When Rāvaṇa, king of the rākṣasas, was seized by desire and set upon a wrongful path, Mārīca, wise among demons, spoke to him with earnestness and gravity. "O mighty conqueror," he said, "a king who is led astray by passion must be restrained by his virtuous ministers in every possible way. Yet, you are not being checked. Ministers gain righteousness, wealth, pleasure, and fame only through the favor of their lord, O night-wanderer. But when the opposite occurs, O Rāvaṇa, all those gains become worthless; the faults of the king bring misfortune upon all. "For the king is truly the root of righteousness and fame, O best of conquerors. Thus, the king must be guarded and guided in every situation. A kingdom cannot be ruled by one who is harsh, antagonistic, or lacking in courtesy, O demon. Ministers who offer harsh counsel to such a ruler are quickly destroyed in times of crisis, just as chariots with slow drivers are doomed to fail. Many virtuous people in this world, though themselves blameless, have perished along with their possessions because of the faults of others. "When subjects are ruled by a master who is hostile and cruel, O Rāvaṇa, they do not thrive—just as sheep cannot flourish under the care of a jackal. All the demons will certainly perish, O Rāvaṇa, whose king is cruel, foolish, and unable to control his senses. This dreadful fate has befallen me by chance, and now you too are to be mourned; you and your army will perish. "After slaying me, Rāma will soon destroy you as well; thus my purpose is fulfilled, for I die struck down by an enemy. Consider me already dead, for merely to be seen by Rāma is death; and know yourself destroyed too, for you have abducted Sītā and her kin. If you take Sītā from the hermitage along with me, neither you, nor I, nor Laṅkā, nor the rākṣasas will survive. "I am your well-wisher, yet you do not accept my words, O night-wanderer. Those whose time has come, like the dead, do not heed the advice of friends." Thus did Mārīca speak, but Rāvaṇa remained unmoved. Now, hear the next chapter of the sacred Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. Having spoken these harsh truths, Mārīca, filled with sorrow and fear of the lord of the night-wanderers, said, "Let us go." He lamented, "Once again I have been seen by him who bears bow, arrows, and sword, whose weapon is raised to kill me. My life is already forfeit. No one who faces Rāma returns alive; for you, he is like the punishment of Yama. What can I do, with you set on this wicked course? I depart now, O night-wanderer—may you fare well." But Rāvaṇa, delighted by these words, embraced Mārīca tightly and said, "Now you have shown true courage, acting as I desire; you are Mārīca now, not the demon you were before. Come, mount this swift, bird-like chariot adorned with gems, yoked with donkeys bearing ghastly faces. Together we shall go. Entice Vaidehī as planned, and when you have done so, I will seize Sītā, the princess of Mithilā, from the deserted hermitage." Agreeing, Mārīca, son of Tāṭakā, spoke to Rāvaṇa, and together they boarded the resplendent chariot, which moved like a flying palace. Swiftly they departed from the circle of hermitages, witnessing cities, forests, mountains, rivers, kingdoms, and towns along their way. At last, they reached the Daṇḍaka forest and arrived at Rāma's hermitage. There, Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, dismounted from the golden chariot with Mārīca. Taking him by the hand, Rāvaṇa pointed and said, "This is Rāma's hermitage, surrounded by banana trees. Friend, quickly do that for which we have come." Hearing these words, Mārīca, the rākṣasa, assumed the wondrous and astonishing form of a deer. He became a creature of supreme beauty: horns of the finest jewels, a face of white and black, a mouth like a red lotus, ears like blue lotuses, a slightly raised neck, a belly like blue sapphire, flanks like honey-colored flowers, and a back resembling the filaments of a lotus. His hooves shone like beryl; his slender legs were perfectly formed; his tail radiated with the colors of Indra's rainbow. Adorned with various gems and gleaming with glossy hues, in a moment Mārīca had become a deer that enchanted all who saw him. He illuminated the lovely forest and the hermitage of Rāma, making himself delightful and pleasing to the eye. To entice Vaidehī, he wandered across the green meadows, his body adorned with sparkling minerals. He became ever more charming, his back marked with hundreds of silvery spots, as he roamed, nibbling the tender leaves of the trees. He lingered among the banana groves and kārṇikāra trees, moving gently and gracefully, awaiting the gaze of Sītā. With a back patterned like a lotus, he shone near Rāma's hermitage, wandering at ease. Again and again he would move away, then return—departing swiftly for a moment, only to come back once more—captivating all who beheld him, and thus setting the fateful plan in motion.