As Markandeya recounts, countless crores of simian warriors surged into Kiṣkindhā at the summons of Sugrīva, while mighty Suṣeṇa stirred their spirits to a pitch of valor. Their march made the earth tremble, and the mountains quiver; their resounding roar rolled across forests and crags alike. Dadhimukha, having greeted Rāma with reverence, shared all the knowledge of his domain, and Jāmbavān, sovereign of the bears, described the prowess of his sturdy clans.
Colossal in form, fierce of visage, swift in movement, the vanaras leapt wildly, flew through the air, kicked the ground in tempestuous energy, swung from bough to bough, and prepared themselves to burst upon their destined quarry. Rāma, accompanied by Lakṣmaṇa, the son of Sumitrā, his spirit bright and steady, and guided by Sugrīva, chose an auspicious hour and set forth to invade Laṅkā. He shone like the radiant sun whose rays melt the icy armor of foes. Hanumān, the son of the wind-god, took his place at the van of the mighty host, while Aṅgada, Nala, and Nīla guarded its flanks.
All were resolute, pledged to the destruction of Rāvaṇa, the scourge of the celestial worlds. The monkey forces feasted on forest fruits and paused beside lakes and waterfalls until at last they reached the southern sea. There they roared and bounded upon the shore, their tumult rising above the thunder of the surf, until they seemed a second ocean rearing beside the first. Advancing as far as any mortal might approach, they halted. Then Rāma addressed Sugrīva, noblest of the simian race, saying that though their forces were immeasurable, the passage of the ocean was fraught with difficulty, and Sugrīva must counsel a fitting method. Many suggested the making of rafts, others the use of boats. Rāma, hearing them, smiled gently and replied that although their ideas had merit, they could not be accepted; for the army’s vastness made such craft impossible to number or to build, and the stormy waters would shatter such frail conveyances.
Moreover, the enemy would not remain idle but would strike the boats in mid-crossing and drown the host. “We are warriors,” said Rāma, “not merchants crossing for trade. Our purpose is conquest; our passage must proclaim our valor, chivalry, and might. Yet I shall not begin with force. I will fast and supplicate the lord of the Ocean; if he grants passage, it will be a blessed sign. If he refuses affection, I shall cast aside gentleness and let my arrows scorch his waves and drain his depths.” So speaking, the eldest son of Daśaratha lay with Lakṣmaṇa upon sacred kuśa grass and observed the rites of his vow.
At length, the deity of the waters rose before him and declared himself pleased, asking Rāma’s desire. Rāma requested a way to Laṅkā, warning that if refused, he would unleash astras radiant as the sun and dry the sea to its bed. The lord of rivers replied that he placed no obstacle in Rāma’s path, but could not openly set aside his nature before the elemental witnesses, for then others armed with occult powers might seek unjust dominion over him. Yet he would reveal a way: among the vanaras was Nala, son of the divine craftsman Viśvakarmā, and whatever he cast into the sea, the waters would uphold. Let Nala build a bridge, and the army should cross. With this, the ocean-god vanished.
Rāma then entrusted Nala with the labor, and the architect fashioned a causeway of stones, timber, pulp, and sand until the bridge stood secure upon the waves. At this time, the noble Vibhīṣaṇa, estranged from his brother Rāvaṇa, sought refuge with Rāma. Rāma studied his bearing, his manner, and his speech, found him sincere, and pledged support. He promised in due time to seat him upon the throne of Laṅkā as lord of the rākṣasas and introduced him to Lakṣmaṇa for counsel and coordination. Under Vibhīṣaṇa’s guidance, the undefeated hosts of monkeys and bears crossed the ocean.
They reached the Trikūṭa range, and Rāma ordered camps raised on every quarter surrounding the fortress-city. The forests about Laṅkā overflowed with groves of palmyra, cardamom-laden creepers, arjuna trees, sweet mango orchards, neem, jambu, and lemon trees, all lush with fruit. The mingled fragrances of sea, blossoms, ripe groves, and tender leaves spread a reviving essence across the land. Two spies, Śuka and Śaraṇa, disguised as vanaras, attempted to learn the army’s details, but were seized by Vibhīṣaṇa and brought before Rāma.
Rāma, magnanimous, showed them the full expanse of his forces, their skill, and their armament, and then released them. Returning to their master, they declared the conquest impossible, for Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa were endowed with strength surpassing any rākṣasa. Rāvaṇa dismissed their words and reinforced Laṅkā’s defenses.
The demons armed themselves with engines of war, secured the lofty towers from which banners streamed, and set chariots, horses, elephants, and trained battalions within the city’s seven formidable circuits of moats and ramparts. While Laṅkā lay under strict vigilance, Aṅgada was sent to Rāvaṇa to plead once more for Sītā’s release.
Rāma advised him to speak according to the moment’s need. Aṅgada entered Laṅkā with fearless stride; the demon guards quailed at his presence. In Rāvaṇa’s council-hall, before ministers and captains, he proclaimed the message of Rāma, peerless scion of the solar line. He rebuked Rāvaṇa for slaying ascetics absorbed in penance, for seizing celestial women, for troubling the three worlds, and above all for abducting Sītā. He urged repentance and restitution, warning that otherwise Rāvaṇa’s remaining days on earth were few, for Rāma’s arrows, serpentine in speed and fire, would reduce him to ash.
“You hold a poor opinion of humankind,” said he. “You shall witness the reach of human puissance. I shall see your race removed from the earth, and this is no idle boast.” Rāvaṇa flared with wrath, his eyes reddening, and his guards, sensing his intent, moved to seize Aṅgada. But the prince vaulted toward the battlements. Four guards who clutched at him were torn apart and cast down. He returned to the camp and recounted his mission and its fruitless end.
Then the vanaras, brandishing uprooted trees, boulders, and massive trunks, their immense forms resembling myriad Yamas poised for judgment, advanced in ordered ranks with thunderous cries like tempest-driven waves. They drove back the demons posted on the ramparts and gates, shattered barriers on every side, toppled flagpoles, and tore down banners. They seized maces, tridents, axes, and pestles stored upon the battlements and hurled them into the palace courts. The citizens of Laṅkā fled in panic, raising wild lamentations. Demon guards poured forth and forced the attackers back, so that the city at one moment seemed cloaked in the grey of vanara tumult, and the next in the dark surge of demonic counter-forces.
Again, the simian warriors rallied, surrounding the strongholds, assailing them with stones and trees. The demons unleashed their weapons, but the vanaras leapt into the air, eluding every counter-stroke. Combat is close to face-to-face fury. Rāvaṇa sent forth five champions—Parvata, Praghāsa, Khara, Krodhavāś, and Praruja—accompanied by spectral cohorts to harry the vanaras with sorcery. But Vibhīṣaṇa, firm, fearless, and master of divine arms, shattered their ranks in an instant. Half the host fell to his arrows; the rest fled through Laṅkā seeking Rāvaṇa’s protection.
Thus, the fated war of demons against monkeys, bears, and men burst forth in all its terrible magnificence, moved by destiny’s unalterable decree.
