Lakshmana protects Hanuman from Indrajit’s fury

Vibhishana, scion of virtue and born of the demon race yet untainted by their ways, possessed full knowledge of the dark kingdom’s secrets and machinations. He, ever steadfast in dharma, devised a battle strategy that was luminous to the righteous but a terror to the wicked.

“Let the Simian hosts,” said he, “descend upon those demon regiments that resemble dense thunderclouds, and rain stones upon them like torrents from tempest skies. Lakshmana, thou must pierce the demon formation with precision and fury; for once they are disturbed, the wily Indrajit shall surface. Before he completes his occult rites at the altar, strike him with a storm of arrows—each bearing the weight of Indra’s thunderbolt—and press forward, O valiant one.

Indrajit is no ordinary foe, but a conjurer steeped in adharma, who doth spread terror across worlds. He is to be punished with death.” Lakshmana, the righteous and steadfast, heard the noble words with keen attention and prepared his arrows. Swift as thought, he rained shafts upon Indrajit, disrupting the foul rites.

Demon messengers, trembling in fear, rushed to their lord to announce that Nikumbhila had been surrounded by the monkey warriors under Vibhishana’s command. At this intrusion, Indrajit’s wrath flared. Despite his preceptor’s warning that abandoning the ritual mid-course would endanger his life and nullify the fruits of the sacrifice, Indrajit, maddened with rage, rejected the counsel and readied for battle.

He emerged from the gloom beneath mighty trees and mounted a chariot blazing like a storm-born fire. His form, vast and terrifying, cast fear into the hearts of the simian ranks; his eyes, blood-red, shone like death incarnate. As he thundered forth, the demon forces rallied in fury and clashed with their foes.

Hanuman, mighty as a mountain, wielded a great tree and scattered demon ranks as though he were the harbinger of their doom. The demon warriors, shaken in spirit, staggered and prepared to flee, even as they hurled tridents, swords, and magical missiles upon him. But Hanuman, towering and fearless, absorbed their attacks and shattered their will.

Seeing the havoc Hanuman wreaked, Indrajit commanded his charioteer, “Drive me there swiftly, or he shall annihilate our kind.” He came thundering upon the field and hurled a tempest of weapons—arrows, axes, daggers, and maces—but Hanuman, like a mountain unmoved, caught them as if they were mere twigs and flung them back. Many demons fell, broken and vanquished. Hanuman roared, “O conjuring wretch! If thou be truly brave, face me with honour. Thou shalt not return alive. Engage me with thy fists if thou canst endure, and then thou mayst be counted among the mighty.” Vibhishana, observing the tide, warned Lakshmana, “Behold, Indrajit moves to slay Hanuman.

He who once defeated even Indra now seeks to destroy the son of Vayu. Do not tarry. Rain unfailing arrows upon that master of illusion and rid the world of his burden.” Lakshmana, hearing the call, beheld the towering, dark figure of Indrajit upon his chariot, and with Vibhishana as his guide, withdrew to a hidden path.

There, beneath the dread banyan tree, Vibhishana revealed the place where the dark prince offered ghostly rites. “When he stands in this sacred grove,” said he, “none may perceive him. He shall slay all with unseen power. Before he begins, thou must strike—him, his horses, and his charioteer—without delay.” Lakshmana, brimming with divine confidence, stood ready near the haunted tree, slapping his bow and drawing its string with thunderous twang.

Soon, Indrajit appeared, terrible and radiant, sword and bow in hand, like fire risen from the depths. The glowing Lakshmana called out, inviting the demon to duel. At the sight of Vibhishana, Indrajit blazed with rage. In a harsh voice, he cried, “O vile traitor! Son of my grandsire and brother of my sire, how couldst thou betray thine own blood?

Wicked of thought, thou hast turned thy back upon kin and become a servant of the enemy. Dost thou not know, O deluded one, that even a wicked kinsman is preferable to a virtuous stranger? Both sides shall slay fools such as thee in the end. Thou hast invited ruin upon our race.” Vibhishana, undaunted, replied,

“Yes, I am thy father’s brother, and I was born in the cruel clan of demons. Yet I stand for dharma. Though born among the wicked, I chose the path of the just. My heart abhors cruelty, and I shun evil. A brother may be loved, but if he forsakes righteousness and is consumed by vice, then he must be left behind, as one would abandon a burning house.

For lust for another’s wealth, suspicion of the virtuous, and desire for another’s wife—these are the three fires that burn a soul. Thy father, my brother, is lost in these sins. He slaughters sages, feeds his pride, and wages war upon the righteous. I departed from him, for his heart is clouded with ruinous passions.

Know this: either he or thou shall fall, for Lanka shall not hold both.” Indrajit sneered, his arrogance unbound. “Thou mayst prattle like a sage,” said he, “but thou art doomed. Thy tongue hath led thee to this ghost-ridden tree, and here thou shalt fall.” But Vibhishana, burning with the wrath of dharma, foretold: “No, O deceiver. It is not I, but thou, who shalt not return.

Face Lakshmana if thou darest. He is the best of men. Meet thy fate at his hands and descend to serve Yama, the Lord of Death. Pour all thy strength into this battle, but know thou shalt fall, and with thee thy illusion and might.” Thus spoke Vibhishana, and his words rang true as an omen. The field of battle awaited its dread conclusion, and the triumph of righteousness drew near.