In that hour of rising dread, the mighty form of Kumbhakarna, vast as a mountain, stirred from enchanted slumber and moved with sovereign grandeur toward the court of Ravana. His march resounded like thunder through the demon realm, and at each colossal step, hope surged in the hearts of Rakshasas, while fear seeped into the souls of the simian host. The monkey warriors, terror-struck, fled to the corners of the battlefield, their limbs failing, their courage vanishing.
Rama beheld the unnatural wonder—a towering shadow gliding toward Ravana’s golden halls. His eyes fixed on the advancing figure, Rama mused: “Lo, this demon wears the semblance of Vishnu, yet bears the storm of destruction. The earth he darkens, the sky he brushes, and his tread mimics the gait of a mountain unbound. He is like a cloud swelling with thunder, ready to burst upon the world.”
Vanaras, driven by dread, scattered before the sight, whispering fears of the ruin he may bring. Rama, astonished at such might, turned to Vibhishana with grave curiosity and spoke: “Tell me, O wise one—who is this crown-bearing colossus whose golden brow shines like Meru, whose emerald eyes flash with fire, who walks like thunder on the soil of Lanka? He appears a living tempest, a banner of the earth, striking fear with mere presence. Is he a demon or titan, or some unknowable force born for calamity? Never in all the worlds, nor in tales of yore, have I seen such a being.”
To this, Vibhishana with a solemn tone replied: “He is Kumbhakarna, born of Visravasu, brother to Ravana. Fearless and mighty, he has felled Indra and Yama in battle. No being in heaven, earth, or netherworld matches his size or strength. He has vanquished Gandharvas, Yakshas, Kinneras, Nagas, and Gods alike. His eyes are flame, his weapon vast, and in battle, he strikes terror like the God of Death himself. His very name trembles the heavens.”
“Unblessed by boon, he was born with strength unmatched. On the day of his birth, he began devouring living creatures insatiably, till gods feared the void he might bring. Seeking refuge in Indra, they watched him fall to Vajra’s stroke—but even then, he roared a cry that shook the three worlds. Rising, he tore the tusks of Airavata and struck Indra to stupor. The gods, the sages, and all creation trembled, and to Brahma they fled, crying of the havoc he wrought—of devoured peoples, broken hermitages, seized women, and shattered life.”
“Brahma beheld the ruin and cursed him thus: ‘Though life shall remain, you shall lie fallen as if dead.’ And instantly he fell, senseless. Ravana, troubled by this stroke of doom, prayed to Brahma in anguish, and Brahma, swayed by plea, decreed he sleep for six months, and wake but a single day to wreak his fate. On that day, he consumes all before him like a fiery whirlwind. And now, fearing you, O Rama, Ravana has awakened this sleeping terror to turn the tide of fate.”
“Even from afar, his monstrous shape sends our armies scattering. His wrath alone breaks the will of warriors.” Rama, beholding the despair, asked: “What power shall check his fury and sustain the vanara hearts?” Vibhishana counseled: “Strengthen their minds, O Prince. Treat him not as a demon, but as a machine of war—vast, mindless, forged for destruction. To strike down this titan, the army must cast off fear and be ready for the storm.”
Inspired, Rama summoned Neela, his chief, and said: “Set our forces in firm array. Seize every gate, guard every street and bridge, post warriors on ramparts and cliffs. Let every path be closed with strength and vigilance. Gather stones, trees, trunks and hillocks—prepare to strike with nature’s wrath.”
Obeying, Neela formed warlines, placing mighty Gavaksha, Sarabha, Hanuman, and Angada at key gates, armed with boulders vast as elephants. Fear was cast off like a worn cloak, and the vanaras, fierce with new fury, shouted and charged the demon host, brandishing trunks and stones. The battle formation looked as if a storm-cloud garland had descended upon Lanka.
From afar, both armies beheld the waking giant with awe and dread, as he came, flower-showered by Rakshasas, to Ravana’s court, radiant with gems, gold, and silver, shining like a second sun. His approach was like Surya piercing clouds at dawn. He bowed low to his brother, who sat sorrowful on a throne of celestial splendour, crowned like Indra before Brahma.
The ground still trembled with his steps. Seeing Ravana in grief, Kumbhakarna bowed and spoke: “Command me. Who troubles you? Whom shall I destroy?”
Ravana, in a voice heavy with despair, replied: “Brother, while you slumbered, fate turned. Rama of the Ikshvaku line crossed the sea and struck at Lanka with his simian horde. Our champions are fallen. The monkeys defy death and sow ruin among our ranks. I have summoned you, my brother, for only you can deliver us. My strength is spent, our warriors gone, and Lanka lies in fear. Only women, elders, and children remain. I have never sought help, but now, my hope, my faith, my very soul rests in you.”
“You, whose valour has never waned, must strike this impossible blow. You are beloved of war. Let your fury scatter them as the wind scatters storm clouds. Your victory is our salvation.”
So spoke Ravana, his words both plea and praise, planting within the demon’s heart the seed of solemn purpose. The burden of Lanka, the pride of battle, the desperate call of kin—these stirred the soul of Kumbhakarna, and the sleeping force of doom rose to answer fate.
Thus does the game of good and evil twist upon the wheel of destiny.
