When the demon king Ravana came to know that Akshakumara, his beloved son, was slain by the mighty son of Vayu, his heart burned with rage. Yet, gathering his composure, he called upon the valiant Indrajit, peer of the celestials, and thus addressed him:
“O Indrajit, master of divine weapons, born of my loins and rival to the gods! Thou knowest all arrows, art skilled in every weapon, and thy penance and sacrifice have pleased even Brahma. By his grace, thou hast gained boons, and thy fame hath spread across the three worlds. Devendra himself fell before thee, and the Maruts and other celestials felt the weight of thy might. Not one soul hath bested thee in battle. Thy intellect, the power in thy arms, and the pride of divine blessings have made thee invincible.
Thou knowest what must be done, when to do it, and where it must be done. In the theatre of war, thou knowest not defeat. Thy arrows, thy boons, and thy name are known to all warriors and commanders. Thy spiritual merit stands about thee like a radiant shield. In times of battle, my mind rests in peace knowing thou art near. Wherever thou dost tread, victory follows like a tamed beast.
The force of our kinkaras, elite troops, and their armory hath been laid to waste. Thy dear brother Akshakumara hath fallen. O slayer of foes, my trust is placed in thee. Estimate the strength of this mighty monkey, measure his power against thine, and act swiftly. Thou, the supreme archer and wielder of weapons, need only set foot on the battlefield for the foe to perish and peace to return. Proceed with care—the outcome of this war rests on thee.
Let thy deeds reflect thy former glory. O Hero, armies and weapons abound, yet they crumble before this simian’s might. His speed surpasses the wind, and his fury outmatches fire. Normal arms cannot harm him. Think well, and plan with precision. Rely not on mere skill of arms, but bring forth divine weapons and end this trial without delay. What I speak may seem unfit, but in dire moments, we must uphold the king’s dharma. The first rule of kingship is mastery in warcraft; the second, humility and flexibility in pursuit of victory.
Then Indrajit, equal to Indra himself, heard these words of Ravana and resolved to engage the foe by any means to secure triumph. Circumambulating his father with reverence and cheered by the gathered host, he marched forth to war. Radiant, imperious, and steeped in mystic power, he moved like the ocean surging through mountain valleys.
Mounted upon a chariot drawn by phantom tigers, swift as Garuda, he advanced with dreadful leaps. A master of celestial weapons, he had shattered many foes with his divine arrows. Nearing the battlefield, Hanuman, son of the Wind, gauged Indrajit’s might by the sound and speed of his chariot. He, ever eager to match worthy foes, stood ready.
Indrajit, with a great bow in hand, advanced upon Hanuman. Ill omens filled the air. Yet the sages, yakshas, siddhas, and birds hailed Hanuman with cries of joy, confident in his triumph. As Indrajit twanged his bow, its thunderous echo shook the sky.
The fearless, swift warriors—Hanuman and Indrajit—clashed like the king of gods and the king of demons. Indrajit lost arrows with terrible force, yet all were in vain. Hanuman, with unmatched speed, evaded them, calculating his path by the arrow’s hum and the tremor of air. For long, he soared beyond reach, then descended to confront the shafts with defiant arms.
In flight, in maneuver, in grace, they matched each other, each unwearied, each a wonder to behold. No flaw was found in their art of war. Yet none gained the upper hand. Indrajit, dismayed for the first time, paused and reflected. He saw the futility of ordinary arms against Hanuman.
Then, summoning his might, he invoked the Brahmastra, a weapon of unyielding power. Bound by its spell, Hanuman was seized. Knowing its origin and sanctity, Hanuman, though capable of escape, submitted out of reverence. He prayed to Brahma, to Indra, and Vayu, his father, saying:
“I am bound not by defeat, but by choice—to honor Brahma’s boon. This is not shame, but opportunity. I shall face Ravana at last.”
Thus, he remained still, pondering his path. The demons, triumphant, gathered about him, jeering in joy, believing their master’s will fulfilled. They tied him with ropes of jute and cotton cloth, unaware of the sacred law—that no mantras may bind where Brahmastra has been.
In that moment, the spell of Brahmastra faded. Indrajit knew it—the sacred weapon’s force undone by foolish hands. For once the divine binds are disrupted, no other celestial weapon shall take effect.
But Hanuman, silent and composed, allowed the illusion to persist. The demons, cruel and coarse, dragged him through the streets to the palace of Ravana. Indrajit brought him before the king’s court.
They’re standing Hanuman, mighty as an elephant, pulled by fiendish hands. Ravana, seated in his resplendent hall of gems and gold, cast a fiery gaze upon the captive. His ministers muttered among themselves:
“Who is this creature? Whence has he come? Who sent him, and what mission brings him here?”
Some clamored, “Kill him!” Others cried, “Burn him! Eat him alive!”
Then Hanuman, calm and steadfast, spoke aloud:
“I am the envoy of Sugriva, ruler of the vanaras. By his command, I have come.”
So came the moment Hanuman long awaited—to meet the king of demons face to face, and speak the words that would shatter the pride of Lanka. This meeting would prove fateful, opening the gates of doom for the rakshasas and heralding the glory of the Ikshvaku and Mithila lines.
A turning point it would be, reshaping the order of the cosmos itself.