It was not long before he heard the Rakshas coming through the jungle after him, for she had awakened and found him gone.
Nearer and nearer she came, and then the Prince turned and waved the crooked stick. At once a river rolled between him and the Rakshas.
Without pause the Rakshas plunged into the river and struck out boldly, and soon she reached the other side.
On she came again close after Ramchundra. Again he turned and waved the staff. At once a thick screen of trees sprang up between him and the hag. The Rakshas brushed them aside this way and that as though they had been nothing but twigs.
On she came, and again the Prince waved the staff. A high mountain arose, but the Rakshas climbed it, and it did not take her long to do this.
Now she was so close that Ramchundra could hear her panting, but the edge of the jungle had been reached. He turned and cast the Rakshas’ hair behind him. Immediately the whole jungle burst into fire, and the Rakshas was burned up in the flames.
Soon after the Prince reached the palace and hastened out into the garden. There sat his mother weeping, with the crows gathered about her. When she saw Ramchundra she sprang to her feet with a scream of joy and ran to him and took him in her arms.
“My son! my son! I thought you had perished!” she cried. “Did you meet the Rakshas?”
“Not only did I meet her, but I have slain her and brought back with me that which will restore my uncles to their proper shapes,” answered the Prince.
He then dipped his fingers into the jar he carried and sprinkled the magic water over the crows. At once the enchantment was broken, and the twenty Princes stood there, tall and handsome, in their own proper shapes.