As the ten-headed Rāvaṇa sped away with Sītā, he was confronted by a noble and mighty figure. “O Ten-headed one,” the great bird addressed him earnestly, “once you stood firm in righteousness and were devoted to truth. Brother, do not now commit this blameworthy deed.” Revealing his identity, he declared, “I am Jatāyu by name, king of the vultures, ruler of all beings who fly, comparable in might to Mahendra and Varuṇa. Know this: Rāma, son of Daśaratha, is devoted to the welfare of all beings, and this illustrious lady is his lawful wife, the beloved of the lord of the world. She is Sītā, noble in form, whom you now seek to seize. How can a king, established in righteousness, even think of touching another’s wife? “Above all, a king must protect the wives of others, O mighty one; abandon this base course of coveting what is not yours. A wise man refrains from actions condemned by others; as one guards his own wife from harm, so should he guard the wives of others. Whether for gain or desire, the virtuous, even in matters not set forth in scripture, discern the right path, O descendant of Pulastya. “King, righteousness, desire, and wealth—these are the highest treasures. From the king springs both virtue and vice, as well as prosperity. How is it that, being fickle and of evil nature, O foremost of Rākṣasas, you have attained sovereignty, like a wicked man ascending a celestial car? That which is rooted in desire cannot easily be removed, for noble conduct does not long dwell in the house of the wicked. “Neither in your realm nor in your city has Rāma, mighty and righteous, committed any offense. Why, then, do you wrong him? If Khara, because of Śūrpaṇakhā, came to Janasthāna and was slain by Rāma—who acts without blame, having overstepped his bounds—tell me truly: what transgression has Rāma committed, that you, after abducting the wife of the lord of the world, would now depart? “Quickly release Vaidehī, lest you be consumed by her fierce gaze, as Vṛtra was by Indra’s thunderbolt, burning like fire. You do not realize you have tied a venomous serpent into the edge of your garment, nor do you see the noose of death fastened around your neck. Only that burden should be borne which does not overwhelm a man; only that food should be eaten which, when digested, brings no harm. What action should one perform that brings neither righteousness, nor fame, nor lasting glory, but only weariness to the body? “For sixty thousand years, O Rāvaṇa, I have rightly upheld the kingdom inherited from my fathers and grandfathers. I am old, while you are young, armed with bow, chariot, and armor. Yet you will not succeed in taking Vaidehī from me and departing safely. You cannot seize Vaidehī by force while I watch, just as the firm knowledge of the Vedas, grounded in reason and justice, cannot be taken away. “If you are truly a hero, fight! Stay for a moment, Rāvaṇa, and you will lie slain on the ground, just as Khara did before you. By him who has slain Daityas and Dānavas many times in battle—by that Rāma in ascetic garb—you will soon be killed in combat. What can I do, since the princes have gone far away? Yet, vile one, you will soon perish out of fear of them—of that there is no doubt. As long as I live, you will not take this auspicious lady, Sītā, lotus-eyed and beloved queen of Rāma. “Yet I must surely do what is dear to that great-souled one, for Rāma’s sake—even at the cost of my life—and for Daśaratha as well. Stay, stay, ten-headed one! Wait a moment, Rāvaṇa. I will strike you down from your excellent chariot like a fruit from its stalk. I will offer you the hospitality of battle, as best I can, O night-wanderer.” Now begins the fifty-first sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. Thus addressed, the king of the Rākṣasas, his eyes reddened with anger and blazing golden earrings shining, rushed furiously at the king of birds. A tumultuous and fierce clash arose between the two in that great battle, like clouds driven together by the wind in the sky. There occurred a wondrous fight between the vulture and the Rākṣasa, both winged and garlanded, like two great mountains colliding. Rāvaṇa, with sharp-tipped arrows and barbed darts, showered a terrible rain upon the mighty king of vultures. Jatāyu, lord of the feathered race, received those volleys of arrows from Rāvaṇa in the heat of battle. With his powerful, sharp-clawed feet, the noble bird inflicted many wounds on Rāvaṇa’s body. Enraged, the ten-headed one seized ten dreadful arrows, resembling the rods of death, intent on destroying his enemy. With those arrows—fully released, straight-flying, sharp, and terrible as stone-tipped weapons—the mighty Rāvaṇa pierced the vulture. Seeing Jānakī, her eyes filled with tears on the Rākṣasa’s chariot, Jatāyu, disregarding those arrows, rushed at the demon. The great bird of immense brilliance broke Rāvaṇa’s bow, adorned with jewels and arrows, using his powerful feet. Overwhelmed by anger, Rāvaṇa seized another bow and loosed hundreds and thousands of arrows. Covered by arrows in battle, the lord of birds appeared as if he had reached his nest, like a bird surrounded by twigs. But Jatāyu shook off those clusters of arrows with his wings, and with his mighty feet, he broke Rāvaṇa’s great bow once more.