Rama, gazing upon the enchanting spotted deer, declared with certainty, “This creature will not survive today, for its magnificent skin is its chief allure. Lakshmana, you must remain alert in the hermitage with Sita.” He assured his brother, “Once I strike down this deer with a single arrow, I will take its hide and return swiftly, O Lakshmana.” Rama urged his brother to be vigilant, especially with the wise and mighty bird Jatayu circling auspiciously overhead. “Protect Maithili,” he said, “and be wary at every moment from all sides.” Thus, Rama, the radiant scion of Raghu, fastened his sword made of Jambū-nada gold, preparing himself for the hunt. He took up his triple-curved bow—his own ornament—and secured two quivers, setting out with determined stride into the forest. As he ventured deeper, the king of the forest—the deer—rushed toward him. The king of kings, Rama, became invisible out of caution, then reappeared, ever watchful. With sword at his side and bow in hand, he pursued the deer, marveling at its splendid form as it shone before him. He watched as it ran through the great forest, sometimes behaving unnaturally and enticing him further and further. The deer’s movements were suspicious and agitated; it leaped as if into the sky, sometimes visible, sometimes hidden among the trees. Like the autumn moon veiled by scattered clouds, it would appear for a moment, then shine from afar. By constantly appearing and disappearing, Maricha—who had taken the form of the deer—lured Rama far from the hermitage. Rama, descendant of Kakutstha, grew angry and bewildered by the deer’s tricks, feeling helpless. Exhausted, he paused and sought shade on a grassy spot. The night-stalking demon, still in deer form, further agitated Rama, appearing not far away, surrounded by other deer. Seeing Rama’s eagerness to capture him, Maricha rushed forward once more, only to vanish out of fear. Then, emerging from behind a tree at a distance, the deer caught Rama’s eye again. Resolving to end the chase, Rama’s anger flared. He took up a shining arrow, blazing like the rays of the sun, a destroyer of enemies. Fitting it to his sturdy bow, he drew with great force and aimed at the deer, whose breath hissed like a serpent. Rama released the flaming, radiant weapon—crafted by Brahma. The excellent arrow pierced the body of the deer-form, striking Maricha’s heart like a thunderbolt. Maricha leapt a palm’s length and fell, grievously wounded. He uttered a dreadful cry upon the earth, his life nearly spent, and as he was dying, Maricha abandoned his false form. Recalling the instructions of Ravana, Maricha pondered how Lakshmana might be sent away, so Ravana could seize Sita in solitude. Recognizing the moment had come, Maricha cried out, imitating Rama’s voice: “Alas, Sita! Lakshmana!” Pierced in a vital spot by the incomparable arrow, he abandoned the deer-form and assumed his true shape as a demon. Maricha, now immense and terrifying, relinquished life. Rama saw the demon fallen on the ground, drenched in blood and writhing. His thoughts turned to Sita, recalling Lakshmana’s earlier warnings. “This was Maricha’s illusion, just as Lakshmana said—it has come to pass today. Maricha has been slain by me.” The demon’s loud cry, “Alas, Sita! Lakshmana!” echoed in Rama’s mind, filling him with dread for Sita’s fate. Rama realized that Lakshmana, mighty-armed, might now leave Sita, driven by concern. Thinking thus, the righteous Rama felt his hair stand on end. Intense fear, born of anxiety, gripped him; having slain the demon in deer-form and hearing that dreadful cry, Rama hurried toward Janasthana, taking the flesh of another spotted deer. Back in the hermitage, Sita heard the anguished cry in the forest, unmistakably her husband’s voice. Distressed, she pleaded with Lakshmana, “Go and find out about Raghava. My life is not secure, nor does my heart remain steady. I have heard the voice of one in great distress, crying out—it has shaken me deeply. You must save your brother, who is calling out in the forest. Quickly run to him, your brother who seeks refuge.” Sita feared Rama had fallen into the power of the rakshasas, like a bull among lions. Yet, Lakshmana did not go, remembering Rama’s command. Troubled, Sita spoke sharply: “Son of Sumitra, though you appear as a friend, you are acting as an enemy to your brother. If you do not go to him now, then it is for my sake that you wish for Rama’s destruction. Surely, out of desire for me, you do not follow Raghava; I think you take pleasure in his misfortune, and you have no affection for your brother. That is why you remain here so confidently, not seeing him, the radiant one. What would become of me here if he, in whom I trust, is in danger?” Thus, the events unfolded: Rama, drawn far from the hermitage by Maricha’s cunning, slew the demon, whose dying cry sowed fear and turmoil in Sita’s heart, compelling her to urge Lakshmana to leave her side.