Then, with a voice both commanding and full of sorrow, Jaṭāyu, the mighty king of birds, addressed Rāvaṇa. “Rāma, who is mighty and righteous, has committed no offense in your realm or city. Why, then, do you wrong him so grievously? If Khara, on account of Śūrpaṇakhā, came to Janasthāna and was slain by Rāma—who acts without blame—it was Khara who overstepped his bounds. Tell me truly, what transgression has Rāma committed, that you would dare abduct the wife of the lord of the world and flee? Release Vaidehī at once, lest you be burned by her fierce and pure gaze, just as Vṛtra was consumed by Indra’s thunderbolt, blazing like fire. You do not realize that you have tied a venomous serpent into the edge of your garment, nor do you perceive the noose of death already fastened around your neck. O gentle one, a man should only bear a burden he can withstand, and only eat food that, once digested, brings no harm. What action should one pursue that brings neither righteousness, nor fame, nor lasting glory, but only weariness to the body? For sixty thousand years, O Rāvaṇa, I have justly upheld the kingdom inherited from my fathers and grandfathers since my birth. Though I am old and you are young, armed with bow, chariot, and armor, you will not succeed in taking Vaidehī from me and escaping unharmed. You cannot seize Sītā by force while I watch, just as one cannot wrench away the firm knowledge of the Vedas, grounded in reason and justice. If you are truly a hero, fight! Stay a moment, Rāvaṇa, and you will lie slain upon the ground, as Khara did before you. By him who has vanquished Daityas and Dānavas many times in battle—by that Rāma, clad in ascetic garb—you will soon be struck down in combat. What can I do, since the princes are 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 shall not take this auspicious lady, Sītā, lotus-eyed and beloved queen of Rāma. Still, 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 would strike you down from your excellent chariot as one plucks a ripe fruit from its stalk. I will offer you the hospitality of battle, as best I can, O wanderer of the night!” Thus begins the fifty-first sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇyakaṇḍa. Hearing these words, the king of the Rākṣasas, eyes reddened with fury and blazing golden earrings flashing, rushed furiously at Jaṭāyu, king of the birds. A tumultuous and fierce clash arose between them in that great battle, like storm-driven clouds colliding in the sky. A wondrous fight unfolded, vulture and Rākṣasa, both winged and garlanded, clashing like two mighty mountains. Rāvaṇa, with sharp-tipped arrows and barbed darts, unleashed a terrible rain upon the mighty Jaṭāyu. The lord of the feathered race received that volley of arrows, but, undaunted, he struck back. With his powerful, sharp-clawed feet, the noble bird inflicted many wounds upon Rāvaṇa’s body. Enraged, the ten-headed one seized ten dreadful arrows, resembling the rods of death, intent on destroying his enemy. With those sharp, straight-flying arrows, terrible as stone-tipped weapons, Rāvaṇa pierced the valiant vulture. Yet, seeing Sītā with tear-filled eyes upon the Rākṣasa’s chariot, Jaṭāyu disregarded his wounds and rushed at Rāvaṇa with renewed fury. With his mighty feet, the great bird shattered Rāvaṇa’s jeweled bow and scattered his arrows. Rāvaṇa, overwhelmed with anger, snatched up another bow and showered hundreds and thousands of arrows upon his foe. Covered in arrows, Jaṭāyu appeared as though he had retreated into his own nest. But, shaking off the clusters of arrows with his wings, he again broke Rāvaṇa’s great bow with his powerful feet. The king of birds, resplendent in his might, scattered the demon’s blazing, fire-like rain of arrows with his wings. He struck down Rāvaṇa’s swift, divine horses—armored in gold and bearing faces like demons—felling them in battle. Then, with a mighty blow, he broke the magnificent chariot, adorned with three banners, blazing like fire, and decorated with jeweled steps. Swiftly, he knocked down the umbrella shining like the full moon, along with the fans and the rakṣasas who held them. With his beak, Jaṭāyu struck and tore off the splendid head of Rāvaṇa’s charioteer. Now, with his bow broken, his chariot destroyed, his horses and charioteer slain, Rāvaṇa fell to the earth, still clutching Vaidehī in his arms. Seeing the demon king fallen, his vehicle in ruins, the beings of the world praised Jaṭāyu, exclaiming, “Well done! Well done!” But Rāvaṇa, perceiving the bird chief exhausted and aged, was delighted. He seized Maithilī, sprang up again, and, placing Janaka’s daughter on his lap, prepared to depart—his only weapon now a sword, all else lost and destroyed. Yet Jaṭāyu, king of the vultures, rose once more. He rushed at Rāvaṇa, blocking his path, and spoke with great brilliance, determined to protect Sītā and fulfill his duty to Rāma, even at the cost of his own life.