Journeying eastward for three krośas, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa made their way through the dense and wild Krauncha forest, drawing near to the hermitage of the sage Matanga. The forest around them was dreadful and foreboding, filled with many terrifying beasts and birds; it teemed with a multitude of trees, their mighty trunks crowding together, making the woodlands thick and impenetrable. As the sons of Daśaratha pressed on, they came upon a mountain where, nestled in its side, they saw a cave as deep and dark as the underworld itself, perpetually shrouded in gloom. Approaching this cave, the valiant brothers, not far from its entrance, caught sight of a rakshasi—a fearsome demoness—of enormous size and hideously distorted features. She was terrible to behold: dreadful, frightening in her appearance, with a sagging belly, sharp fangs, fierce countenance, and rough, harsh skin. She was a devourer of wild and fearsome creatures, monstrous in form, her hair wild and disheveled. There, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa gazed upon her. She drew near to the two warriors as they walked, with Lakṣmaṇa leading. Suddenly, she reached out and seized Lakṣmaṇa, saying, “Come, let us enjoy together,” and embraced him tightly. With a voice thick with desire, she declared, “I am Ayomukhi by name; you are fortunate and dear to me, O hero. In these mountain wilds and along the riverbanks, you shall enjoy a long life with me.” But Lakṣmaṇa, enraged at her words and actions, drew his sword. With the swiftness and might of a foe-destroyer, he struck, severing her ears, nose, and breasts. Howling in pain, her voice hoarse and wild, the dreadful rakshasi fled, disappearing into the depths of the forest from which she had come. With Ayomukhi gone, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, destroyers of their enemies, pressed onward into the dense forest, their vigor undiminished. Then Lakṣmaṇa, steadfast, radiant, and pure, spoke to his elder brother with joined palms, his heart troubled: “My arm throbs fiercely, my mind is disturbed, and I see many unfavorable omens. Noble one, be prepared and heed my words, for these signs foretell alarm. Even the dreadful Vañjulaka bird cries out, as if proclaiming our victory in battle.” As they moved forward, searching with determination, a great and terrible sound suddenly arose, echoing through the forest as if to shatter it. The noise seemed to fill the entire woodland, swirling and enveloping all with the force of the wind. Eager to discover the source, Rāma, sword in hand and accompanied by Lakṣmaṇa, beheld a mighty-bodied rakshasa with a vast chest. They approached this being, who stood before them—headless and neckless, with a mouth upon his belly. This was Kabandha. Kabandha’s form was monstrous: his body was covered with sharp, bristling hair, towering like a great mountain, dark as a rain-laden cloud, and his voice thundered like the storm. His brow blazed like a mass of fire, and from his chest shone a single, fearsome eye. His arms, each a yojana in length, stretched wide, and his fangs jutted fiercely as he licked his huge mouth. He devoured bears, lions, deer, and birds, snatching them with his terrible hands, dragging and pulling the leaders of herds to their doom. Blocking the path of the two brothers, Kabandha stood at a distance, his immense form dreadful and terrifying, his many arms making him look like a massive tree trunk. Then, stretching out his enormous arms to their fullest extent, Kabandha seized both Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa at once, gripping them with irresistible force. Though both brothers were armed with swords and strong bows, fierce and mighty, they found themselves helpless, dragged along by the demon’s strength. Yet, in that moment, Rāma’s courage did not waver; he remained undisturbed. Lakṣmaṇa, however, young and without support, was shaken. In distress, he cried out to his elder brother: “See me, O hero, helpless and fallen under the power of this rakshasa. You alone must escape, Rāghava; free yourself. Offer me as a sacrifice to the spirits and flee as you wish. You will soon reach Vaidehī, I am certain; and, O descendant of Kakutstha, you will regain the kingdom of your fathers and grandfathers. When you are established in the kingdom, always remember me.” Hearing these words, Rāma replied, “Do not be afraid in vain, O hero; one such as you should not despair.” As they spoke, the cruel Kabandha approached them even closer. Then Kabandha, the mighty-armed and foremost among Dānavas, demanded, “Who are you two, with shoulders like bulls, bearing great swords and bows? You have come to this dreadful place, destined by fate to fall under my gaze. Tell me, what is your purpose here, and why have you come? I remain here, tormented by hunger, and you appear before me armed like bulls with sharp horns. You have come swiftly to me; for you, life is now hard to obtain.” Hearing these words from the wicked Kabandha, Rāma, his mouth parched, turned to Lakṣmaṇa and said, “Having encountered this calamity, harsher than any before, O truly valiant one—” and thus the brothers faced the next great trial of their journey.