शुक्रशापेन दण्डराज्यस्य नाशः

After a while the divine seer of boundless splendour heard what had happened, and, hungry, he came back to his hermitage with his disciples around him. There he saw Arajā, wretched and covered in dust, like moonlight at dawn seized by the eclipse and shining no more. Anger rose in him, the fiercer for his hunger, and as though he would burn up the three worlds he said to his disciples: "See the dreadful calamity, like the flame of an angry fire, that is coming on perverse Daṇḍa, who does not know himself. The end has come for this evil-minded wretch and his followers, for he has dared to touch the blazing flame of the fire." The image of Arajā is a poignant one: as moonlight swallowed by eclipse fades at daybreak, so she had lost her radiance. Her very name, Arajā, means "free of dust", and now she lies covered in dust; the poet quietly turns the meaning of her name upside down. That Śukra's anger was sharpened by hunger is a human touch. Daṇḍa's deed was like touching a flame, and whoever touches fire is burned. Śukra had been Daṇḍa's family priest, so his curse is not only a father's anger but a guru's justice; a disciple's violation of his guru's daughter is a double crime.

"Since he has committed a sin so full of horror, the fool shall reap the fruit of his sinful deed. Within seven nights this king, whose conduct is sin, shall meet his death, together with his sons, his army and his mounts. For a hundred yojanas on every side, the chastiser of Pāka shall burn this evil man's realm with a great rain of dust. Every being here, moving and unmoving, is destroyed on every side by that great rain of dust. As far as Daṇḍa's realm extends, everything that stands shall for seven nights vanish from sight beneath the falling dust." The curse reaches far: not the king alone but his sons, his army, his mounts, the whole country and every creature in it. The people share the fruit of the king's sin; this is the ancient principle of royal dharma already seen in the story of Śambūka. Śukra even speaks of the destruction as though it had already happened, so certain is his curse. The punishment is a strange one, neither fire nor flood but dust that buries everything, and "within seven nights" shows how swiftly it will fall. Śukra does not kill with his own hand; he names Indra, the chastiser of Pāka, as the one who will act, for even the gods follow a seer's word.

With that, his eyes red with anger, he told the people who lived in the hermitage, "Go and stay at the borders of the country." Hearing Uśanas's words, the hermitage-dwellers left that realm and made their home outside it. Then, having spoken to the sages, he said to Arajā: "Stay here in the hermitage, foolish girl, and keep your mind composed. Enjoy this lake a yojana across, shining with lovely lustre, and be free of distress; wait here for the time to pass. Whatever creatures come to stay near you that night shall never be harmed by the rain of dust." Hearing the brahmin-seer's command, Arajā, Bhārgava's daughter, in deep grief, said to her father, "So be it." Śukra calls his daughter "foolish" in his sorrow that she could not ward Daṇḍa off, yet he protects her and all who stay near her, so that even within the Daṇḍaka forest one holy spot remains. Her obedience is told in the single word "So be it", and the depth of her sorrow in "deeply grieved". Śukra sends the innocent people of the hermitage away first, since the curse is meant for Daṇḍa's realm, not for the blameless; even in anger he does not lose his judgement.

Having said this, Bhārgava went to live elsewhere. And within seven days, just as the expounder of Brahman had declared, the king's realm with its servants, army and mounts was turned to ashes. That realm of Daṇḍa, O king, lying between the Vindhya and the Śaivala, was cursed by the brahmin-seer when that unrighteous act had been done, and from that time on, Kākutstha, it has been called the Daṇḍaka forest. And because ascetics settled here, it became Janasthāna. "I have now told you all you asked me, Rāghava." So the question Rāma had asked in the previous sarga, how that forest came to be deserted, is fully answered. The land bears Daṇḍa's name, a memorial of the king's crime. Rāma had himself lived there during his exile and had slain Khara, Dūṣaṇa and the other rākṣasas in Janasthāna, which gives this story a special weight for him. It also answers why Śveta's place of penance was deserted: after the curse that region was left without beasts or birds.

"The hour for the evening worship is passing, hero," said Agastya. "All these great seers, with full water-pots on every side, have offered water, tiger among men, and are worshipping the sun. With these foremost knowers of Brahman the sacred text has been recited. The sun has set, Rāma; go and touch the water." Agastya breaks off his story here because the time of the evening twilight worship has come, and the duty of dharma comes before even a story. The seers carrying full pots of water and standing before the sun make a picture of evening in the hermitage. The next sarga opens with Rāma performing that worship, and so the sarga shows the end of the day together with the end of the tale.