When the spies of Lanka returned, their words came not with fear, but with the weight of truth. One among them, Suka, stood before the ten-headed king Ravana, and thus Spake he:
“O Lord of Lanka! Behold, the simian forces rise like elephantine herds of the Vindhyas. Their multitude covers the earth like groves of mighty banyans, swaying along the banks of the sacred Ganga. They stand tall as the Arjuna trees of the Himalaya, unwavering, invincible. These vanaras are no mere forest beasts—they are shapeshifters, warriors born of gods and celestials, their minds resolved, their hearts unshaken. They rival the Daityas and Danavas of old, and in valour, match even the immortals.”
“One host alone counted twenty-one crores, a thousand Sankus by ancient measure. Another, a hundred Vrundas—innumerable, ungraspable in thought. See there, those two who gleam like twin suns: Mainda and Dwivida. Born of divine grace, anointed with Amrita by Brahma himself. They burn with wrath for Lanka, aflame with the memory of Sita’s tears.”
“O King! Behold the monkey who brought ruin to Lanka once before—he who leapt the sea, beheld Sita, and returned, burning your towers with celestial fire. He is Hanuman, son of Vayu, born in Kesari’s house. As a boy, he soared skyward to devour the Sun, mistaking it for a fruit of hunger. Struck down by Indra’s thunderbolt, he fell upon the cleft of Mount Udaya, where his jaw was broken—and thence, he was named Hanumanta.”
“His strength is such that none may define it. His loyalty is unshaken. His fire yet smoulders in your halls. How hast thou forgotten such a one, O Ravana?”
“By his side stand Rama and Lakshmana—the sons of King Dasaratha. Rama, blue of hue, lotus-eyed, scion of the Ikshvaku line. He is the embodiment of Dharma—firm in vow, terrible in wrath, a master of Brahmastra, a lion among kings. His arrows rend the skies, shatter the firmament, and pierce the earth’s bosom. He is the one from whom thou hast stolen Sita, and he cometh now as flame to consume thy pride.”
“Beside him, with form golden as the sun, chest broad and sinews iron-strong, standeth Lakshmana—his younger brother, devoted beyond measure. Quick-tempered, unassailable, master of all weapons. He lives only for Rama, and shall die for him if fate so bids. He is the right hand of his brother, the external will of Rama’s mind. He bears the fury of a tempest, the loyalty of an ancient oath.”
“There, on Rama’s left, protected by four demon warriors, standeth Vibhishana—thy brother, now prince of Lanka anointed by Rama’s own hand. He waited with righteous fire to wage battle against thee. And yonder approaches Sugreeva, the mighty Vanara king, with his horde of sages, warriors, and uncountable legions. His voice commands billions, and they await only his gesture to descend upon Lanka like stars falling from a wrathful sky.”
At this, Ravana’s mind trembled, though his visage remained stone. Yet a flickering thought crossed his brow—had these spies turned to the enemy? He kept the musing to himself, suppressing the rising wave of doubt.
Suka and Sarana, their heads bowed and hearts aflutter, stood before the wrath of their lord. Ravana’s voice rose like thunder upon them.
“Fools!” he roared. “You stand here, servants of the crown, yet you heap praise upon our foes! Have you forgotten your place, your duty? To laud the enemy in my presence—is this your loyalty? Your service to preceptors and elders is hollow if it ends in betrayal of your king. Know you not that the forest survives fire, but disloyalty to the throne leaves none unburnt? But for your past service, I would cast you to Yama’s embrace. Leave now, and return not before me!”
And they, trembling and pale, answered meekly, “Victory to the king!” and departed, their fates suspended by the thread of past merit.
Then Ravana summoned Mahodara, his commander, and said, “Bring me the loyal spies.”
When they arrived—fearless, cruel to enemies, devoted to the crown—Ravana instructed them thus:
“Go forth. Discover Rama’s heart. Who advises him? Who shares his sleep, his waking, his counsel? Tell me all.”
And they went.
In time, Sardula, the seasoned spy, returned. But his body bore wounds, and his spirit was humbled.
“O King,” he whispered, trembling, “I approached Suvela, where Rama’s forces dwell. But before my feet found purpose, they seized me—the Vanara guards, fierce and sharp of tooth, raked my flesh, bit my limbs, paraded me in shame. Bleeding, dazed, I was brought before Rama. Yet he, O Ravana, spared me. He who built a bridge across the sea now standeth at thy gate, in the form of Garuda, poised to strike.”
“Return Sita now, O King, or prepare for battle. Time slippeth away.”
Ravana’s heart stirred—his pride wavered, his certainty cracked. He asked, “Who are these warriors? Who are their sires and grandsires?”
Sardula replied with clarity:
“Son of Ruksharajas, Angada the lion-hearted, who felled Khara and Dushana, is among them. Jambavantha the bear, born of Gadgada. Dhumra, his brother. Hanuman, of Brihaspati’s line, son of Kesari. Sushena, son of Yama. Dadhimukha, son of Chandra. Sumukha and Durmukha, children of Death. Neela, the son of Agni. Swetha and Jyotirmukha, of Aditya. Hemakuta, of Varuna. Durdhara, of the Vasus. The sons of the Ashwins: Mainda and Dwivida. Gavaya, Gaja, Sarabha—storm-like warriors. Gandhamadana, tempest of the field.”
“And above them all, Rama, who slew Viradha and Kabandha, who emptied Janasthana of its demon horde. His bow none may stop, not even Indra. Lakshmana, his brother, stands beside him, his presence like thunder in the mountains.”
“Vibhishana, thy blood stands against thee, for he has chosen righteousness. O King! These truths I place at thy feet. What thou must do, only thou can decide.”
Thus, Ravana stood, his pride, ego, and fear wrestling in his heart. He had cast aside the loyal for the pleasing, abandoned wisdom for vanity. And as his defiance thickened like smoke around him, the light of Dharma burned ever brighter in the camp of Rama, radiant with divine Favor and celestial might.
