When tidings reached the demon-king that his legions had been swept aside by Vibhīṣaṇa’s counsel and prowess, he summoned his war-ministers and marched forth, the tread of his hosts shaking the earth. Under the fierce design of Śukrācārya, the demons advanced in a storm of fury, pressing hard upon the simian ranks.
But Śrī Rāma, discerning the enemy’s approach, arrayed his forces according to a counter-strategy fashioned in the wisdom of Bṛhaspati, and soon the two armies surged together like untimely-raging oceans. Rāma met Rāvaṇa; Lakṣmaṇa and Indrajit crossed arms; Sugrīva clashed with Virūpākṣa; Tārā with Nikharva—each combat flared as though gods and titans strove once more.
Lakṣmaṇa smothered Indrajit beneath a shower of arrows, yet the tenacity of both was unbroken. Rāma and the lord of demons struck each other till blood streamed down their limbs, and the two appeared as crimson mountains grinding together, each satisfied in the other’s endurance. But Rāvaṇa, finding no firm footing before Rāma in open combat, cast aside his bold advances and withdrew to Laṅkā to contrive a darker, deceit-laden craft of war. His retreat spread panic; his hosts fled in confusion.
Only Prahasta, commander of the demons, rallied them with terrible force, cutting down the monkey bands without mercy. Then Vibhīṣaṇa rose against Prahasta, restraining the slaughter and meeting him arrow for arrow. The field glowed with hues from peacock plumes and bright feathers fixed to their shafts, till the sky itself seemed a shifting tapestry of colour. Their collision was as though mountains render each other.
Prahasta invoked divine Astras, but Vibhishana, hurling a consecrated Sakti, split him asunder, and he fell like a peak shorn by the thunderbolt. The demon ranks broke in terror. Then came Dhūmrākṣa, eyes burning like coals, vast as thunder-clouds driven by violent winds. He burst into the fray, crushing Vanaras beneath his tread.
Seeing the peril, Hanuman confronted him with undiminished might. Around them, stones and great trunks rained upon elephants and horses; chariots were hurled skyward by colossal Vanaras; steeds were torn asunder by sharp nails; and many demons fled or cowered behind their champion. Dhūmrākṣa loosed swarms of arrows and rallied his kin, but Hanuman crushed the guards around him and contended with the demon as once Prahlada strove with Indra. Weapons flashed like lightning; stones fell like hills.
At last, Hanuman wrenched up a mighty tree and shattered Dhūmrākṣa’s skull, pressing him into the earth until blood ran like a stream. The rest fled to Lanka. Ravana, heaving and hissing like a fire-breathing serpent, resolved to awaken the giant Kumbhakarṇa. Trumpets, drums, and bells blared; guards shouted like breaking seas until the titan stirred, yawned, and beheld his brother before him. Ravana spoke: that none slept as he did; that he was fortunate in ignorance of Lanka’s peril; that Sita, consort of Rāma, son of Daśaratha, had been seized; that the prince had crossed the ocean with Vanaras and laid siege; that Prahasta, Dhūmrākṣa, and many heroes lay dead; and that none but Kumbhakarṇa could withstand Rāma.
He promised the aid of Vajravega and Pramada with their retinues. Armed and towering, Kumbhakarṇa strode forth. The Vanaras trembled at his monstrous form—his vast face, cavern-wide mouth, long fangs, fire-red hair, cloud-dark limbs, eyes sparking flame, and arms like falling cliffs. The earth sank under each step. He crushed beasts and warriors, sweeping aside the herds as he hastened toward Rāma and Lakshmana. Stones and trees struck him as mere dust. Fully roused, he seized soldiers alive, rending and devouring them—Bala, Candabala, Vajrabahu and others perished between his jaws.
The Vanaras scattered in terror. Sugriva, wielding a huge Arjuna tree, smote him, rousing his wrath. Kumbhakarṇa caught him, but Lakshmana’s volleys tore open his chest and forced him to release the monkey-king. Enraged, the giant hurled a massive stone at the prince, yet Lakshmana severed both his arms with keen Astras. Dark sorcery answered: new arms sprouted; these too were shorn; more arose. Then Lakshmana invoked the Brahmastra, sanctified and sovereign, and the giant fell. Vajrāmbara and Pramādhi rushed upon Lakshmana and engulfed him in a rain of arrows, startling the monkey ranks.
But Hanuman and Nila lifted entire hills and crushed the demons into dust. The Vanaras roared like lions over their fallen foes; the demons wailed like frightened crows and fled toward Lanka, their spirits shattered. Ravana wept in despair at Kumbhakarṇa’s death. Then Meghanāda, clad in consecrated armor, bearing enchanted arrows and steeped in sorcery, rose like a dark star. Proud of having once humbled Indra, he said, “Lord of demons and ghostly races, grieve not. I shall not allow the foe’s courage to stand.
Having subdued the lord of heaven and his celestial hosts, shall I fear these mortals and monkeys? Grant me leave, and I shall rend them apart, bind the sons of Daśaratha, and lay them at your feet.” Ravana, exalting his son’s valour, reminded him that his conjuring arts and sudden vanishings were unmatched, that none could resist his sanctified weapons, and that the princes of Ayodhya could not endure the typhoon of his dark craft.
Thus, cloaked in praise and veiled counsel, the king urged him toward the sorcerer’s path, forsaking the righteous code of battle. Yet the sons of Dasharathi held fast to courage and chivalry, guided only by virtue and merit, highlighting sage Markandeya.
