Enraged and desperate, Rāma stood at the riverbank, his heart burning with grief and fury. He declared, “You shall become unapproachable everywhere, stripped of grass, trees, and leaves—or today, Lakṣmaṇa, I will dry up this river altogether, unless you tell me where Sītā is, whose face shines like the moon.” His anger was so intense that it seemed to scorch the river with his gaze. As Rāma searched the ground, he discovered the large footprint of a rākṣasa, left behind as the terrified Sītā, longing for Rāma, had fled in panic. He saw the tracks of Vaidehī, pursued relentlessly by the rākṣasa, and noted the scattered footprints—evidence of Sītā’s frantic flight and the rākṣasa’s pursuit. Nearby lay a broken bow, a shattered quiver, and a chariot splintered into many pieces. Alarmed by these signs of violence, Rāma turned to his beloved brother, Lakṣmaṇa, and said, “Look, Lakṣmaṇa, here are the golden drops from Vaidehī’s ornaments, scattered about, and various garlands.” He pointed out, “See, Saumitri, the earth everywhere is covered with bright drops, shining like molten gold, and strange drops of blood. I fear, Lakṣmaṇa, that Vaidehī has been struck, torn apart, or perhaps even eaten by rākṣasas who can assume any form.” Rāma observed the aftermath of a fierce battle, saying, “Because of Sītā, O son of Sumitrā, a terrible fight occurred here between two quarrelling rākṣasas.” He wondered aloud, “Gentle one, whose great bow, adorned with pearls and gems, beautiful and splendid, lies broken here upon the ground? Is this the bow of the rākṣasas, or perhaps of the gods, radiant like the rising sun and studded with cat’s-eye gems?” He continued, “Whose golden armor, shattered and fallen to the earth, is this? And whose royal umbrella, with a hundred ribs and adorned with divine garlands? Gentle one, whose broken staff is this, lying on the ground? And these Kharas, with ghastly faces and golden chest-plates—terrifying in form, massive in body—whose are these, struck down in battle? And whose war-banner, shining like blazing fire, lies here? Whose war chariot is this, cast aside and broken, O gentle one? The arrows, adorned with gold, are scattered like chariot wheels. Lakṣmaṇa, whose are these slain arrows, dreadful to behold, scattered about? See, the two quivers are shattered and filled with arrows. Whose charioteer is this, struck down, still clutching the whip and goad? This is clearly the path of some rākṣasa.” Rāma’s anger grew as he said, “See, gentle one, how my enmity with those rākṣasas, fierce-hearted and shape-shifting, has become a hundredfold, bringing death. If Vaidehī has been taken, killed, or devoured—if the ascetic Sītā has been lost—then righteousness does not protect her, seized in this great forest. If Vaidehī has been devoured or carried off, Lakṣmaṇa, who in this world, gentle one, even among the gods, could bring me joy?” He lamented, “Lakṣmaṇa, 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 good of the world, self-controlled, and compassionate. See, Lakṣmaṇa, how my virtue has turned into a fault for me; today, it will be the destruction of all beings and the rākṣasas. Just as the great sun, when risen, withdraws the light of the moon, so, withdrawing all virtues, my power will shine forth.” His wrath threatened all existence: “Neither Yakṣas, nor Gandharvas, nor Piśācas, nor rākṣasas, nor Kinnaras, nor humans, Lakṣmaṇa, shall find happiness. See, Lakṣmaṇa, the sky filled with my weapons and arrows; today I will make it impassable for all who roam the three worlds. With the hosts of planets restrained, the moon obstructed, the fire and wind vanished, and the radiance of the sun concealed—with mountain peaks shattered, lakes drying up, trees, creepers, and thickets destroyed, and the ocean itself vanished—I shall bring the three worlds, joined with the force of Time and Death, to ruin; the lords of the world will not return Sītā to me unharmed.” He vowed, “In this very moment, O Saumitri, they shall witness my might; no beings, O Lakṣmaṇa, shall ascend to the heavens. Behold today, O Lakṣmaṇa, the world thrown into turmoil and disorder, pierced through with arrows impossible for living beings to withstand. For the sake of Maithili, I shall destroy the demons and fiends; the gods themselves shall see the power of my wrathful arrows. Today the gods shall 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 even of the rākṣasas will fall in many ways, shattered by torrents of arrows; today I shall make these worlds lawless with my shafts.” “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 with all that moves and does not move, and with my arrows I shall torment it until I see her.” Having spoken thus, his eyes reddened with anger, his lips quivering, Rāma fastened his bark garment and deerskin, and bound up his matted locks. In that state, the body of wise Rāma, furious as he was, shone like Rudra when he destroyed Tripura. Then, Rāma took his bow from Lakṣmaṇa, drew it taut, and seized a blazing, terrible arrow, as fierce as a venomous serpent, ready to unleash his wrath upon the world.