In the midst of the great war, the venerable sage Agastya, followed by his company of ascetics, beheld the battlefield where fierce combat raged. There, upon the scorched earth and beneath the trembling sky, he found Lord Rama—deep in thought, his body wearied, his spirit steady—standing before the war-hardened Ravana, that ten-headed monarch crowned in evil.
Then spoke Agastya, ancient seer of boundless wisdom, his voice calm like the wind before the storm: “O Rama, strong of arm and destroyer of unrighteousness, hearken to this secret eternal, the hymn that defeats darkness, dispels despair, and grants to the noble joy, triumph, and enduring peace.
It is the Aditya Hridaya—the heart of the Sun—a sacred chant, supreme among prayers, remover of sin, enemy of anxiety, bestower of strength, longevity, and well-being. Hear its power: Worship the radiant Bhaskara, the sun adorned in golden rays, honored by gods and demons alike, sovereign of all worlds, whose brilliance sustains creation, devas and asuras, earth and firmament.
He is Brahma and Vishnu, Shiva and Skanda, Prajapati, Indra and Kubera, Time and Yama, and Soma the moon. He is the pitrs and the vasus, the Ashvins and the Maruts, he is Manu, Vayu, Agni, and Prana, he is the seasons and the celestial light. Born of Aditi, blazing across the heavens in a chariot drawn by seven coursers, he dispels night and kindles dawn, infinite in glory, remover of ignorance, fountain of fame, golden womb of fire, life-giver and revealer of truth.
He is the guardian of the sky and the Vedas, friend of waters, bringer of rain, voyager southward past the Vindhyas, circular in form, fierce in heat, source of life and end of death, knower of all, sustainer of all. Salutations to Aditya, twelve-faced lord of constellations, origin of all movement, east and west mountain’s crown, master of the host of light and of day. Salutations to the glorious, victorious thousand-rayed son of Aditi, heroic and mighty, who awakens the lotus within the heart.
Hail to the sovereign of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, to luminous Aditya whose glow consumes even itself. Hail to the remover of gloom, of cold, of fearsome foes, limitless in light and king of radiance. Salutations to the divine flame, the cosmic craftsman, destroyer of darkness, creator and dissolver of beings. He watches while all sleep, yet remains awake among them.
He is the Agnihotri and the reward of all sacrificial fires. All the Vedas, all rituals, find their culmination in him. This Sun is the master of all actions. He who sings this hymn in hardship, in forests or in fear, shall not perish.
Worship him single-mindedly, for he is the God of gods, the eternal ruler. Recite this thrice, O Rama of mighty arms, and the battle shall bend to your will. Upon hearing this, your sorrow will vanish like mist before morning. Arise then, firm and resolved, look to the east where Surya rides the heavens, and let joy fill your being.
With clean hands and a steady heart, Rama offered sacred water to the Sun, chanted the hymn thrice, and his soul rejoiced as if anointed in divine clarity. With his bow firm in hand and resolve unshakable, he set forth to end the demon king’s reign. Then Surya, smiling from the heights, beheld Rama with delight and said to the gods, “Behold, Ravana’s hour is near.” Ravana, meanwhile, rose in his chariot adorned with dreadful emblems, its flag fluttering like the wings of celestial birds.
The steeds that drew it were born of darkness, forged of fury, and their path knew no stillness. The earth shook beneath its thunderous wheels; weapons gleamed in clusters; the advance was like a storm tearing the roots of the world. Rama beheld the dark chariot, its vast flag blotting the sky like a passing sun, its gleam flashing like a thousand suns, its rumble like mountains shattered by Indra’s thunderbolt.
Then, speaking to Matali, his divine charioteer, he said, “See how he circles fast like a storm-cloud, stirring omen ill. Drive our chariot straight and swift before him. I shall strike him like the wind tears through drifting clouds. Hold the reins firm and bring us to the field where victory shall sing.”
Arrows like shafts of light were drawn, and both heroes—eager for triumph—clashed like lions in wild rage. From the heavens the sages, Gandharvas, Siddhas, Kinneras, all gathered in awe to witness the duel of equals. But soon came signs that the tide turned toward righteousness: blood rained upon Ravana’s chariot, the wind circled violently with dust, and ominous flocks of eagles shadowed him like a fatal veil.
The rays across Lanka turned red as hibiscus, the earth smoldered beneath the demon king’s path, the sky roared with thunder, and meteors clashed in midair. Demons fell under the storm of heaven, and grief gripped their ranks. The very ground where Ravana rode quaked with dread, and his warriors found their arms numbed, seized by unknown terror. Ravana saw the rays of the sun flashing red, yellow, white, and blue in disharmony, while foxes yelped fire and eagles pursued him still.
Dust blew into his eyes, thunder fell though no clouds gathered, and directions turned dark. Mynas shrieked and circled his chariot for no cause, and even his own steeds wept hot tears. These portents pointed to his ruin. Meanwhile, at Rama’s camp, auspicious signs bloomed; the air was calm, the ground serene, and the hearts were uplifted. Rama, perceiving fate’s path, poured all his strength with effortless resolve and noble vigor. The moment was upon him to rid the world of the terror of ten heads and bring light where shadows once ruled.
