Then, stricken with grief and blazing with anger, Rāma, the noble son of Daśaratha, stood before a massive rocky outcrop and addressed it fiercely: “Burned by the fire of my arrows, you shall be reduced to ashes. You will become unapproachable everywhere, devoid of grass, trees, and leaves. Or, Lakṣmaṇa, I will dry up this very river before us—unless today you reveal to me the whereabouts of Sītā, whose face is as radiant as the moon.” Rāma’s fury was such that his very gaze seemed to scorch the earth. As his wrathful eyes swept the ground, Rāma suddenly noticed an enormous footprint—a rākṣasa’s—pressed into the soil. Nearby, he saw the smaller, scattered marks left by Sītā, who, terrified and longing for her beloved, had run desperately in all directions. The tracks told a tale of pursuit: Sītā, the gentle Vaidehī, chased by a rākṣasa through the forest. Amidst the chaos, Rāma found further signs—a broken bow, a shattered quiver, and the remains of a chariot, splintered into many pieces. Alarmed, he called out to his dear brother, “Look, Lakṣmaṇa! The golden drops from Vaidehī’s ornaments are scattered here, along with various garlands. See how the earth is strewn with these bright fragments, shining like molten gold, and with strange drops of blood.” Distress deepened in Rāma’s heart. “I fear, Lakṣmaṇa, that Vaidehī has been struck, torn apart, or perhaps even devoured by shape-shifting rākṣasas. Because of her, a terrible battle must have raged here between two quarrelling rākṣasas. Gentle brother, whose splendid bow, adorned with pearls and gems, lies broken before us? Is it the bow of a rākṣasa, or perhaps of the gods themselves, radiant as the rising sun and studded with cat’s-eye gems? Whose golden armor, now shattered and fallen to earth, is this? And whose royal umbrella, with a hundred ribs and garlanded with divinity, lies here? Whose broken staff is this, and who are these Kharas—monstrous in form, with ghastly faces and golden chest-plates—struck down in the battle? Whose war-banner, shining like blazing fire, lies in ruin? Whose chariot, cast aside and broken, do you see, Lakṣmaṇa? Arrows adorned with gold are scattered like wheels from a wrecked chariot. Whose dreadful arrows are these, lying about? See, the two quivers are shattered and spent. Whose charioteer is this, struck down, still clutching his whip and goad? Clearly, this is the path of some rākṣasa.” His voice grew heavy. “See, gentle one, how my enmity with these fierce-hearted, shape-shifting rākṣasas has multiplied a hundredfold, bringing destruction in its wake. If Vaidehī has been taken, killed, or devoured—if ascetic Sītā is lost—then righteousness itself has failed to protect her in this vast, wild forest. If she has been devoured or carried off, Lakṣmaṇa, who in this world, even among the gods, could bring me joy? Even the lord of all beings, heroic and compassionate, might be disregarded by all creatures out of ignorance. Surely, the lords of the gods think me weak because I am gentle, devoted to the welfare of the world, self-controlled, and compassionate. See, Lakṣmaṇa, how my very virtue has turned against me, becoming my fault. Today, it will bring about the destruction of all beings and the rākṣasas.” Rāma’s anger blazed ever brighter. “Just as the great sun, when it rises, withdraws the light of the moon, so now my power will shine forth, withdrawing all gentleness. Neither Yakṣas, nor Gandharvas, nor Piśācas, nor Rākṣasas, nor Kinnaras, nor humans—none shall find happiness, Lakṣmaṇa. Behold, the sky will be filled with my weapons and arrows; today I will make it impassable for all who roam the three worlds. The hosts of planets will be restrained, the moon obstructed, fire and wind will vanish, and even the radiance of the sun will be concealed. Mountain peaks will shatter, lakes will dry up, trees, creepers, and thickets will be destroyed, and the ocean itself will vanish. I shall bring the three worlds, joined with the force of Time and Death, to utter ruin; the lords of the world will not return Sītā to me unharmed.” Turning to Lakṣmaṇa, Rāma’s resolve was unshakable. “In this very moment, Saumitri, all beings shall witness my might. None shall ascend to the heavens. Behold today, Lakṣmaṇa, the world cast into turmoil and disorder, pierced through by arrows no living being can withstand. For the sake of Maithilī, I shall destroy the demons and fiends; the gods themselves shall witness the power of my wrathful arrows. Today the gods will see my arrows, released in anger and flying far, and neither gods, nor titans, nor fiends, nor demons shall remain when, out of my fury, the three worlds are destroyed. The realms of gods, demons, yakṣas, and rākṣasas will fall, shattered by torrents of my arrows. I shall make these worlds lawless. If the lords do not return Sītā to me—whether she is stolen or dead, if they do not restore my beloved Vaidehī in such a state—I shall destroy the entire world, the threefold universe and all that moves and does not move, tormenting it with my arrows until I see her again.” Having spoken thus, Rāma’s eyes blazed red with anger, his lips quivered, and he fastened his bark garment and deerskin about himself, binding up his matted locks. In that fierce and wrathful state, the wise Rāma shone with the terrible splendor of Rudra himself, as when Rudra once destroyed the triple city of Tripura.