Rama, his heart heavy and his mind troubled, surveyed the battlefield with Lakshmana at his side. “Child,” he began, “is this bow before us the weapon of the Rakshasas, or perhaps of the gods themselves? It shines with the brilliance of the rising sun, studded with cat’s-eye gems. Whose golden armor lies shattered on the earth? Whose royal umbrella, adorned with divine garlands and a hundred ribs, has fallen here?” He continued, his voice growing more anxious, “Gentle one, whose broken staff is this, lying on the ground? And these Rakshasas, with ghastly faces and golden chest-plates—terrifying in form and massive in body—whose are these, struck down in battle? Whose war-banner, blazing like fire, lies discarded? Whose war chariot, cast aside and broken, is this, O gentle one? The arrows, adorned with gold, are scattered like the wheels of chariots.” Turning to Lakshmana, Rama asked, “Whose are these dreadful arrows, scattered about? Look, the two quivers are shattered and filled with arrows. Whose charioteer lies here, struck down, still clutching the whip and goad? This is surely the path of some Rakshasa.” As he gazed upon the devastation, Rama’s grief deepened. “See, gentle one, how my enmity with those Rakshasas—fierce-hearted and shape-shifting—has multiplied a hundredfold, bringing only death. If Vaidehi has been taken, killed, or devoured—if the ascetic Sita has been lost—then righteousness does not protect her, seized in this great forest. If Vaidehi has been devoured or carried off, Lakshmana, who in this world, gentle one, even among the gods, could bring me joy?” Rama’s sorrow gave way to a burning anger. “Lakshmana, 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, Lakshmana, how my virtue has become a fault for me; today, it will be the destruction of all beings and the Rakshasas.” He spoke with a fierce resolve, “Just as the great sun, when risen, withdraws the light of the moon, so, withdrawing all virtues, my power will shine forth. Neither Yakshas, nor Gandharvas, nor Pisachas, nor Rakshasas, nor Kinnaras, nor humans, Lakshmana, shall find happiness. See, Lakshmana, 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, fire and wind vanished, and the radiance of the sun concealed; with mountain peaks shattered, lakes drying up, trees, creepers, and thickets destroyed, and even 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 Sita to me unharmed.” Rama’s anger blazed. “In this very moment, O Saumitri, they shall witness my might; no beings, O Lakshmana, shall ascend to the heavens. Behold today, O Lakshmana, 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, yakshas, and even of the rakshasas will fall in many ways, shattered by torrents of arrows. Today I shall make these worlds lawless with my shafts.” His voice thundered, “If the lords do not return Sita to me, whether she is stolen or dead, if they do not restore my beloved Vaidehi 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, Rama’s eyes reddened with anger, his lips quivering. He fastened his bark garment and deerskin, and bound up his matted locks. In that state, the body of wise Rama, furious as he was, shone like Rudra when he destroyed Tripura. Then Rama, taking his bow from Lakshmana and drawing it tight, selected a blazing, terrible arrow, like a venomous serpent. The illustrious Rama, conqueror of enemy cities, fitted the arrow to his bow, and, enraged like the fire at the end of an age, spoke these words: “Just as old age, death, time, and fate are never turned back among all beings, O Lakshmana, so too, joined with wrath, I am surely unstoppable. If today they do not return Sita, the faultless Maithili, as she was before, then I shall overturn the world of gods, Gandharvas, men, and serpents, along with its mountains.” Now begins the sixty-fifth sarga in the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Aranyakanda. At that time, Rama, tormented by the grief of Sita’s abduction, burned like the annihilating fire at the end of the world, fit to destroy all beings. He gazed with his bow strung, breathing heavily again and again, desiring to burn the entire world, just as Shiva does at the end of an age. Lakshmana, seeing Rama enraged as never before, spoke with folded hands, his face parched with anxiety. “Once gentle and self-controlled, devoted to the welfare of all beings, you should not abandon your nature by succumbing to anger. Beauty resides in the moon, radiance in the sun, movement in the wind, and patience on earth; likewise, supreme fame is ever established in you. You should not destroy the worlds for the offense of one; I do not yet know whose battle-chariot this is, broken as it is.” Thus, Lakshmana sought to calm Rama, whose grief and rage threatened to consume the world itself.