In the deep abodes of Rasātala, where shadows stretched long and the bloodlines of daityas ran proud, there reigned three brothers born of Sukesha and Devavati—Mali, Sumāli, and the wise and battle-seasoned Malyavantha. Of these, only one now walked among the living, the venerable Malyavantha, a towering remnant of a bygone age.
More than an uncle to Rāvaṇa from the maternal line, Malyavantha was the founding mind behind the mighty Lankan kingdom. He had drawn the lines of its citadel, shaped its ramparts, and guided the demon dynasty through epochs of war and glory. Ever the strategist, he had fought beside Daityas and Dānavas, never once tasting defeat. His counsel was revered across the lower worlds; his allegiance ever firm to his kin and clan.
Yet when the wheel of destiny turned, and the winds bore Rāma to the southern seas, it was this seasoned elder who urged caution. “Seek truce with the scion of Raghu,” he advised. “Preserve thy land and thy life.”
But Rāvaṇa, ablaze with the arrogance of unshaken rule, turned upon him. With fire in his eyes and scorn in his voice, he dismissed the wisdom of his elder. “Your words favor the foe,” he spat. “Rāma is a mere man, alone, allied with forest beasts. How do you name him formidable? I, the emperor of demons, sovereign of Lanka, scion of strength—I bow not to the echoes of fear. You, my kinsman, are blinded by jealousy, perhaps swayed by subtler hands.”
And so Malyavantha, stricken but composed, gave his blessings—”Victory to the king”—and withdrew, burdened by the weight of impending ruin.
With war upon his doorstep, Rāvaṇa turned his might to preparation. To the eastern gate he assigned Prahastha; the southern bastion he entrusted to the fierce Mahodara and Mahāpārśva. The west he gave to his sorcerous son, Indrajit, a black magician and wielder of astral powers. The northern gate he guarded himself, flanked by Suka and Sārana, shrewd minds of many campaigns. At the heart of his force stood Virūpākṣa, a demon of dreadful might, commanding the central ranks.
Thus, the king took his rest, certain in his strength, blind to the gathering storm.
Meanwhile, across the sea of destiny, Rāma stood with his host—Lakṣmaṇa, Sugrīva, Hanumān, Jāmbavān, Vibhīṣaṇa, Aṅgada, Sushena, Mainda, Dvivida, Gavākṣa, Kumuda, Nala, Panasa—and resolved: here lies Lanka, unconquered by Deva, Yakṣa, or Gandharva. Here dwells the dread Rāvaṇa, and here must fall his pride.
Vibhīṣaṇa, once a prince of Lanka, now its righteous betrayer, stepped forth. “My spies—Anala, Panasa, Sampāti, Pramathi—have returned. None saw them, for they walk unseen. They report the stratagems of the king: his gates, his generals, his numbers. Ten thousand elephants, an equal number of chariots, horses by the thousand, foot soldiers by the crore—all bound by blood oath to Rāvaṇa. Each commander commands a host of ten lakh. This is the force we face.”
Yet Vibhīṣaṇa added, “Do not mistake me for one who trembles. I know the gods themselves cannot halt your advance, Rāma. Now, shape your army as of old, and strike the demon world.”
Thus, Rāma spoke: Neela, commander of simian hosts, shall charge the eastern gate and face Prahastha. The southern gate shall fall to Aṅgada, son of Vāli, in battle with Mahodara and Mahāpārśva. The western walls shall quake before Hanumān, blessed of Vāyu, peerless in might and virtue. As for the north, Rāma himself shall face Rāvaṇa—the breaker of peace, tormentor of sages, bearer of boons, tyrant of the worlds.
Sugrīva the bold, Jāmbavān the wise, and Vibhīṣaṇa the righteous would remain amidst the core of the force. “Let no monkey assume human form,” commanded Rāma, “for the strength of the monkey-folk lies in their nature. Only I, Lakṣmaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa, and his four ministers shall bear the shape of men. This is our way.”
He scaled Mount Suvela, from whence he surveyed the land now brimming with his monkey legions. His heart remained firm, his mission righteous. The fate of Rāvaṇa now lay in motion, and Lanka had drawn near to her day of reckoning.
