The simian host, marshalled under the supreme command of their chieftain, stood in grand array—an assembly vast and formidable, glimmering under Rama’s gaze as the autumn moon amidst stars. Their motion resembled the surge of the ocean, quaking the earth beneath, while dreadful war trumpets, thundering battle drums, and the roar of demon legions split the air with unholy fury.
Yet in the hearts of the vanaras, there burned a sacred fire—faith in their sovereign and the benediction of Rama. In this shared conviction, they saw not mere conflict, but the dawn of dharma—the end of wickedness and the liberation of the world. This unity became their strength, and their war cry—fierce and defiant—rose like a tempest, silencing even the roaring heavens.
The rakshasa host, stunned by the ferocity of this simian response, stood shaken—for they had not foreseen such spirit from beings they deemed beasts. Fluttering flags of many hues, poles of gold and silver inlaid with gems, danced in the wind, casting an enchanting gleam upon the field.
Rama, the son of Dasharatha, stood thoughtful—his heart dwelling on Sita, held in sorrowful captivity. Like the bright star Rohini eclipsed by cruel Mars, the gentle doe-eyed Sita lay within the grasp of Ravana. Rama turned to Lakshmana, his valiant brother, and said: “Behold the city wrought by Vishvakarma’s hand, a marvel of celestial art! Its spires seem to kiss the sky; its palaces, white as drifting clouds, appear as if heaven has descended.”
Around the city, the air resonated with the songs of myriad birds, their melodies woven with the wind’s caress. Forests flourished in luxuriant bloom, bearing fruits and blossoms, their fragrance mingling with the gentle breeze that soothed the spirit. Mighty birds soared overhead, and honey-drunk bees buzzed in harmony, while the koels sang as if to welcome Rama and his host.
The gardens rivalled the famed Chitraratha of the Gandharvas, and the reverent breeze bore with it the music of birds in joyous concert. Rama, beholding all this, turned once more to duty, and assumed the ancient Garuda formation—Syena—wise in both defense and attack.
He gave command thus: “Let Angada, bold in heart, stand at the center of the host. Rishabha shall take the right flank, Gandhamadana the left. I, with Lakshmana, shall hold the vanguard. Let Jambavan, Sushena, and Vegadarsi guard the heart of our array. As Varuna protects the west, so let Sugreeva guard the rear.”
Thus arranged, the vanaras stood, stones and trees in hand, ready to rain fury upon the rakshasa kin. Hills, boulders, and massive trunks were seized, their resolve firm to breach the demon forts.
Rama, radiant with zeal, spoke: “Now that our forces stand strong and well-arrayed, let the demon spy Suka be freed.” Suka, battered and trembling, was released and fled back to Ravana. Seeing his mangled form, Ravana, with a mocking smile, inquired: “Were thy wings clipped by these beasts?”
With folded hands, Suka replied: “O King, I bore your message truly. But these vanaras, wild in rage, clawed and bit with teeth like iron. They permitted no speech. Fierce are they, wrathful and quick to battle. Rama, who slew Viradha, Khara, and Kabandha, has crossed the sea with Sugreeva and now stands with bow drawn near Sita’s prison. He has built a bridge across the mighty ocean—a feat impossible even for gods. Bears and vanaras in multitudes now cover the land like mountains come alive. They are not here for peace, O King, and shall not be deterred.”
At this report, Ravana’s fury ignited. His eyes, like blazing coals, flared as he thundered: “Let the heavens themselves march upon me—I shall not return, Sita! My arrows shall fall on Rama like bees upon spring flowers. Like flames hurled at maddened elephants, they shall torment him. As the sun outshines the stars, so shall I extinguish Rama and his vanaras.”
Calling upon his warriors, he summoned two masters of illusion and cunning—Sarana and Suka, the warrior, not the spy. “Go forth,” he commanded, “and in disguise, behold their host. Measure their number, learn their leaders, their weapons, their formations. Know how they crossed the sea, who leads each division, and how they respond to Rama and Lakshmana. Learn all, and return in haste.”
Thus disguised, they entered the simian army—but beheld a sight immeasurable. From mountain to plain, from forest to stream, the vanaras stood armed, fierce, and countless. Their roars drowned even the sea’s thunder.
But the divine eye of Vibhishana discerned the spies. They were seized and brought before Rama. “O noble prince,” said Vibhishana, “these are spies of Ravana—Sarana and Suka.”
Trembling, they bowed and confessed, “O Rama, our master sent us to survey thy army. We surrender.”
With gentle smile and gracious tone, Rama said, “Have you seen? Have you measured? If not, see freely what remains. Vibhishana shall show you. For we harm not emissaries nor unarmed men—such is the code of dharma.”
Then turning to Vibhishana, he added, “Release them safely. Let them carry my message: ‘Ravana, summon all thy might. Show the power that holds Sita captive. Bring thy full force to the field. For tomorrow, I shall shatter thy palaces and cast down the towers of Lanka.’”
The spies, released in awe, returned to Lanka and said: “O King, Rama has spared us. His radiance and truth saved our lives. He stands with Lakshmana, Sugreeva, and Vibhishana—heroes equal to the Lokapalas. These four alone could lift Lanka from its place. His army is immeasurable. O King, abandon this ruinous pride. Return Sita with honour and avert the doom that hastens toward us.”
Though their words rang true, they pierced the demon’s pride. Yet the wheel of fate had turned, and the stage was set for cosmic reckoning—swift to unfold, glorious to behold.
