Blazing forth with the splendor of blessings divine, bearing the pride of Brahma’s boons, the mighty Athikaya—colossal in frame, unmatched in force—rose like a wrathful comet over the fields of battle. Oft had he heard of his noble uncles and brave cousins fallen by the hands of Rama’s hosts; his heart, thus vexed with fury, took oath to uproot the simian legions and bring doom to the line of Ikshvaku.
Clad in dread and resplendence, he mounted a vast chariot adorned with ornaments of war, whose brilliance outshone even the midday sun. He pierced the skies with his arrival, loosed the mighty twang of his bow, and thundered his name with the voice of storm-clouds. Thus began his campaign of fear, which struck half its mark upon the trembling Vanaras.
Among the simians, murmurs spread, “Kumbhakarna walks again!”—so alike was Athikaya in visage and size, his form towering like Trivikrama, who spanned the heavens. The very remembrance of the nightmare-bringer Kumbhakarna cast terror anew, and they sought shelter in the arms of Rama.
Rama beheld the behemoth on his monstrous car, yoked by a thousand gallant steeds, with arms like tongues of flame, surrounded by unseen spirits, his aura shimmering like Rudra amidst ghouls. His flag bore the token of Rahu and flared like a harbinger of ruin. His mighty bow, curved in triple arc, mirrored the rainbow, and his chariot was a fortress of iron and gold, its every part laid with weaponry and spare arms, prepared for endless war.
Around his neck, a sacred red thread shimmered on his dark-hued frame, his brow wide as Yama’s, his limbs shielded with mail. He shone among demons as Himavan stands among mountains. His diamond-studded earrings glittered like Punarvasu stars around a full moon. Rama, noble scion of virtue, turned to Vibhishana and asked:
“Tell me, O wise and loyal prince, who is this fierce warrior that so scatters the Vanaras?”
And Vibhishana, honouring the regard shown, thus replied: “This is Athikaya, son of Ravana and Queen Dhanyamali, the demon-king’s favoured queen. A master of arms, learned in Vedas and Shastras, he has tamed beasts and spirits alike. No warrior excels him in the art of war, nor in the discipline of battle. With penance, he has earned boons from Brahma—impenetrable armour, a chariot no force can halt, and weapons of the gods. He is immune to gods and demons, has withstood Indra’s vajra, and dissolved Varuna’s nets. His might is Lanka’s pride, but his wrath now threatens doom to the Vanaras. Act swiftly, O Rama, lest the armies fall to ruin.”
Even as these words were spoken, Athikaya breached the Vanara host. With a war cry that split the skies, he twanged his bow and charged. Warriors of note—Kumuda, Dvivida, Mainda, Neela, Sarabha—rushed upon him with stones and trees. Yet Athikaya’s arrows shattered trunks, split boulders, and struck with such speed and skill that the Vanaras fell wounded and weakened.
Like a lion among startled deer, Athikaya waged war with nobility, striking only those armed and ready. Beholding Rama, he called aloud: “Here stands Athikaya, armed for war! I find no match in these common soldiers. Let one of strength and spirit come forth!”
Lakshmana, guardian of Dharma, incensed at this boast, came forward with a smile, his bow singing in challenge. The mighty twang of Soumitri’s weapon echoed through realms. Athikaya, amused, said, “O youth, your courage is commendable but misplaced. Retreat and live; my fire will consume you like death itself. My arrows, forged like serpents, draw blood as lions tear elephants. Turn away or meet your fate.”
But Lakshmana, undaunted, replied: “Thy words are wind, demon! Greatness is not born of noise. If valour resides in thee, let arrows speak! Young I may be, but in me stands thy death. As Vishnu spanned the worlds in three strides, so shall I strike down thy pride.”
Thus stirred, Athikaya lost his sacred shafts, shaking earth and sky. Lakshmana shattered them with crescent-tipped arrows. Athikaya fired five bolts; Lakshmana met them, striking his foe’s brow with a blazing dart. The missile lodged deep, like a serpent upon the mountain. Athikaya stood firm, praised his foe’s skill, and countered with a storm of shafts. The duel blazed like Agni among dry reeds.
Then Lakshmana, wrath rising, fired Agneyastra—it burned Athikaya’s chest, drew blood, but could not fell him. Athikaya hurled the Sourastra, belching fire; Lakshmana countered with Suryastra. Twastrastra came next, and Indrastra replied. Athikaya, amazed, launched Yamyastra, only to see it dispelled by Vayavyastra. Countless sacred missiles followed, but none pierced the demon’s Brahma-blessed shield.
Athikaya struck Lakshmana senseless for a breath, then toppled his standard. Rising, Soumitri slew the demon’s steeds and charioteers, yet could not breach his foe. Then Vayu, the Wind-God, whispered wisdom: “O prince, only Brahmastra shall slay him, for he lives by Brahma’s boon.”
So, Lakshmana invoked the might of Brahma. As the missile flew, the heavens trembled, stars turned pale, and celestial paths were disturbed. Athikaya answered with volleys, trident, and mace—but all was consumed in the fire of Brahmastra. The weapon soared and smote his head, crown and all, which fell to earth like Himavat’s own peak.
His vast frame crashed, shaking the field, strewing gold and arms among demon lines. Their hope shattered, the Rakshasas wailed and fled, their terror unbound.
Victory was Lakshmana’s. The Vanaras rejoiced and praised him, worshipping his name. Yet though Athikaya fought with virtue, observing every law of honour, he perished for a cause unjust. So ends the tale of courage, of skill, of righteousness held against ruinous pride.
