black deer skin, holding his bow—like Death himself with a noose in hand. He saw thousands of Ramas, terrified; the whole forest appeared to him as if it had become Rama. Even in solitude, Maricha saw only Rama; having seen him in dreams, he wandered, bewildered and senseless. Anything bearing the name beginning with ‘Ra’, gems, and chariots—all caused Maricha fear, for he was terrified by Rama. He knew Rama’s power and warned Ravana that battle with him was unwise. The descendant of Raghu could slay even mighty beings like Bali or Namuci. Maricha advised Ravana: either fight Rama in battle or show patience; but if Ravana wished to see Maricha, he need not speak of Rama. Maricha reflected that many virtuous people, devoted to righteousness, had perished along with their possessions because of others’ offenses. Thus, by another’s offense, Maricha too might perish. He told Ravana to do as he deemed proper, but Maricha would not follow him. He described Rama as possessed of great splendor, courage, and strength, capable even of destroying the world of Rakshasas. If Khara, because of Shurpanakha, had gone to Janasthana and was slain by Rama, whose deeds are effortless, what fault could there be in Rama? If Ravana did not accept these words, spoken for his welfare and that of his kin, then Ravana and his relatives would lose their lives in battle, slain by Rama’s straight-flying arrows. Thus concludes the thirty-ninth chapter. Now hear the fortieth. Ravana, upon hearing Maricha’s words—which were proper and fitting—did not accept them, like a man wishing for death rejects medicine. Prompted by fate, the lord of Rakshasas spoke harsh and unfitting words to Maricha, who had advised what was wholesome and beneficial. Ravana declared that Maricha’s speech was unfit and meaningless, coming from one of ignoble lineage, utterly fruitless like a seed sown in barren ground. He insisted that Maricha’s words could not deter him from battle against Rama, whom he deemed a foolish and sinful human. Ravana recounted how Rama, abandoning friends, kingdom, mother, and father, had gone alone to the forest upon hearing the ordinary words of a woman. Ravana resolved that, in battle with the slayer of Khara, he would seize Sita, who was dearer to Rama than life, right before Maricha’s eyes. Such was the firm resolve in Ravana’s heart, he said, and it could not be turned aside, not even by gods or demons together with Indra. When asked about faults or merits, Maricha ought to speak thus, whether about danger or opportunity, regarding the decision of this task. Ravana continued, saying that a wise minister, when questioned, should speak with hands joined in respect to the king, if he desires his own prosperity. Words that are not opposed, gentle, auspicious, and beneficial should be spoken to the ruler, with proper decorum and appropriateness. If words are spoken that are harsh or beneficial, but lack respect, the king who values honor should not welcome them. Ravana reminded Maricha that kings of immeasurable energy bear five forms: those of Agni, Indra, Soma, Yama, and Varuna. Great kings, he said, possess heat, valor, gentleness, punishment, and graciousness, just as those deities do. Thus, the exchange between Maricha and Ravana unfolded, with Maricha’s warnings unheeded and Ravana’s resolve unwavering, setting the stage for the events yet to come.