As Rāma stood amidst the devastation, his heart ablaze with anguish and fury, he turned to those around him and demanded, “If you do not tell me today of Sītā, whose face is like the moon…” His gaze burned with such intensity that it seemed to scorch everything in its path. Searching desperately, Rāma’s eyes fell upon the ground, where he saw the great footprint of a rākṣasa. Nearby, he noticed the scattered tracks left by Sītā, terrified and longing for Rāma as she fled here and there, pursued relentlessly by the rākṣasa. Observing the footprints, he realized how she had been chased, her delicate steps intermingled with the monstrous prints of her captor. As he continued, Rāma found more signs of chaos: a broken bow, a shattered quiver, and a chariot splintered into many pieces. Alarmed, he called out to his beloved brother, Lakṣmaṇa, “See, Lakṣmaṇa, the golden drops of Vaidehī’s ornaments scattered, and various garlands. Look, Saumitri, the earth is covered everywhere with bright drops like molten gold, and strange drops of blood.” His voice trembled with dread, “I think, Lakṣmaṇa, that Vaidehī has been struck, torn apart, or perhaps even eaten by rākṣasas who can assume any form. Because of Sītā, O son of Sumitrā, a fierce battle took place here between two quarrelling rākṣasas.” Rāma’s eyes swept over the battlefield, questioning, “Gentle one, whose great bow, adorned with pearls and gems, beautiful and splendid, lies broken here upon the ground? Child, is this the bow of the rākṣasas or perhaps of the gods, radiant like the rising sun and studded with cat’s-eye gems? 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?” He continued his anguished questioning, “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 grief turned to wrath. “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?” His despair deepened, “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.” Rāma’s resolve hardened. “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 declared fiercely, “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.” His determination was absolute, “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, Rāma’s eyes burned red with anger, his lips quivered, and he fastened his bark garment and deerskin, binding up his matted locks. In that state, the wise Rāma, furious as he was, shone like Rudra himself when he destroyed Tripura. Then, Rāma took his bow from Lakṣmaṇa, drew it tight, and seized a blazing, terrible arrow, like a venomous serpent. The illustrious Rāma, conqueror of enemy cities, fitted the arrow to his bow, and, enraged like the fire at the end of an age, spoke these words, ready to unleash the fury of his soul upon the world.