The bold and dauntless defiance of Hanuman pierced the mind of Ravana, the demon king, unsettling his pride like a storm disturbing a dark sea. Though wrath surged within him, flinging his thoughts into chaos, yet was he vexed that such a challenge had come from what he deemed an inferior being—a monkey, stout of form and wild of manner.
Still, he mused that this creature, perhaps bewitched, performed feats of illusion and acrobatics, unaware of the divine gifts and valorous past of the Vanara. Reining his fury, Ravana, with burning eyes and fingers coiled upon his bow, declared in disdain, O boastful monkey, now unfold the strength you claim and show thy mettle before me.
A pause lingered, then with malice gleaming beneath his voice, he spoke again—Demonstrate thy courage, for I shall crush thee beyond thy imagining; no beast in monkey’s guise has stood before me and lived.
But Hanuman, son of Vayu, calm and poised, sought to awaken remembrance in the demon and cried, O Ravana, hast thou forgotten thy cherished son Aksha, whom I sent to his doom with but a stroke? At these words, the furious monarch raised his mighty palm and smote the monkey’s chest with force; shaken but a moment, Hanuman stepped back, steadied, and returned the blow with a thundering slap that echoed like the strike of a mace, sending tremors through Ravana as though a mountain quaked under celestial wrath.
Celestial beings and sages beheld this mighty exchange from the heavens and praised the son of wind, blessing him as Ravana writhed with rising ire. Regaining his senses, the ten-headed tyrant admitted with reluctant awe, O monkey warrior, thy strength matches thy spirit. Hanuman, provoked by this half-hearted esteem, replied with scorn, speak not of my strength as inferior, for had I truly struck thee, thy limbs would lie scattered upon this earth.
Foolish demon, why dost thou parade thy hollow courage? Strike again if thou dare, and my returning fist shall deliver thee to the gates of Yama. Maddened by this challenge, Ravana summoned his full force and dealt a blow to Hanuman’s chest, sure the simian would crumble. Shaking like a tree in tempest, Hanuman stood firm, recalling the slaying of Prahastha by Neela, commander of Rama’s host. In vengeance, Ravana loosed a rain of arrows upon Neela, seeking to burn him where he stood.
Yet Neela, unshaken, uprooted a mountain and hurled it upon the foe. Ravana’s arrows shattered the mountain mid-air, kindling Neela’s rage. With blazing might, he grasped a tree and struck Ravana, who retaliated with a shower of shafts that fell like rain from thunderclouds, driving Neela to the flagpole, where he perched roaring like a horde of rakshasas.
The sight irked Ravana, for to strike his banner was dishonour to his lineage and law. Neela, playful amidst peril, leapt upon Ravana’s crown, then upon his bow, gesturing mockery as if to say, See, Rama and Lakshmana, what I do. Hanuman beheld Neela’s mirth in this grim field and marvelled at his wit.
Ravana, staggered by this irreverence, yet inwardly admiring Neela’s swiftness, seized the Agneyastra, a fire-spitting weapon sanctified by Brahma. Holding it aloft, he cried, Shape-shifting fool, deceive if thou can, for this astral dart shall find thy life no matter what form thou don. With that, he lost the weapon, and it pierced Neela’s chest, casting him into unconsciousness.
Triumphant, Ravana charged towards Lakshmana with the sound of thunder. Entering the heart of Rama’s army, Ravana confronted the prince and struck his bow. Unmoved and radiant like sacred flame, Lakshmana rebuked him, O demon king, cease thy games with beasts and meet me in true battle. Ravana, twanging his bow, replied, thou burn with fury, prince—but by thy cursed fate thou stand before me.
My arrows shall drain thy breath and hurl thee to death. Lakshmana, son of Sumitra, calm and unyielding, answered, Boast not with empty pride, O Ravana, for the worthy do not blare hollow noise. I know thy strength and valour, but I know it with scorn, not fear. Here I stand, bow in hand—fulfil thy words or cease thy clamour. Infuriated, Ravana loosed seven sacred arrows, but Lakshmana shattered them as snakes bereft of their fangs. In return, he rained arrows sharp as razors—Kshura, Ardhachandra, Karni, Bhalla—against the demon.
Ravana, startled by their force, recognized the prince’s training and grew wary. Then, unwilling to lose his chance, he unleashed a torrent of sanctified arrows. Lakshmana, like unto Indra in might, met fire with fire, his astras thundering and flaming as he aimed to end Ravana’s life. At last, the enraged Ravana fired an arrow blessed by Brahma upon Lakshmana’s brow. The blow shook the prince like a sapling in a storm, his bow slipping, but with swift resolve he rose again, severed Ravana’s bow, and struck him thrice—in forehead, chest, and sinew.
Ravana, smeared in his own blood and wounded pride, maddened beyond bearing, grasped the Shakti Astra, sanctified and dreadful, and cast it upon Lakshmana. The fire-laced weapon struck the prince’s chest, and he felt semi-conscious. Ravana sought to seize and lift him, thinking to flaunt his conquest. Yet though he could have hoisted the sacred peaks of Himavat, Mandhara, and Meru, and the very worlds besides, he could not lift Lakshmana an inch—for the prince, though struck, was encircled by Rama’s spirit.
Try as he might, Ravana failed. Then Hanuman, swift as divine wrath, struck Ravana’s chest with a thunderous fist, felling him to the ground in a heap of blood and broken will. Crawling to his chariot, he slumped unconscious in his seat.
The celestial hosts witnessed this with joy, extolling Hanuman, who swiftly bore Lakshmana upon his shoulders and returned to Rama’s camp. Thus raged the battle—each moment weighty, tense with fate, resounding with valour and wrath, and in its weave, the fate of the universe hung trembling like a star at the edge of night.
