When Ravana received the grievous tidings of his trusted generals’ defeat, his mind was troubled with dark thoughts of vengeance and strategy. In his chamber sat Akshakumara, his valiant son, a warrior of unmatched prowess, his skill in arms eclipsing even the finest of generals. Endowed with the pride of celestial boons and ever eager for the field of battle, he feared no foe, be it in strength, numbers, or stature. As the sorrowful news reached Ravana, he turned his gaze silently toward his son. Understanding his father’s unspoken desire, the bold Akshakumara rose and, with unshaken resolve, declared, “I shall return with the captive monkey.”
He seized his mighty bow and arrows, ascended his chariot of divine origin, strong and ever-victorious. Resplendent, he appeared as the sacred flame kindled by Vedic rites, and his radiant form and noble bearing were as the tender sun casting gentle rays upon the earth. His chariot, a reward of rigorous penance and sacred rituals, bore golden curtains and shone with flags adorned in sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. Its celestial nature rendered it invincible; it could traverse fire, water, land, and sky alike. No force of demon or beast could bar its course, for it moved across all realms with effortless grace. Within it lay weapons of unending supply, each more terrible than the last.
Akshakumara, valiant and matchless in warcraft, stood as an equal to the gods themselves. As he approached the battlefield, he beheld the blazing form of Hanuman, the very embodiment of fire and destruction, his energy boundless, his might immeasurable. Taken aback by this divine presence, Akshakumara felt a quiet reverence rise within him. Yet, true to his warrior’s heart, he assessed the vanara’s strength, speed, and precision, weighing them against his own resources with a strategist’s eye. His resolve firm, he glowed like the sun breaking free of the clouds.
Observing the poised and vigilant Hanuman, Akshakumara chose to engage him in single combat. Calmly, he raised his bow and loosed three arrows, their flight a provocation. Hanuman, basking in the pride of recent triumphs, yet ever watchful, met the challenge with quiet fury. Closer now came Akshakumara, his every motion resplendent, his presence stirring wonder among both gods and demons. So potent was their duel that the earth trembled beneath them, and even Surya and Vayu paused in awe. The mountains stood still, the oceans churned, and the skies echoed with the clash of arms and the roar of battle.
The arrows of Akshakumara stung Hanuman, who, in reply, sent five flaming shafts toward the young prince’s head. They flew like venomous serpents through the air. Hanuman’s face, now bloodied, shone like the setting sun, radiant and terrible. In Akshakumara, he recognized a worthy adversary. But then, the son of Vayu began to grow, his form vast as the sun rising over Mandara. His eyes burned as though they would reduce the demon’s legions to ash. In return, Akshakumara, ablaze with youthful vigor and pride, unleashed a torrent of arrows, a deluge that sought to drown the mountain-like Hanuman.
Yet Hanuman, roaring like thunder and swirling in motion, cast aside the weapons that clung to him. Admiring his opponent’s valor and keen archery, he paused in contemplation. “Such skill,” he thought, “deserves not death, but remembrance among the Nagas, Yakshas, and Kinnaras.” Akshakumara had fought with honor, never straying from the dharma of war, and Hanuman, noble of heart, hesitated to slay one so principled. Yet he knew—if left unchecked, this demon prince would grow ever more dangerous, his fearlessness swelling with each passing moment. Like a wildfire left untended, he must be subdued.
With a sudden, resolute surge, Hanuman struck. Growing immense, he brought down his mighty palm upon the divine chariot, which shattered beneath the blow. Its eight steeds fell with it, the sky resounding with its ruin. Akshakumara, flung through the air, sought still to fight, but Hanuman seized him by the feet, as Garuda might clutch a serpent. Whirling him through the skies, he cast him down with such force that his limbs shattered, his spine crumbled, and his form lay twisted and broken, lifeless upon the blood-stained earth.
The death of Akshakumara sent waves of awe and astonishment through the realms. Sages, Siddhas, Yakshas, Pannagas, and even Indra rejoiced at the fall of Ravana’s formidable heir, the very backbone of his might. Hanuman, ferocious and renewed, stood tall once more at Lanka’s archway, like Yama himself awaiting his next victim. Though the mighty son of Ravana had fallen, Hanuman knew his task was not yet done. There yet remained in Lanka much evil to quell, and he stood, the divine messenger of death, poised to bring justice to the demon world.