Rama turned to Lakshmana and said, “If, as you believe, this is truly a demon’s illusion, then I must slay this deer. This cruel Maricha, unrighteous by nature, has previously brought harm to the foremost sages who wander these forests. Many kings, skilled archers, have pursued the hunt, only to be slain by him. Therefore, this deer must be killed. “Long ago, in this very place, the demon Vatapi deceived ascetics and killed brahmins, lurking within their bellies like a foal within its mother. Driven by greed, he once approached the great sage Agastya, radiant with brilliance, and became his food. Vatapi, you disregarded and overpowered the best of brahmins by your might, and thus you came to old age among the living. Such a being is not a true demon, Lakshmana, who would dare to scorn someone like me—one steadfast in righteousness and self-control—just as Vatapi once did. “He will meet his end, just as Vatapi was destroyed by Agastya. Do not follow me, but remain here, armed and vigilant, to guard Maithili. Our foremost duty here, O delight of the Raghus, is to protect her. I will either slay this creature or capture the deer. While I go swiftly to bring back the deer, observe how Vaidehi longs for its beautiful skin. This deer will not survive today, for its skin is its chief allure; you must remain alert in the hermitage with Sita. “As soon as I strike down this spotted deer with a single arrow, I will take its hide and return quickly, Lakshmana. With the mighty and wise bird Jatayu circling to the right, you must remain vigilant, protecting Maithili, and be wary at every moment from all sides.” Thus instructing his brother, Rama, the scion of Raghu, radiant with great energy, fastened his sword made of Jambū-nada gold. Then, taking up his triple-curved bow—his own ornament—and fastening two quivers, he set out with vigorous stride. As Rama entered the forest, the king of the deer raced before him. The king of kings, Rama, became invisible for a moment out of caution, then reappeared. Sword fastened and bow in hand, Rama pursued the deer, watching it shine before him with its splendid form. He watched as it ran, bow in hand, through the great forest, noticing its unnatural behavior as it enticed him further and further. The deer seemed suspicious and agitated, leaping as if into the sky—sometimes visible, sometimes hidden among the trees. Like the autumn moon veiled by scattered clouds, it appeared for a moment, then shone from afar. By appearing and disappearing, Maricha, disguised as the deer, drew Raghava far from the hermitage. Angered and bewildered, Rama found himself helpless against Maricha’s illusion. Exhausted, he finally paused, seeking shade on a patch of grass. Yet, the night-stalker in deer form continued to agitate him, appearing not far away, now surrounded by other deer. Seeing Rama eager to seize him, Maricha again rushed forward, but in that very moment, vanished out of fear. Then, from a distance, emerging from behind a tree, Maricha revealed himself once more. Rama, of great brilliance, resolved to end this deception. Enraged, he took up a shining arrow, blazing like the rays of the sun, a destroyer of enemies. He fitted it to his sturdy bow, drawing it with great force, and aimed at the deer, whose breath hissed like a serpent. Rama released the flaming, radiant weapon—crafted by Brahma—and the excellent arrow pierced the body of the deer. It struck Maricha’s heart like a thunderbolt. Leaping a palm’s length, Maricha fell, grievously wounded. He uttered a dreadful cry upon the earth, his life nearly spent, and as he lay dying, he abandoned his false form. In his last moments, Maricha recalled the words of Ravana and pondered how Lakshmana might be lured away so that Ravana could seize Sita alone. Recognizing the moment had come, Maricha cried out in a voice that perfectly imitated Rama’s, “Alas, Sita! Lakshmana!” Pierced in a vital spot by the incomparable arrow, he abandoned the deer form and assumed his true demon shape. Maricha, of immense body, relinquished life. Rama saw him, his body drenched in blood, writhing on the earth—a demon of terrifying appearance. Seeing this, Rama’s mind turned to Sita, and he remembered Lakshmana’s warnings. “This was Maricha’s illusion, as Lakshmana had said. So it has come to pass today—Maricha has been slain by me. But crying out loudly, ‘Alas, Sita! Lakshmana!’ the demon died. Hearing this, what will happen to Sita? Surely, mighty-armed Lakshmana will depart, driven by concern for me.” Thinking thus, the righteous Rama felt his hair stand on end. Then, intense fear, born of anxiety, entered his heart. Having slain the demon in deer form and hearing that dreadful cry, Rama’s thoughts turned anxiously to Sita and the hermitage he had left behind.