Goaded so by Shurpanakha, brave Khara, among the rakshasas, speaks still harsher words: “This anger of mine, born of the insult to you, is beyond measure; I cannot hold it in, as one cannot hold in the surging salt sea. I do not count Rama for his valour; he is a man whose life is ending, killed by his own misdeeds, and will lose his life today. Hold back these tears and give up your agitation. I will send Rama with his brother to Yama’s abode. Today, rakshasi, you will drink the hot red blood of Rama, lying on the ground with his life ebbing, struck by my axe.” Delighted at the words from Khara’s mouth, she foolishly praises her brother again, the best of rakshasas. First reproached and then praised by her, Khara says to the commander of his army, named Dushana: “Gentle one, get ready the fourteen thousand rakshasas who follow my will, of terrible speed, who never turn back in battle, dark as blue clouds, who make sport of harming the world, eager for every exploit. Bring me my chariot at once, gentle one, and bows, bright arrows, swords and many kinds of sharp spears. I want to go out at the head of the great-souled Paulastyas to kill the insolent Rama, skilled in battle as you are.”
As he speaks, Dushana announces the great chariot, the colour of the sun, yoked with fine dappled horses. Like a peak of Meru, adorned with refined gold, with golden wheels, spacious, its pole of beryl, covered with golden fish, flowers, trees, mountains, moons and suns, auspicious flocks of birds and stars, with banner and sword, adorned with fine bells, yoked with good horses: Khara mounts it in his anger. Looking at that great army with its chariots, shields, weapons and banners, Khara and Dushana say to all the rakshasas: “March out.” Then that rakshasa army, with terrible shields, weapons and banners, goes out from Janasthana with a great roar and great speed: fourteen thousand very terrible rakshasas, following Khara’s will, holding hammers, axes, spears, very sharp hatchets, swords and discuses shining in their hands, javelins, lances, terrible iron bars, enormous bows, maces, swords, pestles and thunderbolts, terrible to see. Seeing those terrible rakshasas rushing out, Khara’s chariot follows a little behind. Knowing Khara’s wish, the charioteer urges on the dappled horses adorned with refined gold. Driven quickly, the chariot of Khara, slayer of enemies, fills the directions and intermediate directions with its sound. Khara of the harsh voice, his fury grown, hastening to kill his enemy like Death, roaring again, urges on his charioteer, very mighty, like a cloud raining stones.
Press › to begin with verse 1.