The demon hosts, cast into disarray, could no longer restrain the storming vanara legions whose fury shattered the silence of Lanka. Scattered in confusion, they fled in clusters, wailing to their king that the golden city was under siege.
Ravana, lord of fearsome might, made swift arrangements to repel the threat. Ascending the towering ramparts of his palace—whence the eye could wander hundreds of leagues in all directions—he beheld a sight most perplexing.
Innumerable monkey bands had overrun the forests, the mountains, the caves—within and without—till the whole earth was cloaked in a living tide of fur and fury. Black seemed the ground, with every span of soil seized by simian hosts. The king, lost in thought, could devise no certain means to rout them.
Turning his gaze, he beheld Rama, radiant with the quiet fire of sure victory, encircled by mighty monkey warriors. Rama advanced, his heart stirred by grief, for thoughts of Sita pierced his soul—her gentle eyes brimming with tears, her spirit imprisoned among cruel demonesses.
But virtue, his eternal guide, recalled him to the hour. With a firm voice and noble resolve, Rama instructed the vanaras to storm the enemy’s ranks. His command, like a divine wind, surged through their hearts, and they roared like lions, charging forth with dreadful strength.
The very skies thundered with their movement, echoing from mountain to mountain. The great among them uprooted hills to hurl at the demons. Some scaled the ramparts, tearing at the domes, towers, and battlements, reducing them to ashes. Water trenches, once defenses, were filled with stone. Targeted areas were razed in rank and order. The demons’ strongholds trembled, their elegance and craftsmanship shattered.
Simian warriors, leaping, flying, and roaring, bore Rama, Lakshmana, and Sugreeva on their shoulders of devotion, exalting them in spirit and song. The battlefield bristled with mighty champions—Veerabahu, Subahu, Nala, and Vasu seized strategic positions and cast out the watchers.
At the east gate stood Kumuda, supported by the indomitable Panasa and his legion. Sathabali and his roaring ranks claimed the south gate. Toward the southwest moved mighty Sushena, father of Tara, trainer of prince Angada. Rama, Lakshmana, and Sugreeva held firm at the north.
Beside them stood Dhumra, mighty as a stormcloud, eyes blazing, scanning the battlefield as if to devour the enemy. Near him stood the noble Vibhishana, divine mace in hand, flanked by his wise ministers, watching, waiting.
The swift warriors Gaja, Gavaya, Sarabha, and Gandhamadan charged through enemy lines, scattering the guard.
When Ravana saw the mighty array before him, wrath consumed him. His voice thundered as he commanded his legions to strike. The demons bellowed, beating war drums, blowing trumpets and conches, resounding across the sky like a second storm.
Dark-skinned demons, horns and maces in hand, marched like thunderclouds cleaved by lightning. Their movements stirred the land like torrents down mountain streams.
The vanaras answered with thunder of their own, their cries echoing from caverns and cliffs. The sky and earth shuddered beneath the combined war cries, drumbeats, and conch blasts. Elephants trampled, horses neighed, demons marched, and the heavens resounded as in ancient Deva-Asura wars.
Fierce combat began. Rakshasas, wielding maces and axes, struck the vanaras, but the monkeys, hurling stones and trunks of trees, brought them to ruin, crying, “Victory to Sugreeva!”
Some demons tore the vanaras with tridents, praising Ravana with shrill war cries. But the monkey warriors took to the sky, seized their foes, and dashed them down like meteors. Flesh and blood soaked the field, a grim feast for death.
Angered by resistance, the vanaras renewed their assault with zeal, while the demons, intoxicated by their power, answered with savage cruelty. The earth was littered with wreckage—horses, elephants, and chariots ground to ruin.
Angada faced Indrajit in a clash like Shiva and Andhaka in days of yore. Sampathi battled the formidable Prajangha. Hanuman faced Jambumali, and noble Vibhishana met the slayer Sathagna in war.
Elsewhere, Gaja dueled with Tapanu, Neela with Nikubha, Sugreeva with Praghana, and Lakshmana with the fierce Virupaksha. Rama confronted the dreaded Agniketu, Rasmiketu, Mithraghna, and Yajnakopa.
Mynda fought Vajramusti; Dwivida met Asaniprabhu. Nala, swift and clever, clashed with the tricky Pratapana—Sushena, son of Yama and vast in form, warred with Vidyunmali.
As battles raged, Angada was struck by Indrajit’s mace. In rage, he leapt upon the chariot, crushing the charioteer and steeds in one blow. Sampathi slew Prajangha with a mighty trunk of the Arjuna tree. Hanuman endured a terrible weapon from Jambumali, but in fury, crushed his enemy’s chariot and the demon himself with a single blow.
Sugreeva, wounded by Praghana, broke him to pieces in wrath. Lakshmana slew Virupaksha with a fierce shaft. Rama, angered by the arrows of four mighty demons, loosed his bow and sent their heads flying in a moment’s breath.
Neela, though struck by Nikumbha, regained his spirit, seized a broken wheel, and slew the demon and his charioteer. Dwivida, with a thunderbolt-like fist, hurled Asaniprabha to a mountain, ending his life.
Vidyunmali taunted Sushena with arrows and mockery. Sushena lifted a great hill and hurled it down, destroying the demon’s chariot and life in one thunderous fall.
The battlefield became a graveyard of glory—monkeys, demons, horses, elephants strewn across, weapons heaped, blood soaked into the earth. The air hung thick with cries and silence.
It was a war not of mortals but of cosmic ends—the clash of dharma and adharma. Heads and limbs, once proud in duty and name, now lay forgotten, stripped of memory and station.
For death is the great equalizer, and on this day, the triumph of righteousness stood near—an end for the dark, and dawn for the light of the worlds.
