Once upon a time, in the wilds near Malada and Karusha, there dwelled a fearsome being named Tataka. She possessed the strength of a thousand elephants, and was the wife of the wise Sunda. Her son was Maricha, a rakshasa of great prowess, whose massive body, rounded arms, broad mouth, and formidable head made him as terrifying as Indra himself. Together, this mother and son, monstrous in appearance, terrorized the people and devastated the two regions, spreading fear wherever they went. Tataka, wicked in her conduct, had made the land of Malada and Karusha desolate. She blocked the path, dwelling at a distance of half a yojana, making passage impossible. The sage Vishvamitra, addressing Rama, said, “You must venture into Tataka’s forest and, relying on your own strength, destroy this wicked one. By my command, make this region free from thorns once more; for as it stands, no one dares approach. This land has been ruined by a fierce and intolerable yakshini, and all I have told you about this dreadful forest remains true even now.” At this point, the tale of the twenty-fifth sarga in the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Bala Kanda, unfolds. Rama, having heard the sage’s words, replied with humility and auspicious speech, “O foremost among sages, it is said that the yakshini is of little strength. How does this weak one bear the power of a thousand elephants?” Vishvamitra, delighted by Rama’s question, spoke gently to him and Lakshmana. “Hear how Tataka became so powerful. By a boon granted, she bears this strength though she is weak. Once, there was a great yaksha named Suketu, mighty and virtuous, but childless. He performed great austerities, and his father, the lord of the yakshas, being pleased, granted him a jewel among daughters, named Tataka. She was given the strength of a thousand elephants, though no son was granted to Suketu. As Tataka grew, possessing beauty and youth, she was given in marriage to Sunda, the illustrious son of Jambha. In time, Tataka gave birth to a son named Maricha, who, formidable in nature, became a rakshasa by a curse. When Sunda was slain, Tataka and Maricha attacked the eminent sage Agastya, driven by hunger and rage. Roaring, Tataka rushed forward, but the venerable Agastya, seeing her approach, spoke to Maricha, ‘Assume the form of a rakshasa!’ And, filled with great anger, Agastya cursed Tataka as well: ‘O great yakshini, devourer of men, monstrous and deformed of face, abandon this form—let a dreadful appearance be yours!’ Thus transformed by the curse and seized by wrath, Tataka devastated the region once sanctified by Agastya. O Raghava, for the welfare of cows and Brahmanas, you must slay this wicked and terrible yakshini, Tataka, whose evil deeds are great. No man in the three worlds, except you, O delight of the Raghus, is able to kill her, for she is empowered by a curse. Do not hesitate to slay a woman in this case; for the welfare of the four orders, a prince must act. For the protection of the people, whether an act is cruel or not, sinful or faulty, it must be done by the protector. This is the eternal duty of those entrusted with kingship. Slay the unrighteous one, O descendant of Kakutstha, for there is no righteousness in her. It is heard that in ancient times Indra slew Manthara, daughter of Virocana, who sought to destroy the earth. And formerly, Vishnu slew Kāvya’s wife, the devoted spouse of Bhṛgu, who wished for a world without Indra. By these and many other noble princes, unrighteous women have been slain for the welfare of the world; therefore, casting aside hesitation, slay her at my command, O king.” The tale now turns to the twenty-sixth sarga. Hearing the sage’s resolute words, Rama, son of the best of men, with joined palms and firm resolve, replied, “Out of obedience and respect for my father’s command, and because of the authority of Kauśika’s words, this task must be done without hesitation. I have been instructed in Ayodhya among great teachers by my father Dasaratha; his words must not be disregarded. For the welfare of cows and Brahmins, for the good of the land, and to fulfill your own unfathomable word, I am now prepared to act.” Having spoken thus, Rama, the subduer of enemies, fastened his grip at the center of his bow and produced a sharp twang, the sound echoing through all directions. Frightened by the sound, the dwellers of Tataka’s forest were alarmed, and Tataka herself, greatly enraged, was bewildered by the noise. Fixating on the sound, the demoness, overcome with wrath, rushed toward the place from which the sound had come. Seeing her approach, furious, deformed, with a monstrous face and immense size, Rama spoke to Lakshmana, “Look, Lakshmana, at the terrifying, dreadful form of this yakshini; at the mere sight of her, the hearts of the timid would break.” Thus, the tale of Tataka unfolds, as Rama stands ready to confront her for the welfare of the land and its people.