The scion of dharma and nobility, Rama, with a mind illumined by ancient wisdom, gently withheld the valiant son of Sumitra from unleashing the ruinous celestial weapons upon the host of Asuras. In cultured speech, steeped in timeless values and guided by the model of righteous conduct, the speaker spoke of restraint and discernment in battle.
“This Indrajit, demon of deceit, crooked in intent and wicked in design, may indeed fall to the might of our vanara heroes if he relies only on brute force and martial prowess. Yet now, cloaked in black art and sorcery, he prevails for a moment. Trust, O prince, that though he vanishes into the bowels of earth, ascend to the highest heavens, flee to nether lands or roam the sky, my divine arrows shall reach him still. Among the ranks of vanaras, he contemplates, thinking to cast a shadow of fear, but we rise to cleanse this earth of his tyrannical presence.”
The demon of dark enchantment, knowing perhaps Rama’s subtle strategy, devised a cunning scheme to weaken the spirit of the enemy and plunged them into despair. Returning to his palace in a storm of wrath, mourning the fall of his uncle and brothers in the hands of Rama and the simian warriors, he turned to the occult rites of his dreadful creed. In the shadowed sanctum, he offered blood and fury to his sinister preceptor.
Burning with vengeance and disappointment, he sought darker blessings still. Resolute to fulfill the ambition of his dread sire Ravana, to rid the earth of Rama, Lakshmana, and their monkey hosts, he emerged upon his chariot, and by his wicked craft, summoned forth an illusory Sita—a conjured shadow of Janaka’s daughter. With this spectral image, he approached the vanara encampment, seeking to tear asunder their hearts and their will.
Behold, at the sight of Indrajit, wrath and strength surged in the breasts of the vanaras. They armed themselves with stones and towering trees, eager to bury him beneath their weight. Hanuman, son of Vayu, soared into the sky and seized a boulder vast as a mountain, intending to hurl it upon him. But as his gaze fell upon the chariot, he beheld with dread the form of Sita, dust-laden, weary, her garments rent, her eyes swollen with sorrow.
Though a shadow, it mirrored the beloved form he had seen in the dark chambers of the demon’s realm. There she sat, eyes cast into the void, as one who surrendered to fate. Hanuman paused, his heart torn between fury and grief, and descended with the champions to confront this dark illusion.
Swift as a curse, Indrajit drew his sword and seized the shadow-Sita by her hair, striking her across the face with the hilt. Her cry— “Rama! Rama!”—echoed through the plain, false yet piercing. Hanuman, aghast, roared in anguish and righteous wrath. “O wicked soul,” he cried, “though born of Brahma’s noble line, you dwell among demons and partake in their evil. To seize by the hair the daughter of Janaka, jewel of chastity, is a sin grievous enough to summon the Lord of Death! Your soul is black, your conduct vile, your heart bereft of mercy.
What crime did she commit to warrant such cruelty? She, torn from her homeland, robbed of her lord, now suffers under your foul hand. The moment you spill her blood, your fate is sealed—you shall wander, unwelcome even by hell, your spirit rejected by the underworld.”
Trembling with fury, Hanuman approached, while the simians struck down the demon guard with their devoted might. Indrajit, eyes aflame, scoffed at Hanuman and said, “You, Sugreeva’s dog, with your monkey hordes and the two mortal brothers, have come to Lanka for this woman. She shall be the first to fall, and after her—Rama, Lakshmana, Sugreeva, you, and the traitor Vibhishana—all shall perish! Speak not to me of codes, O beast! In the art of war, all that crushes the enemy’s will is permitted.” And with one stroke, he severed the head of the conjured Sita. Her false body fell, lifeless upon the earth, and Indrajit roared in triumph, “See how I have slain Rama’s beloved before your eyes! All your efforts are dust and delusion!”
The battlefield shuddered with the violence of his voice, and the vanaras trembled in sorrow and horror. Darkness fell upon their hearts, and the demon horde roared with savage joy. Hanuman, though shaken, cried out to his brethren, “Why do you retreat? Where has your courage fled? Shall we turn our backs in shame? Follow me! Let us repay his cruelty with fire and stone!” Roused by his cry, the vanaras rose again, bearing boulders and trees, and surged like a tempest upon the demon ranks. Hanuman, a flame incarnate, stormed their lines like Yama upon the doomed. With thunderous might, he hurled a massive stone upon Indrajit’s chariot, but the demon’s charioteer, nimble and sly, swerved away. The earth split under the weight of the stone, crushing many demons beneath its fall. The monkey warriors closed in, roaring like lions, raining wrath upon Indrajit’s host.
Arrows of sorcery fell like fire, wounding many, yet Hanuman’s wrath could not be stilled. He tore through the demon lines, felling armed foes like leaves in the wind. At last, he paused and said, “Let us preserve ourselves for the greater cause. We lost Sita—or her semblance—but the war is yet to be won. Let us seek the wisdom of Sugreeva and Rama.” Thus, withdrawing in heavy silence, the champions returned to the camp of Dharma.
Meanwhile, the wicked Indrajit returned to his place of power, the dark temple of Nikhumbala. There, amidst chants foul and offerings of blood and bone, he invoked the ancient darkness. Smoke and flames arose from the altar, crimson like the dying sun. Though gifted with boons and blessed by strange gods, Indrajit placed his trust not in courage or valour, but in deceit and black magic.
His was a path devoid of honour, a path forbidden by sages and wise kings. Though born of a noble and blessed, his soul was cursed by his demonic descent. His strength, though formidable, was ill-used, and in that lay the seed of his undoing. For fate watches all, and dharma, though delayed, shall never be denied.
