Ramayana · Indrajit, the Swoon of Lakshmana, and the Sanjivani

About 185 min read · 31,376 words

When word of Kumbhakarna’s death reached Ravana, the hour turned on Lanka, and one by one the pillars of the demon king’s house began to come down. The rakshasas who had been on the field came to him and told him plainly: Rama had struck Kumbhakarna down. The brother who had scattered the vanara army, swallowed monkeys whole, and for a few terrible moments risen up like Yama himself, that same Kumbhakarna now lay in the grip of death. Broken by Rama’s arrows, crushed beneath his matchless strength, the mountain of a man was now a trunk without head or limbs, like a tree scorched black by a forest fire. Half his carcass lay sunk in the terrible sea, and his head, ears and nose sheared away, still bleeding, blocked the main gate of Lanka. Hearing it, Ravana was scalded with grief and fell in a faint.

Ravana’s Lament and Trishira’s Reassurance

Hearing that their uncle had been killed, Ravana’s sons Devantaka and Narantaka, and Trishira and Atikaya besides, broke down and wept aloud. Ravana’s half-brothers Mahodara and Mahaparshva were overcome as well, that Rama, who never tired of his work, had slain their brother. With great difficulty Ravana came to his senses and began to grieve, his mind unstrung.

Ravana spoke: “Kumbhakarna, my brave one, you who ground the pride of enemies to dust, you who carried strength without limit, you have left us and gone to Yama’s realm because fate willed it. You lifted the strength of your kin and tormented the enemy’s ranks, and now you have gone off alone, without even drawing the thorn from my side, leaving us behind. That right arm on whose strength I leaned, so that I feared no god and no demon, that arm has fallen, and so surely I too will not live long. You who were like the fire at the end of time, whom not even the thunderbolt could ever harm, how do you lie now on the earth, pierced by Rama’s arrows, sunk in an endless sleep? In the sky the gods and the seers, seeing you dead in battle, are shouting for joy.”

Ravana went on: “The monkeys have their moment now, and they are wild with it. This very day they will come climbing the difficult gates of Lanka from every side. Without Kumbhakarna I have no use left for a kingdom, and none for Sita. Without you I have no taste even for staying alive. If I do not kill in battle this Raghava who killed my brother, then death is better for me than this empty life. This very day I will go the way my younger brother has gone. Having sent my brothers off like this, I do not have the heart to live even a moment longer. With you slain, how am I to conquer Indra? The gods I once wronged will look at me now and laugh.”

Ravana admitted it: “Vibhishana gave me sound counsel, and in my ignorance I would not heed that great soul’s word. This ruin has fallen on me for that. Since Kumbhakarna and Prahasta met their cruel ends, Vibhishana’s advice shames me. I myself drove out that righteous and honorable Vibhishana, and I am tasting the bitter, grief-laden fruit of that very deed.” Grieving in this way, wailing most piteously, knowing his younger brother, the enemy of Indra, to be slain, the ten-faced one, his innermost self in turmoil, collapsed in fierce pain.

The gist: Broken by Kumbhakarna’s death, Ravana for the first time in this stretch tastes his own defeat. His lament is not only a brother’s grief; it is a confession of his pride and of his contempt for Vibhishana. Valmiki shows us Ravana here in a very human weakness, and that weakness sets the stage for the ruin still to come.

The March of Ravana’s Sons and Narantaka’s Death at Angada’s Hands

Hearing his father’s grief-broken lament, Trishira, one of Ravana’s sons, spoke: “Father, it is true that the mighty Kumbhakarna is slain. But good men do not grieve as you do. You are able to conquer all three worlds, so why sink yourself in sorrow like an ordinary man? You still have Brahma’s gift of the Shakti, the coat of mail, the arrows, the bow, and the chariot yoked to a thousand asses that roars like a thundercloud. Many times, with a single weapon, you have destroyed gods and demons; armed with all your weapons, then, you can punish Rama. Great king, if you wish, stay here in Lanka; we will go out into the field and tear up your enemies as Garuda tears up serpents. This day Rama will fall by my hand in battle, as Shambara fell to Indra and Naraka to Vishnu.”

A sub-tale: The Naraka named here was a demon born of the union of Viprachitti and Simhika; he had six brothers, Vatapi, Namuchi, Ilvala, Sumar, Andhaka, and Kalanabha. This Naraka is not the earth-born Bhaumasura (Narakasura) whom Krishna slew in the Dvapara age; that one had not even been born in Ravana’s lifetime.

Hearing Trishira’s reassurance, Ravana, driven by fate, felt himself born anew. At Trishira’s words Devantaka, Narantaka, and the fiery Atikaya all rose up eager for battle. “Me first! Me first!” they cried, these valiant sons of Ravana, each a match for Indra in power. All of them could travel the sky, all were skilled in illusion, grinders of the pride of gods, invincible in war. Ravana shone amid these sons as Indra amid the immortals. He embraced them, decked them in ornaments, gave them his blessing, and sent them out to war. To guard the princes he sent his two brothers as well, Yuddhonmatta (Mahaparshva) and Matta (Mahodara).

Mahodara mounted a handsome elephant named Sudarshana, born of Airavata’s line, dark as a rain cloud. Trishira climbed a chariot yoked to fine horses. Atikaya, greatest of all archers, mounted a splendid chariot with good wheels, sound axles, and a strong yoke-pole, packed with quivers, bows, spears, swords, and iron clubs. Devantaka took up a gold-inlaid iron club; with three crowns Trishira shone like the Himalaya with three golden peaks. Narantaka rode a horse white as Uchchaihshravas, gold-adorned, swift as thought, and, carrying a lance that flashed like a meteor, he shone like Kartikeya seated on his peacock. Mahaparshva, mace in hand, blazed like Kubera. These great ones went out like gods leaving Amaravati.

These six jewels among the nairritas, smearing their limbs with ten herbs and fragrant balms, went out longing for war. The enemy army watched them come, an army thick with elephants, horses, and chariots, ringing with hundreds of bells, dark as a rain cloud, hoisting great weapons. A savage battle broke open between the two hosts: the vanaras lifting trees and boulders, the rakshasas hurling sharp arrows and pikes and mallets and swords, each dashing the other down. In a moment the ground was watered with blood, and the pieces of mountain-sized rakshasas lay scattered.

Then Narantaka, on a horse swift as the wind, a sharp lance in his grip, plunged into that fearsome vanara host like a fish into the great ocean. Alone, with his blazing lance, he pierced seven hundred vanaras; in a moment he cut through an army of the finest of the monkeys. The vidyadharas and the great seers watched that mighty one range on his horse through the vanara ranks. His path was a mire of flesh and blood, strewn with fallen monkeys like tumbled mountains. With his lance flaring like a meteor he crushed monkeys on every side, like the wind at the end of the rains. The brave vanaras could not flee, could not stand their ground, could not so much as stir for fear.

The choice vanaras who had fallen earlier under Kumbhakarna, now healed, came to Sugriva. Sugriva looked around and saw the vanara army fleeing this way and that in dread of Narantaka. Seeing the army scattering and Narantaka coming on horseback with his lance, the great and fiery lord of monkeys said to Prince Angada, whose valor equaled Indra’s: “Go. That brave rakshasa on horseback, terrorizing the vanara host, part him from his life at once.” At his master’s word Angada set out as the sun breaks from a bank of cloud. Decked in golden armlets, Angada shone like a mountain veined with ore.

Angada came up to Narantaka and spoke, though he carried no weapon but his nails and teeth: “Stop! What will you do with these common monkeys? Turn that thunderbolt of a lance on this chest of mine.” At these words Narantaka, grinding his lip between his teeth, hissing like a serpent, came and stood before him. He whirled the blazing lance and hurled it at Angada, but it struck that thunder-hard chest, snapped, and fell to the earth. Seeing the lance broken like a serpent’s body cut by Garuda, Vali’s son Angada raised his open hand and struck the head of Narantaka’s horse such a blow that the horse’s legs sank into the ground, its eyes burst, its tongue lolled out, and its skull split, and the mountain of a horse fell dead. Seeing his horse killed, the enraged Narantaka raised his fist and struck Angada on the head.

The fist-blow split Angada’s skull, and very hot blood ran from it; he burned with the pain, fainted again and again, and coming to, stood amazed. Then, clenching a fist like a mountain peak, the great son of Vali struck it with the speed of death against Narantaka’s chest. The blow tore open the chest and drove it in; vomiting flaming blood, Narantaka fell like a mountain split by the thunderbolt. When the front-line hero Narantaka fell by Vali’s son, a great roar of joy went up from the gods in the sky and the vanaras on the field. Angada had done a deed hard past belief, one that filled even Rama’s heart with delight and left him astonished; and Angada of the terrible deeds grew eager for battle once more.

The gist: Ravana’s whole house, sons and nephews and brothers, marches into the field at once, as if the last stake were being laid. Narantaka killing seven hundred vanaras single-handed and then collapsing under one fist-blow from Vali’s son shows how fast pride and prowess turn over in Valmiki’s war.

The Deaths of Devantaka, Trishira, Mahodara, and Mahaparshva

Seeing Narantaka slain, the three demon lords Devantaka, Trishira, and Mahodara cried out. Swift Mahodara, on his cloud-dark elephant, rushed at the mighty Angada. Devantaka, strong and scalded by his brother Narantaka’s fall, ran at Angada with a terrible iron club, and brave Trishira, on his sun-bright chariot, came at him too. Ringed at once by the three demon lords, Angada uprooted a great tree and flung it at Devantaka as Indra flings the blazing bolt. Trishira cut the tree apart with arrows like venom-fanged snakes; seeing it cut down, Angada sprang aside.

Angada rained trees and boulders; Trishira sheared them with sharp arrows, Mahodara broke them with the point of his club, and Trishira fell on Angada with a storm of shafts. From his elephant Mahodara struck Angada’s chest with thunderbolt-like maces; Devantaka landed a blow with his iron club and at once fell back. Even under the three attacking together, the great and fiery son of Vali was not shaken in the least. He showed his speed and struck Mahodara’s huge elephant with his open hand, so that the eyes of that lord of elephants fell out and it was destroyed. Then, wrenching out the elephant’s tusk, Angada struck Devantaka with it; he reeled like a tree shaken by wind and streamed blood the color of lac.

Breathing hard, the strong Devantaka whirled his iron club and struck Angada; club-struck, the son of Vali dropped to his knees, then rose again. As Angada sprang up, Trishira pierced his brow with three terrible straight arrows. Seeing Angada ringed by three rakshasas, Hanuman and Nila too came to his aid. Nila hurled a boulder-tip at Trishira, but the shrewd son of Ravana crushed it to powder with sharp arrows, so that the peak fell scattering sparks and flame. Seeing Trishira’s skill, the exultant, powerful Devantaka ran at Hanuman with his club. Hanuman leapt and struck Devantaka on the head with a fist like the thunderbolt, then struck him a second time, and his roar set the rakshasas trembling. His skull crushed, his teeth and eyes started out and his tongue hanging, Devantaka died at once and fell to the earth.

At the death of Devantaka, foe of the gods, the enraged Trishira loosed a fearsome storm of sharp arrows into Nila’s chest. Meanwhile the enraged Mahodara, mounted again with the steadiness of Mount Mandara on his mountainous elephant, poured down arrows on Nila. Pierced through, aching in every limb, the commander Nila was all but drained of strength by the mighty Mahodara. Then, coming to himself, Nila, son of the Wind, tore up a peak with its trees, leapt, and struck it down on Mahodara’s head; crushed together with his great elephant, the swooning Mahodara died on the ground like a mountain split by the thunderbolt.

Seeing his uncle Mahodara slain, Trishira raised his bow and pierced Hanuman with sharp arrows. Hanuman first flung a peak that missed, then rained down trees, but the valiant Trishira cut those apart too. Then Hanuman leapt and, like a lion, tore Trishira’s horse with his nails. Trishira raised a lance like the Night of Doom and hurled it at Hanuman; the lion among monkeys caught that unerring shaft as it came through the sky like a meteor, broke it, and roared. Seeing it, the vanara host roared like thunderclouds. Then Trishira raised his sword and struck Hanuman’s chest; wounded, the brave Hanuman struck Trishira’s chest with his open hand, so that the fiery rakshasa let go his weapon and fell in a faint.

Snatching up the falling Trishira’s sword, mountainous Hanuman roared and terrified all the rakshasas. Hearing it, Trishira rose and struck Hanuman with his fist. Enraged by the blow, Hanuman seized the heads of the crowned demon lord, and as Indra once struck off the three heads of Vishvarupa, the son of Tvashta, so with the sharp sword he cut off all three of Trishira’s heads with their earrings and diadems. Those heads, eyes blazing like fire, hard as stone, fell to the earth like stars loosed from the sun’s path. When Hanuman, whose valor matched Indra’s, slew that foe of the gods, the vanaras roared, the earth shook, and the rakshasas fled on every side.

Seeing Trishira and Mahodara slain, and the invincible Devantaka and Narantaka destroyed, the enraged Matta (Mahaparshva), foremost of rakshasas, took up a mace, wholly of iron and cased in gold, blazing, smeared with the foam of flesh and blood, sated with the blood of enemies, hung with garlands of red, a mace that could strike terror even into the world-elephants Airavata, Mahapadma, and Sarvabhauma, and, burning like the fire at the end of an age, he fell upon the vanaras. A vanara named Rishabha leapt up and stood before Mattanika (Mahaparshva), Ravana’s brother. The enraged rakshasa struck the chest of that mountainous monkey with his thunder-hard mace; his chest split, Rishabha poured out much blood.

Long after, coming to himself, enraged and lips trembling, Rishabha looked at Mahaparshva. The swift chief of vanara heroes sprang forward, clenched his fist, and struck the rakshasa on the chest between the two arms; cut like a tree at the root, the rakshasa fell bathed in blood. Rishabha snatched up his terrible mace, grim as the rod of Yama, and roared. For a moment Mahaparshva lay like a dead man, then life returned, and, the color of evening cloud, he sprang up and struck Rishabha. Rishabha fell in a faint, but in a moment he rose, whirled that same peak-like mace, and struck Mahaparshva in the field. The terrible mace tore open his chest, and, like the Himalaya, he poured out much blood.

Then Rishabha swiftly snatched up Mahaparshva’s mace and, whirling that same fearsome weapon again and again, struck Mattanika at the head of the fight; crushed by his own mace, his teeth and eyes fallen out, Matta (Mahaparshva) dropped like a mountain struck by the thunderbolt. When that rakshasa died, Ravana’s ocean of an army flung down its weapons and fled to save its life, like a sea that has broken its shore.

The gist: In a single canto six of Ravana’s warriors, four sons and nephews and two brothers, are taken into the jaws of death. Here Hanuman, Nila, Angada, and Rishabha take their turns to show their strength. Valmiki’s comparison of Hanuman to the Indra who cut off Vishvarupa’s heads is his hint that this is not brute force alone, but the gods’ own work of setting dharma back on its feet.

Atikaya’s Fierce Battle and His Death at Lakshmana’s Hands

Seeing his army in torment and his brothers slain despite their Indra-like strength, and his uncles Yuddhonmatta and Matta fallen in the field, the mountainous Atikaya, on whom Brahma had bestowed a boon of invulnerability, flew into a great rage. Mounting a chariot bright as a thousand suns, he rushed at the vanaras. Wearing his crown and gleaming earrings, Atikaya strung his bow, proclaimed his own name, and roared a great roar. At that lion’s cry, that shout of his name, and the terrible twang of his string, the vanaras quailed. Seeing his vast body, they all wondered whether Kumbhakarna had come back to life. Seeing that huge form, like Vishnu’s at the moment of the three strides, the vanaras broke and ran to Rama, giver of refuge.

Then Rama, of the line of Kakutstha, saw from afar the mountainous Atikaya, bow in hand, roaring like a cloud. Astonished, reassuring the vanaras, Rama asked Vibhishana: “Who is this mountain of an archer, seated on a huge chariot yoked to a thousand horses, his eyes like a lion’s, shining amid iron clubs and pikes and lances and javelins like Maheshvara himself? On whose chariot is the mark of Rahu, who lights up the ten directions with arrows bright as the sun’s rays, whose gold-backed bow, like a rainbow, sounds like a thundercloud? Twenty quivers, ten bows, and eight bowstrings lie on his chariot. Mighty-armed one, tell me of this foremost of rakshasas, at the sight of whom all the vanaras have fled in fear.”

At the question of the boundlessly splendid prince, the great and fiery Vibhishana answered: “The ten-headed Ravana, younger brother of Kubera, son of Vishravas, lord of rakshasas of terrible deeds, is famous. He had a valiant son, a match for Ravana in strength, a servant of his elders, a keeper of the Vedas, and the best among all who know weapons. In riding horse and elephant, in wielding sword and bow, in the arts of division, conciliation, and gift, in statecraft and counsel, he is greatly honored. On the strength of his arm Lanka rests without fear; this is Atikaya, son of Dhanyamalini, another queen of Ravana. By his austerity he won Brahma’s favor and gained weapons and conquered his enemies; Brahma gave him invulnerability from gods and demons, this divine mail, and this chariot bright as the sun. It was he who checked Indra’s thunderbolt with arrows and made Varuna’s noose fail. Best of men, before he destroys the whole vanara army, act against him at once.”

Then the strong Atikaya plunged into the vanara host, twanging his bow again and again and roaring. Seeing him, the chief vanaras Kumuda, Dvivida, Mainda, Nila, and Sharabha together fell upon him with trees and peaks. Best among masters of weapons, Atikaya cut every one of those trees and boulders apart with his gold-decked arrows and pierced with iron shafts the vanaras who came before him. Tormented by the arrow-rain, their limbs broken, the vanaras could not stand against Atikaya in that great battle. He terrorized the vanara host as a lion drunk on the pride of youth terrorizes a herd of deer.

He would not strike one who was not fighting. Coming toward Rama, bow and quiver in hand, Atikaya boasted: “I sit on a chariot with bow and arrows; I do not fight any common warrior. Whoever has strength and spirit in him, let him fight me this day.” Hearing this, the foe-slaying Lakshmana, son of Sumitra, sprang up in anger, drew an arrow from his quiver, and began to draw his great bow to the ear before Atikaya. Lakshmana’s terrible bowstring-note filled the whole earth, sky, sea, and quarters and struck dread into the night-rangers.

Hearing the fierce twang, the strong son of the demon king was astonished. Seeing Lakshmana ready, Atikaya took a sharp arrow and said: “Son of Sumitra, you are still a boy, unpracticed in valor. Go! Why fight me, who am like Death? Neither the Himalaya nor the sky nor the earth can bear the force of the arrows loosed from my arm. Why wake the fire of the end of time as it sleeps in comfort? Lay down your bow and go back; do not come near me and lose your life.” Lakshmana said: “You do not become foremost by words alone, nor do you become a good man by boasting. I stand before you with bow and arrow; show your strength, wicked one. Announce yourself by your deeds, not by praising yourself. I will bring down your head with my sharp arrows as the wind brings down a ripe palm-fruit from its stalk.”

Enraged, Atikaya loosed an arrow at Lakshmana as if he would fold up the sky; Lakshmana cut it apart with a crescent-headed shaft. Then Atikaya loosed five arrows, and Lakshmana cut them down on their path and struck Atikaya on the brow with one brilliant arrow, so that, blood-reddened, it looked like a serpent king clinging to a mountain. Struck, Atikaya shook like the gate of Tripura struck by Rudra’s shaft. Recovering himself, he said: “A fine shot! You are an enemy worth praising.” Then he loosed one, three, five, and seven arrows; but Raghava’s younger brother cut them apart as well.

Enraged, Atikaya loosed a serpent-like arrow and pierced Lakshmana in the chest; like a rutting elephant, Lakshmana streamed blood. Then Lakshmana drew the shaft from himself, and, invoking the fire-missile over his arrow, it began to breathe flame. Atikaya loosed the Raudra missile; the two arrows clashed in the sky, burned to ash, and fell to the earth. Then Atikaya loosed the missile of Tvashta, and Lakshmana cut it with the missile of Indra; Atikaya the missile of Yama, and Lakshmana the missile of the Wind. Then Lakshmana poured streams of arrows on Atikaya, but they struck his diamond-inlaid mail and fell away. He loosed a thousand more, and still the mail-clad Atikaya, invulnerable, was untroubled.

Then the Wind-god came near and said: “He has Brahma’s boon and wears mail that cannot be pierced; strike him with the Brahma missile, or he will not die; by other weapons this strong and mail-clad one cannot be slain.” At the Wind’s word Lakshmana, whose valor matched Indra’s, set on his bow an arrow of fierce speed charged with the Brahma missile; then the quarters, the moon and sun, the great planets, and the sky shook, and the earth groaned. Lakshmana loosed that arrow, like a messenger of Yama, at the rakshasa. Seeing it come, Atikaya tried to check it with spear, javelin, mace, axe, pike, and arrows, but the fire-bright shaft made all those wondrous weapons useless and carried off the crowned head of Atikaya. Crown and all, the head fell to the earth like a peak of the Himalaya.

Seeing the prince fall, the surviving night-rangers were stricken and downcast, and shrieked aloud in dismay. Their leader slain, the leaderless rakshasas fled in terror toward Lanka. Many vanaras, their faces like opened lotuses, worshipped Lakshmana who had brought them victory; and Lakshmana, having killed the mighty, cloud-dark, unassailable Atikaya, returned in joy to Rama.

A key to understanding, invulnerability and the Brahmastra: Atikaya carried Brahma’s boon of a mail that could not be pierced, and so ordinary weapons, even a thousand arrows, came to nothing. This principle returns again and again in Valmiki: the answer to a particular boon is only a particular divine weapon. Brahma’s gift of mail could be cut only by Brahma’s own missile, and it is the Wind-god’s hint that gives Lakshmana this secret.

The gist: Atikaya is the son of Ravana whose learning and mastery of scripture are established by Vibhishana’s own mouth: he is not merely strong but skilled in Veda, shastra, and statecraft. His death is the first great single combat of this stretch, and Lakshmana’s use of the Brahmastra prepares the ground for the killing of Indrajit to come.

Ravana’s Anxiety and the Order to Guard Lanka

Hearing that Atikaya had been slain by the great Lakshmana, Ravana grew troubled and said: “Dhumraksha, who could bear nothing, and Akampana, best of all who bore weapons, and Prahasta and Kumbhakarna, these mighty ones, hungry for battle, never yet beaten by any enemy, have been slain with their armies by Rama, who never tires of his work. Many other brave and great souls have been struck down besides. My son Indrajit, of famed strength and valor, bound both brothers, Rama and Lakshmana, with terrible boon-given arrows, a binding that all the gods, the mighty demons, the yakshas, gandharvas, and nagas together could not loosen; and yet by some power, some illusion or bewilderment I do not know, they were set free.”

Ravana went on: “All the brave rakshasas who went out at my command have been killed by the exceedingly strong vanaras. I see no warrior who could today destroy Rama and Lakshmana, with their army and Vibhishana and Sugriva. Ah, great is the strength of Rama, and great the strength of his weapons, before whose valor the rakshasas have gone to their deaths. I take that brave Raghava to be Narayana himself, without flaw. It is for fear of him that the gates and arches of Lanka stay shut. Therefore let those of you who have escaped destruction stand always on your guard and protect this city of Lanka, and above all that Ashoka grove where Sita is kept, together with the watch-posts. Every coming and going in the city and in the grove must always be known to us.”

“Wherever there is a watch-post, let the comings and goings be checked again and again; hold your ground everywhere, each ringed by his own troops. Night-rangers, keep your eyes on the movements of the monkeys at every hour, at dusk, at midnight, at daybreak. Never make light of the monkeys; watch without pause whether the enemy’s army is ready, is advancing, or is holding its place.” Hearing this order, the mighty rakshasas carried it out at once. Having given all his commands, Ravana, the thorn of wrath lodged in his heart, went dejected into his palace and, brooding on his son Atikaya’s ruin, sighed long and again and again.

The gist: Here, through Ravana’s own mouth, Valmiki drops a deep hint: Ravana begins to take Rama for Narayana himself, without flaw. That admission lays bare both the fear inside him and Rama’s divinity. At the same time he tightens the guard on Sita, which becomes the backdrop for Indrajit’s coming trick of the illusory Sita.

Indrajit’s Invisible War of Illusion and the Binding of Rama and Lakshmana

The surviving rakshasas brought Ravana word of the deaths of Devantaka, Trishira, Atikaya, and the other rakshasa chiefs. Hearing it, the king’s eyes filled with tears. Brooding on the loss of his sons and the cruel killing of his brothers, he sank deep in thought. Seeing the king dejected and drowned in an ocean of grief, Indrajit, best of charioteers, son of the demon king, spoke: “Father, while Indrajit lives, do not give way to despair; struck by the arrows of the enemy of Indra, no one saves his life in battle. This very day see Rama and Lakshmana pierced by my arrows, their bodies torn, their breath gone, laid out on the earth.”

“Hear this vow of mine, sure, born of my own strength and blessed by fate: this very day I will overwhelm Rama and Lakshmana with unfailing arrows. This day Indra, Yama, Vishnu, Rudra, the Sadhyas, Agni, the Moon, and the Sun will see my measureless valor as they once saw Vishnu’s fierce valor in the sacrificial ground of Bali.” So saying, taking his leave of the king, the undaunted Indrajit mounted a chariot yoked to the finest of asses, swift as the wind. Behind him went many mighty rakshasas, carrying fine bows, in high spirits. Some rode elephants, some fine horses, some tigers, scorpions, cats, asses, and camels, some serpents, boars, lions, jackals, and crows, geese, and peacocks; they carried lances, pikes, iron bars, swords, axes, maces, slings, mallets, dart-throwers, and clubs.

To the full sound of conch and drum Indrajit reached the field, shining like the sky with the full moon under a parasol white as conch and moon. Fanned with golden chowries, foremost of all archers, he set the rakshasas around his chariot on every side and, blazing like fire, began to worship the fire in due form with the finest of mantras. With flowers and sandal and parched grain he honored the fire and poured the oblation. In that rite weapons were spread in the place of the sacred grass, the kindling was of bibhitaka wood, the cloths were red, and the ladle was of iron. Having strewn the fire with pikes and javelins, he took a live black goat by the throat and offered it. From that one oblation the fire flared up, smokeless, in a great flame, and in it appeared the signs that foretell victory; like heated gold, its flame curling to the right, the fire showed itself and took the offering of its own accord. Indrajit, master of the Brahma missile, called down the Brahma weapon and consecrated his bow and chariot. As the weapon was called down and the fire fed, the vault of heaven with sun, moon, planets, and stars trembled in fear.

A sub-tale: This rite of Indrajit’s was no mere ceremony; it was the root of his power in war. By completing this same fire-offering at a place called Nikumbhila, he became invisible and unconquerable. Later Vibhishana will unlock this very secret, that the only way to stop Indrajit is to strike him before the offering is complete.

Having satisfied the fire, blazing like fire, of power equal to great Indra’s, the demon of unthinkable might, Indrajit made himself vanish into the sky, with his bow, arrows, sword, chariot, horses, and driver. Then the rakshasa army, decked with pennants and banners, went out roaring, longing for battle. With javelins and goads and gaily painted sharp arrows they struck at the vanaras. The enraged son of Ravana cried, “Fight with joy, longing to kill the monkeys,” and, hungry for victory, the roaring rakshasas rained arrows on the vanaras. Hidden from the rakshasas as well, Indrajit began to kill the vanaras with broad-mouthed shafts, iron arrows, maces, and pestles.

The enraged, fiery, mighty son of Ravana began to riddle the bodies of the vanaras; with a single arrow he pierced nine, five, and seven monkeys and gladdened the rakshasas. Tormented by arrows, their limbs broken, their resolve broken, the vanaras began to fall like great demons slain by gods. Then some vanaras rose into the sky, some stayed on the ground, and they rushed at Indrajit, but he stayed hidden by illusion. Laying down their lives for Rama, the vanaras took up rocks for weapons and, roaring, poured trees and peaks and boulders on the son of Ravana, but the ever-victorious Indrajit scattered that death-dealing rain. Then, with fire-hot arrows like venom-fanged snakes, he pierced the vanara host.

With eighteen sharp arrows he pierced Gandhamadana, with nine the distant Nala. With seven vital-rending shafts he pierced Mainda, with five Gaja. With ten arrows he pierced Jambavan, with thirty Nila, and with terrible boon-given arrows he all but drove the life from Sugriva, Rishabha, Angada, and Dvivida. He tormented the other chief vanaras too with many arrows. With arrows swift as the sun’s rays he churned the army. Pleased, Indrajit surveyed the vanara host, bathed in blood and reeling. Then, ringed by his own troops, still unseen, dark as a rain cloud, he began to pour a net of arrows on the vanaras; struck like mountain lords cleft by Indra’s bolt, the vanaras fell shrieking in broken voices. They saw only the sharp arrows coming; they could not see the enemy of Indra hidden by illusion.

Then that great rakshasa king veiled all the quarters with sharp arrows bright as the sun and tore apart the vanara chiefs, and poured on the vanara host a fierce rain of pikes and swords and axes, flaming like fire, throwing off sparks. Struck by Indrajit’s golden shafts, the vanara chiefs looked like kimshuka trees in bloom; pressed against one another, shrieking in broken voices, pierced with arrows, the vanaras began to fall. Then the enemy of Indra, hidden by illusion, pierced with pikes and lances and sharp charged arrows all these famed tigers among vanaras: Hanuman, Sugriva, Angada, Gandhamadana, Jambavan, Sushena, Vegadarshi, Mainda, Dvivida, Nila, Gavaksha, Gavaya, Kesari, Hariloma, Vidyuddamshtra, Suryanana, Jyotirmukha, Dadhimukha, Pavakaksha, Nala, and Kumuda. Piercing the vanara chiefs with golden arrows and maces, he covered Rama and Lakshmana too with a rain of arrows like the sun’s rays.

Untroubled by those arrow-showers falling like the streams of the rains, Rama, bright with a wondrous splendor, said to Lakshmana: “Lakshmana, this demon king, this enemy of Indra, having taken refuge in the Brahma missile and brought down our army, now torments us with sharp arrows. This great being, unseen and terrible, Indrajit, blessed by the self-born Brahma, whose body cannot be seen and who stands ready with his weapon, how can he be killed today in battle? I know that the self-born lord Brahma is beyond thought and that this weapon is his own. Therefore, wise brother, with a mind unshaken, bear this arrow-rain with me today. This demon king is veiling all the quarters with a net of arrows, and with its front-line heroes fallen, the vanara king’s army no longer has any grace. Seeing us fallen in a swoon, past joy and anger, withdrawn from the fight, he will surely win the glory of the field and go back to Lanka.”

Then the two princes were wounded there by Indrajit’s nets of arrows, and, having tormented them in that battle, the demon king roared for joy. Having brought the vanara host and Rama and Lakshmana low in the field, Indrajit at once withdrew into the city guarded by the ten-headed one’s arms, and, praised by the rakshasas, in high spirits, told his father all that had happened in full.

The gist: Indrajit’s war of illusion is the pivot of this stretch: staying invisible, with the Brahma missile he binds not only the whole vanara army but Rama and Lakshmana themselves. Rama’s counsel to Lakshmana, to bear the Brahma missile with patience, shows that Valmiki’s heroes do not resist the divine weapon; they honor it.

Jambavan’s Instruction and Hanuman’s Bringing of the Sanjivani Mountain

Seeing the two princes struck down at the head of the field, the army of vanara chiefs fell into a daze; Sugriva, Nila, Angada, and Jambavan could do nothing. Seeing everyone dejected, Vibhishana, best among the wise, comforted Sugriva’s heroes with matchless words: “Do not fear; this is no time for despair. These sons of Dasharatha lie helpless and wounded because they showed reverence to the self-born one’s weapon by which Indrajit overwhelmed them. This supreme Brahma missile of unfailing power the self-born himself gave to Indrajit, and the two princes fell in the field honoring it; what despair is there in this?”

Honoring the Brahma missile, the wise Hanuman said: “Let the two of us reassure whoever still holds their breath among this weapon-struck vanara host.” Then Hanuman and Vibhishana, torches in hand, ranged the battlefield in the night. They saw the ground covered with vanaras fallen like tumbled mountains, their tails, hands, thighs, feet, fingers, and necks cut, streaming blood. They saw Sugriva, Angada, Nila, Sharabha, Gandhamadana, Jambavan, Sushena, Vegadarshi, Mainda, Nala, Jyotirmukha, and Dvivida struck down in the field. By the fifth and last watch of the day, the dear weapon of the self-born had brought down sixty-seven crore mighty vanaras.

A key to understanding, the five watches of the day: In Valmiki’s time the twelve hours of daylight were divided into five parts, each of six ghatikas (about two hours and twenty-four minutes): morning, forenoon, midday, afternoon, and evening. “The fifth and last watch” means the time of dusk, that is, a whole day’s battle finished in Indrajit’s single stroke of illusion.

Seeing the army struck down like a sea, Hanuman and Vibhishana went searching for Jambavan. Coming to that aged and venerable hero, son of Prajapati, pierced by hundreds of arrows and dim as a dying fire, Vibhishana said: “Noble one, I hope Indrajit’s sharp arrows have not taken your life.” With great difficulty Jambavan spoke: “Mighty lord of the nairritas, I know you by your voice alone; pierced by sharp arrows, I cannot see you with my eyes. Is the best of vanaras, Hanuman, for whose sake Anjana and the Wind-god are called blessed parents, still alive anywhere, virtuous one?”

Vibhishana said: “Setting aside the princes, why do you ask only after Hanuman? The love you show for the son of the Wind you show neither for King Sugriva, nor for Angada, nor for Raghava.” Jambavan answered: “Hear, tiger among nairritas, why I ask only after Hanuman. If this brave Hanuman lives, then even the slain army is as good as unslain; and if Hanuman has given up his life, then, though we live, we are as dead. If the son of the Wind, of valor like the Wind and like Fire, is alive, then there is hope for our lives.”

Then, coming to the aged one, Hanuman touched his feet and greeted him with humility. At Hanuman’s words the great bear Jambavan, though his senses were racked by the pain of his wounds, felt himself born anew. The fiery Jambavan said: “Come, tiger among monkeys! You alone can save the vanaras. In valor there is none greater than you; you are their dearest friend. This is the hour for your valor; I see no other. Gladden the host of bear and vanara heroes, and draw the shafts from these wounded Rama and Lakshmana.”

“Hanuman, cross the very long path over the sea and go to the Himalaya, greatest of mountains. From there you will see the golden peak called Rishabha and the summit of Kailasa, slayer of foes. Between those two peaks, brave one, you will see a shining herb-mountain of matchless splendor, holding every kind of healing plant. On the crest of that mountain you will see four blazing herbs lighting the ten quarters: mritasanjivani, which brings the dead to life; vishalyakarani, which draws out the shafts of weapons and heals the wound; suvarnakarani, which restores the body’s color; and the great herb sandhani, which joins cut limbs and broken bones. Bring them all, son of the Wind, and return at once, and reunite the vanaras with their breath and reassure them.”

At Jambavan’s word Hanuman swelled with strength and eagerness, swift as the wind, like the sea driven by the wind. Standing on the peak of Trikuta, pressing that great mountain down with his feet, Hanuman looked like a second mountain. Pressed under Hanuman’s feet, the mountain sank; racked with pain, it could not bear its own weight. The trees on it fell, some caught fire in Hanuman’s rush, and its peaks were shattered. The main gates of Lanka shook, houses and towers broke, and Lanka, stricken with terror, seemed in the night to be dancing. Hanuman churned the earth and the sea together; hearing his great roar, even the tigers among the rakshasas of Lanka could not stir.

Then Hanuman leapt from Trikuta to the Malaya mountain, which was like Meru and Mandara, rich with many springs and trees and vines, bright with opened lotuses and lilies, served by gods and gandharvas, sixty yojanas high, and haunted by vidyadharas, apsaras, and sages. Pressing Malaya down wholly with his feet, opening a mouth like the fire beneath the sea, Hanuman roared a terrible roar to strike dread into the night-rangers. Bowing to the sea, the mighty Hanuman resolved on the great task for Raghava’s sake. Lifting his serpent-like tail, arching his back, drawing in his ears, opening a mouth like the submarine fire, he leapt into the sky with tremendous force. Trees, rocks, and common vanaras torn up by the force of his arms and thighs fell into the water when his rush slackened.

Spreading his arms like coiled serpents, Hanuman, of valor like Garuda’s, set out for the Himalaya, king of mountains, as if dragging the quarters after him. Watching mountains, birds, lakes, rivers, ponds, and cities, he pressed on with a speed like his father’s. Taking the sun’s own path, tireless, Hanuman sped on with the speed of the wind, setting the quarters ringing, and suddenly the Himalaya came into view, lovely with peaks like heaps of white cloud and adorned with many trees. On that great king of mountains he saw the treasury of Brahma, the silvery place (a form of Brahma), the abode of Indra, the place where Rudra loosed his shaft, the abode of Hayagriva, the shining abode of the Brahma missile, the servants of Yama, the abode of Fire, the sun-bright abode of Kubera, the fastening-place of the sun, the abode of Brahma, the bow of Shankara, and the navel of the earth, these divine places. And on that same king of mountains he saw the herb-summit, blazing like a heap of fire, ablaze with every healing plant.

Seeing that mountain blazing like a heap of fire, Hanuman, son of Vasava’s messenger, was astonished, and leaping onto that lord of herb-mountains, he began to search for the herbs. The great monkey, having crossed a thousand yojanas, ranged over that mountain bearing the divine herbs. But knowing that a seeker had come, all the great herbs made themselves invisible. Unable to find them, the great Hanuman roared in anger and, with eyes like fire, said to the mountain: “Mountain lord, you have shown no pity even for Raghava; your hardness deserves blame. Overpowered by the strength of my arms, see yourself now scattered in pieces!”

Then Hanuman tore up by force the peak of that mountain, with its trees, elephants, gold, and its thousand kinds of ore, so that its crags were crushed and its crest caught fire. Seeing it, the vanaras roared, and Hanuman roared for joy, and hearing their uproar the people of Lanka shrieked more terribly still. Striking dread into the worlds, and into the lords of gods and demons, Hanuman tore up that peak, sprang into the sky, and flew off with a fierce speed like Garuda’s, praised by many who travel the sky. Carrying the peak, bright as the sun, Hanuman reached the sun’s path and, near the disk of the sun, seemed its very likeness; carrying that thousand-rayed blazing circle, he shone like Vishnu with his discus.

Then the great Hanuman came down among the vanara host on Trikuta and, bowing his head to the vanara chiefs, embraced Vibhishana where he stood. At the mere scent of those great herbs the two princes were freed of their shafts on the spot, and the other vanara heroes who had swooned in the field rose up as well. The vanara heroes who had been killed, too, at the scent of those choice herbs became free of shafts and free of sorrow in a moment, as men asleep wake at the end of the night. (Ever since the vanaras and rakshasas had been fighting in Lanka, the rakshasas killed there were, by Ravana’s order, at once flung into the sea to save appearances, so that the vanaras would not learn their number.) Then swift Hanuman carried that herb-mountain back to the Himalaya and rejoined Rama.

A key to understanding, the four divine herbs: Mritasanjivani brings the dead to life; vishalyakarani draws out weapons lodged in the body and heals the wound; suvarnakarani restores the body’s lost color and luster; and sandhani joins cut limbs and broken bones. Hanuman’s carrying off the whole mountain, because the herbs had hidden themselves, is the high point of Valmiki’s wonder, and one of the most famous images in the whole Ramayana.

The gist: The crisis born of Indrajit’s illusory weapon is answered by Hanuman’s matchless deed. Note that in Valmiki, Hanuman fetches the mountain only on this occasion, not twice. Later devotional tradition gave the episode more elaboration, but the source here is restrained: this is the sanjivani episode of Valmiki’s Ramayana.

The Vanaras Burn Lanka and the Fierce Night Battle

Then the great and fiery lord of vanaras Sugriva, setting out the next task, said to Hanuman: “Since Kumbhakarna is slain and the princes destroyed, Ravana can put up no defense now. So let the strongest and swiftest vanaras take torches and climb at once onto Lanka.” In that fearful dusk after sundown, the vanara chiefs went toward Lanka, torches in hand. Ringed on every side by torch-bearing vanaras, the guards posted at the gates, Virupaksha and the rest, suddenly broke and fled. As the guards fled, the exultant vanaras set fire to the towers, mansions, lanes, the many roads, and the palaces. The fire burned their thousands of houses; mountainous palaces began to fall to the earth.

There aloewood, fine sandal, pearls, polished gems, diamonds, and coral burned. Linen, lovely silk, woolens of many kinds, vessels of gold, and weapons burned as well. The rich trappings of horses, the girths and neck-chains of elephants, the finished harness of chariots, the coats of mail of warriors, the armor of horses and elephants, swords, bows, bowstrings, arrows, javelins, goads, lances, hairy hides, tiger skins, musk, mansions inlaid with pearl and gem, and heaps of weapons of every kind, the fire consumed all, and flared up again and again.

The homes of the house-loving rakshasas, in their golden mail, their garlands and ornaments and robes, who, having drunk wine, rolled their eyes and reeled with drink, leaned on the hands of their beloved women, raged at the enemy, held mace and pike and sword, ate and drank, or slept with their beloveds on costly beds, or fled in terror carrying their children, hundreds of thousands of such homes the fire burned. Costly homes of grave and stately grace, decked with gold moons and half-moons, higher than moon-terraces, with painted windows and seats and beds, patterned with gem and coral, seeming to touch the sun, loud with the cries of curlews and peacocks and the sound of lutes and jeweled anklets, mountainous homes the fire consumed. Flame-wreathed archways glimmered like clouds hung with lightning at the end of summer; fire-wreathed homes shone like the peaks of a great mountain lit by a forest fire. Beauties asleep in seven-storied palaces cast off their jeweled clasps and cried “Alas! Alas!” in high voices; fire-wreathed mansions fell like mountain peaks struck by the thunderbolt. Burning from afar they looked like peaks of the Himalaya, and Lanka in the night looked decked with kimshuka trees in bloom; with the elephants let loose by their keepers and the loosed horses, Lanka became like the sea of doomsday, wild with sea-monsters.

Here an elephant, seeing a loosed horse, drew back in fear; there a horse, seeing a frightened elephant, turned in terror and fled. As Lanka burned, even the sea, its water reddened by the reflection of the half-burned houses, shone as if its waters had turned to blood. In a moment that city set ablaze by the vanaras became like the earth burning in the terrible doomsday of this world. The clamor of women scorched by fire, shrieking high, wrapped in smoke, was heard for a hundred yojanas.

Then the war-eager vanaras suddenly fell upon the rakshasas who came out with their bodies scorched. The vanaras’ shouts of victory and the rakshasas’ wailing set ringing the quarters, the sea, and the earth. Freed of their shafts, the great Rama and Lakshmana, unshaken, took up their finest bows. When Rama twanged his splendid bow, a tumultuous sound rose up to terrify the rakshasas; drawing his great bow, Rama shone like the wrathful Shiva stringing his Veda-fashioned bow at the time of the world’s end. The victory-shouts of the vanaras, the cries of the rakshasas, and the note of Rama’s string, all three spread through the ten quarters. Under the arrows loosed from Rama’s bow, the main gate of Lanka, like a peak of Kailasa, was scattered on the earth. Seeing Rama’s arrows fall on their airborne cars and homes, the demon lords made a tumultuous show of war; for the roaring rakshasas that night became like the night of doom driven by Rudra.

The great Sugriva ordered the vanara chiefs: “Reach the nearest gate and fight, vanaras! Any who, present in the field, flee without fighting, seize that spoiler of the king’s command and kill him.” When the torch-bearing vanara chiefs held firm at the gate, wrath seized Ravana. At the yawns he loosed in his rage the ten quarters ran together, and he looked like the wrath of Rudra given a body. The enraged Ravana sent out Kumbhakarna’s sons Kumbha and Nikumbha with many rakshasas; Yupaksha, Shonitaksha, Prajangha, and Kampana went out at Ravana’s order with the two of them. Roaring like a lion, Ravana commanded: “Rakshasas, go this very day.”

The rakshasas came out of Lanka, roaring again and again, carrying blazing weapons. The rakshasas set the sky aglow with the light of their ornaments, and the vanaras with their torches. The light of moon and stars, and the fire of the ornaments of both armies, lit the sky; the reflection of the half-burned houses made the sea shine the more. That fearsome, terribly valiant rakshasa army came into view, banners and flags, swords and axes, elephants and horses and chariots and foot, armed with blazing pikes, maces, swords, lances, javelins, and bows. Seeing it come, the vanara host went forward to meet it and cried out in high voices; as moths rush at fire, so the rakshasa army fell upon the enemy host.

As if maddened, the vanaras sprang forward striking rakshasas with trees, boulders, and fists, and the rakshasas cut off the heads of vanaras with sharp arrows; rakshasas roamed the lanes of Lanka with ears bitten off by the vanaras’ teeth, skulls split by their fists, limbs broken by boulder-blows. “Fight me,” said one; “I fight this one; wait, why trouble yourself for nothing,” said another. So the warriors of both armies called to each other in the lanes. With the tricks of weapons, the breaking of mail, raised lances, fists, pikes, swords, and spears, that most terrible battle broke open. The rakshasas killed the vanaras seven and ten at a time, and the vanaras the rakshasas seven and ten at a time. The vanaras ringed on every side the rakshasa army fleeing with its mail and banners flung down.

The gist: The vanaras, risen from the sanjivani, now go on the attack and give Lanka to the fire. Valmiki’s account of the burning sets up a sharp contrast of splendor and ruin: a city full of gold and gem and silk blazes up in a moment like doomsday. Ravana sends out Kumbhakarna’s sons, Kumbha and Nikumbha, as his last line of defense.

The Deaths of Kampana, Prajangha, Shonitaksha, Yupaksha, and Kumbha

In that terrible, crowded, hero-destroying battle, the battle-eager Angada closed with the brave Kampana. Kampana challenged Angada and struck swiftly with his mace, so that Angada reeled. Coming to himself, the fiery Angada flung a mountain peak, and, struck by it, Kampana fell dead to the earth. Seeing Kampana slain, Shonitaksha, fearless as heroes are, rushed from his chariot at Angada and pierced him with sharp, body-rending arrows like the fire of doom. With razor-arrows, crescent-arrows, iron shafts, calf-tooth arrows, hawk-feathered arrows, eared arrows, long-headed arrows, and oleander-leaf arrows, these many sharp shafts, the strong Angada, riddled in his limbs, ground his bow, chariot, and arrows to pieces by sheer force.

A sub-tale: Valmiki names arrows by the shape of their heads: the razor-arrow (kshura) has a head like a barber’s razor, the crescent-arrow (kshurapra) like a half-moon, the naracha is wholly of iron, the calf-tooth arrow (vatsadanta) has a head like a calf’s tooth, the shilimukha like a hawk’s feather, the eared arrow (karni) has ridges like ears on both sides, the shalya has a long head, and the vipatha a head like an oleander leaf. This fine sorting shows how varied and specialized arrows were in ancient war.

Shonitaksha at once took up sword and shield and leapt in fury from his chariot. Springing up more nimbly still, Angada snatched his sword, roared, and with that same sword struck a slanting blow across his shoulder-blade, like a sacred thread. Handling that great sword, roaring again and again, Angada rushed at the other enemies in the field. Then the strong Yupaksha, together with Prajangha, came at Angada in fury from his chariot, Prajangha with a mace. Between Shonitaksha and Prajangha, Angada shone like the full moon amid the stars of Vishakha. Mainda and Dvivida came and stood by him to guard him. A hair-raising battle broke open between three vanara chiefs and three rakshasa chiefs.

The vanaras hurled trees; Prajangha cut them apart with his sword; when they hurled chariots, horses, trees, and boulders, Yupaksha cut them with arrows. The trees Dvivida and Mainda tore up and flung, Shonitaksha broke in the middle with his mace. Then, raising a huge, vital-rending sword, the swift Prajangha sprang at Angada. Seeing Prajangha coming near, the exceedingly strong Angada struck him with an ashvakarna tree and struck his sword-arm with his fist, so that the sword fell. Seeing his pestle of a sword fallen, Prajangha clenched a thunder-hard fist and struck Angada on the brow, so that Angada reeled for a moment. Then, coming to himself, Angada struck off Prajangha’s head from his body with his fist.

Seeing his uncle Prajangha slain and his arrows spent, Yupaksha, his eyes filling with tears, got down from his chariot and came on with his sword. Seeing him come, the strong Dvivida struck his chest and seized him by force. Seeing his brother seized, Shonitaksha struck Dvivida’s chest with his mace; Dvivida reeled, but he wrenched away Shonitaksha’s raised mace. Meanwhile Mainda came and struck Yupaksha’s chest with his open hand. Shonitaksha and Yupaksha began a fierce grappling and wrenching battle with the vanaras. Dvivida tore Shonitaksha’s face with his nails, dashed him to the ground, and crushed him. The enraged Mainda pressed Yupaksha in his arms, so that he died and fell.

Stung by the deaths of its heroes, the rakshasa army turned to where Kumbha, son of Kumbhakarna, was fighting. Kumbha reassured the army rushing toward him. Seeing his heroes slain and the army pressed hard by the mighty vanaras, the fiery Kumbha did a deed hard past belief in the field. Best of archers, Kumbha steadied himself and loosed body-rending arrows like venom-fanged snakes; his bow, bright as the lightning of Airavata, shone like a second rainbow. With a gold-feathered arrow drawn to the ear he pierced Dvivida; loosed from his footing, Dvivida reeled like Trikuta and fell with his legs sprawled.

Seeing his brother fall, Mainda took up a huge boulder and rushed at Kumbha. Kumbha broke the boulder with five arrows, then, with a fair-mouthed arrow like a venom-fanged snake, struck Dvivida’s elder brother Mainda in a vital part of his chest, so that Mainda swooned and fell. Seeing both his uncles wounded, Angada, bow raised, rushed swiftly at Kumbha. As Angada came, Kumbha pierced him with five iron and three sharp arrows, stinging him like a goad, and with many arrows. Riddled in his limbs by gold-decked sharp arrows, Angada was not shaken. He poured a rain of boulders and trees on Kumbha’s head, but the noble Kumbha cut them all apart, and with two arrows pierced both of Angada’s brows as one pierces an elephant with meteors; with the blood flowing, Angada’s eyes were covered.

Covering his blood-reddened eyes with one hand, Angada gripped a sal tree standing near with the other, drew it to his chest, bent back its branches, tore it up, and, like Indra’s banner, like Mount Mandara, flung it with force at Kumbha before all the rakshasas. Kumbha cut it apart with seven body-piercing sharp arrows; Angada, stricken, fell in a faint. Seeing Angada fall like one sinking in the sea, the vanaras told Raghava. Hearing that Angada was struck down, Rama sent Jambavan and other vanara chiefs to his aid.

At Rama’s command the tigers among vanaras rushed at Kumbha in fury, bows raised. Trees and boulders in hand, their eyes red with rage, the vanara chiefs sprang to guard Angada. Jambavan, Sushena, and Vegadarshi fell on brave Kumbha together. Seeing them come, Kumbha checked them with a mass of arrows, as a mountain checks a body of water. Reaching the path of his arrows, the great vanara chiefs could not so much as look at him, let alone advance, as though the sea would not overleap its shore.

Seeing the vanaras tormented by the arrow-rain, Sugriva put Angada behind him and rushed like a swift lion at Kumbhakarna’s son. Tearing up ashvakarna and many other trees, the great monkey flung them, but the noble Kumbha cut apart with sharp arrows that sky-veiling rain of trees. Pierced by sharp arrows, the trees shone like terrible dart-throwers. Though pierced by arrows, the great-souled Sugriva was not shaken; bearing the arrows, he seized and broke the rainbow-bright bow of Kumbha. Having done a deed hard past belief, Sugriva leapt from the chariot and, in fury, said to Kumbha, like an elephant with a broken tusk:

“Elder brother of Nikumbha! Your valor, the speed of your arrows, your humility, and your power are wondrous: you are the equal of Prahlada, Bali, Indra the slayer of Vritra, Kubera, and Varuna! Alone you have proved worthy of your exceedingly strong father Kumbhakarna. Pike in hand, tamer of foes, mighty-armed one, the gods can no more overleap you than the ills of the mind can overleap one who has mastered his senses. Now, great-minded one, show your valor and see my deeds. By a boon your uncle Ravana can withstand gods and demons; by his valor your father Kumbhakarna withstood gods and demons; you have both in you, and in this you are greater than uncle and father. In the bow you are Indrajit’s equal, in glory Ravana’s; today you are the foremost in strength and valor in the world of rakshasas.”

“Let all beings today see your wondrous great battle with me as they saw Indra’s with Shambara. You have done a matchless deed, shown your skill in weapons, and brought down terrible vanara heroes. Brave one, I did not kill you only because I feared blame, for you stand weary with your work. Now, having rested, see my strength.” Honored by this praise of Sugriva’s, mingled with a taunt, Kumbha’s fire grew like fire fed with clarified butter. Then Kumbha caught Sugriva in his arms; like two rutting elephants past their rut they breathed hard again and again, locked together, letting smoke-mixed flame out of their mouths in their toil. Under their tramping the earth sank, and the abode of Varuna, the sea, was churned, its waves leaping up.

Then Sugriva lifted Kumbha and, showing him the floor of the sea, dashed him with force into the salt water. As Kumbha fell, a mass of water rose like the Vindhya or Mandara and spread on every side. Kumbha sprang up, dashed Sugriva down, and struck his chest with a fist like the thunderbolt; Sugriva’s mail split, his blood flowed, and Kumbha’s fist struck the ring of his bones. From that blow a great flame leapt up as a thunder-crash leaps on Mount Meru. Struck, the mighty Sugriva clenched a fist like the thunderbolt, bright as the disk of the thousand-rayed sun, and struck it against Kumbha’s chest. From that blow Kumbha, shaken and racked with pain, fell like a fire whose flame has died, and by the will of fate he dropped dead to the earth like the fiery planet Mars falling from the sky. When that hero was slain, the earth with its mountains and forests shook, and more fear entered the rakshasas.

The gist: Kumbhakarna’s son Kumbha is the last great warrior of this stretch, and his wrestling match with Sugriva is one of Valmiki’s most living single-combats. Note that Sugriva praises Kumbha’s valor openly: in Valmiki’s war, honor for prowess is given even to the enemy.

Nikumbha’s Death at Hanuman’s Hands

Seeing his brother Kumbha slain by Sugriva, Nikumbha looked at the lord of vanaras as if he would burn him with his rage. The steady Nikumbha took up an iron bar, hung with garlands, banded with iron plates five fingers wide, like a peak of Mount Mahendra, cased in gold, decked with diamond and coral, terrible as the rod of Yama, the terror-slayer of rakshasas. Whirling that bar, mighty as Indra’s banner, opening his mouth wide, the terribly valiant Nikumbha roared. With the disk on his chest, the armlets on his arms, his bright earrings and garland, and that bar, Nikumbha shone like a cloud with lightning and thunder and the rainbow.

The fire that was Nikumbha, fed by wrath, its flame the bar and his ornaments, rose like the fire of the end of an age and became unassailable. For fear neither rakshasa nor vanara could stir; but the strong Hanuman opened his chest and stood before him. With arms hard as iron bars, the strong Nikumbha struck his sun-bright bar against Hanuman’s chest, but, striking that firm broad chest, the bar shattered into a hundred pieces and scattered like a hundred meteors. Under that blow the great monkey stood as unmoved as an unshakable mountain in an earthquake.

Struck, the exceedingly strong Hanuman clenched his fist, and the great and fiery Hanuman struck it against Nikumbha’s chest; there the mail split and the blood flowed, as if lightning had leapt from a cloud. Under that blow Nikumbha reeled, but, recovering, he seized the mighty Hanuman. Even when seized, Hanuman struck him with a thunder-hard fist, then broke free, leapt down to the ground, and quickly threw Nikumbha down. Dashing Nikumbha down and crushing him, Hanuman sprang onto his chest, seized his neck and twisted it, and, with a fearful cry, wrenched off his huge head. When Nikumbha was slain, the vanaras raised a shout of joy, the quarters rang, the earth seemed to shake, the sky seemed to fall, and dread filled the rakshasa army.

The gist: Nikumbha’s iron bar shattering against Hanuman’s chest: the image reaffirms Hanuman’s unconquerable strength. With the whole of Kumbhakarna’s line brought to an end, Ravana’s line of defense breaks, and now only Indrajit is left.

The March of Makaraksha

Hearing that Nikumbha and Kumbha were slain, the furious Ravana flared up like fire. Overcome by both wrath and grief, he ordered Khara’s wide-eyed son Makaraksha: “My son, at my command go out with an army and kill both Raghava and Lakshmana along with the vanaras.” Hearing Ravana’s word, Makaraksha, son of Khara, who thought himself a hero, said gladly, “So be it,” saluted Ravana and walked around him in reverence, and, strong warrior that he was, went out from Ravana’s white palace as commanded.

The son of Khara said to the commander standing near: “Bring my chariot at once and muster the army quickly.” The commander set chariot and army by him. Walking around his chariot, mounting it, the night-ranger told his driver: “Take the chariot swiftly into the field.” Then Makaraksha said to all the rakshasas: “Keep before me and fight well, rakshasas! The great Ravana has ordered me to kill Rama and Lakshmana both in the field. This day, with my choice arrows, I will destroy Rama, Lakshmana, the vanara Sugriva, and the other vanaras; with pike-strokes I will burn the great vanara army as fire burns dry wood.”

Hearing his boast, terrible rakshasas with great cruel jutting teeth, tawny eyes, and disheveled hair ringed that huge son of Khara in delight and, roaring like elephants, shaking the earth, went forward. The great sound of thousands of conches and drums, of lion-roars and arm-slapping, rose on every side. Then suddenly the whip fell from the hand of Makaraksha’s driver, and by fate the rakshasa’s banner fell as well. The horses of his chariot, drained of valor, forgetting their paces, wretched and moist-eyed, began to walk with faltering feet. As that fierce, foolish Makaraksha set out, a dust-laden, harsh, cruel wind began to blow. Ignoring these ill omens, the exceedingly valiant rakshasas set out for where Rama and Lakshmana were. Cloud-colored, elephant-colored, buffalo-colored, skilled in war, those night-rangers who had many times been pierced by mace and sword at the heads of battles roamed the field again and again, crying, “Me first! Me first!”

The gist: Makaraksha is the son of Khara, the very Khara whom Rama slew in the Dandaka forest. His march is heavy with ill omens: the whip falling, the banner falling, the horses faltering, the harsh wind. By these signs Valmiki tells us his defeat in advance, and Makaraksha’s scorn for the omens is a mark of his pride.

The Death of Makaraksha at Rama’s Hands

Seeing Makaraksha come out, all the vanara chiefs sprang up and stood ready, longing for battle. A terrible battle broke open between the vanaras and the night-rangers, like gods and demons. The vanaras fought with trees, pikes, maces, and iron bars; the rakshasas with lances, swords, maces, spears, javelins, pikes, slings, nooses, mallets, staves, and thunder-weapons; and each ground the other down. The night-rangers slaughtered the lion-vanaras. Tormented by the son of Khara’s arrows, panic-struck, the vanaras began to flee. Seeing them flee, the proud, victory-hungry rakshasas roared like lions.

Seeing the vanaras fleeing on every side, Rama checked the rakshasas with a rain of arrows. Seeing the rakshasas held, Makaraksha, filled with the fire of rage, said: “Rama, stop! You and I will fight a single combat. With the sharp arrows loosed from my bow I will part you from your life. In the Dandaka forest you killed my father; ever since, remembering you sunk in your evil deeds, my anger has grown. Wicked Raghava, in that great forest you did not meet me, and for that my limbs have burned. Why say more? Hear this: let all the worlds see you and me in the field. Let the fight be by weapon, by mace, by arms, or by whatever weapon you have practiced.”

Hearing Makaraksha’s word, Rama, son of Dasharatha, laughed and said to that rakshasa who kept talking on: “Rakshasa, why praise yourself for nothing? You have said much that is beyond you. There is no victory in the field by the strength of words without a fight. In Dandaka I killed fourteen thousand rakshasas, and your father Khara, and Trishira, and Dushana. Vultures, jackals, and crows sated themselves on their flesh; sinner, this day those sharp-beaked, sharp-clawed birds will sate themselves on yours.” Hearing this, the mighty Makaraksha rained masses of arrows on Raghava. Rama cut them apart with a rain of arrows in every way; gold-feathered arrows, cut by the thousand, fell to the earth.

A fierce single combat broke open between the son of Khara and the son of Dasharatha. The sound of the two bowstrings and slapping palms was heard in the sky like the roar of thunderclouds. Gods, demons, gandharvas, kinnaras, and great serpents came into the sky to watch that wondrous battle. Though pierced in every limb, the strength of both grew double; both went on striking and counter-striking in the field. The rakshasa cut Rama’s masses of arrows, and Rama the rakshasa’s arrows. With masses of arrows all the quarters and the ground were covered, and nothing could be seen. Then the enraged, mighty-armed Rama cut Makaraksha’s bow apart and pierced the driver with eight iron arrows. Then, cutting the chariot to pieces and killing the horses, he brought it down; chariotless, Makaraksha stood on the ground.

Standing on the earth, the rakshasa took in his hand a trident that terrifies all beings, blazing like the fire of the end of an age: a hard-won, Rudra-given, terrible trident, flaming in the sky like a second weapon of destruction, at the sight of which the gods fled in fear. Whirling that blazing great trident, the night-ranger, in his rage, hurled it at Raghava in the great battle. As that flaming trident came, Raghava, laughing, cut it apart in the sky with four arrows; the divine gold-cased trident, shattered into many pieces, scattered on the earth like a great meteor. Seeing the trident destroyed, the beings in the sky cried, “Well done! Well done!”

Seeing the trident destroyed, Makaraksha raised his fist and cried to Rama of the line of Kakutstha, “Wait, wait.” Seeing him come and laughing, Raghava set the fire-missile on his bow. Struck by that missile in the field, the rakshasa, his heart split, fell there and died. Seeing Makaraksha fall, all the rakshasas, tormented by fear of Rama’s arrows, fled straight for Lanka. Seeing the son of Khara struck down by the force of Rama’s arrows, scattered like a mountain shattered by the thunderbolt, the gods in the sky rejoiced.

The gist: Makaraksha’s death closes an old debt of the Ramayana: in the Dandaka forest Rama slew his father Khara. Rama first refutes his boast (there is no victory by the strength of words), then cuts apart even the Rudra-given trident and ends him with the fire-missile. It is a fine portrait of Rama’s disciplined heroism.

Indrajit’s Renewed Campaign and the Counsel of Rama and Lakshmana

Hearing that Makaraksha was slain, the ever-victorious Ravana, filled with great wrath, grinding his teeth, brooding on what was now to be done, in his fury sent his son Indrajit out to war. “Brave one, whether unseen or seen, kill both the mighty Rama and Lakshmana; you are greater than they are in strength in every way. You have conquered even Indra of matchless deeds in battle; then why not two men when you see them in the field?” Taking his father’s word on his head, Indrajit poured the oblation into the fire on the sacrificial ground in due form. As he poured it, the serving rakshasa women, wearing red turbans, came there in alarm.

In that rite the pikes and weapons were spread in the place of the sacred grass, the kindling was of bibhitaka wood, the cloths were red, and the ladle was of iron. Having strewn the fire with pikes and javelins, Indrajit took a live all-black goat by the throat and offered it. From that one oblation the fire flared up, smokeless, in a great flame, and in it appeared the signs that foretell victory; its flame curling to the right, like heated gold, the fire showed itself and took the offering. Having satisfied the fire and gratified gods, demons, and rakshasas, Indrajit mounted a fine chariot fit for vanishing. Yoked to four horses, furnished with sharp arrows and a great bow, that chariot shone; bright with gold trappings, marked with lion, half-moon, and crescent. With the great gold bands of Jambunada gold and the beryl-set standard, Indrajit shone like blazing fire. Guarded by the Brahma missile, the exceedingly strong son of Ravana became unassailable.

The demon king Indrajit came out from the city, poured the offering into the fire with rakshasa mantras, made himself vanish, and said: “This day, having killed those two who have come to the forest for nothing, I will win Ravana greater victory in the field. This day, having cleared the earth of vanaras and killed Rama and Lakshmana, I will bring my father the highest joy.” So saying, he became invisible. Sent by the ten-headed one, sharp bow and iron arrows in hand, the fierce enemy of Indra, in his fury, rushed into the field. Among the vanaras he saw the mighty Rama and Lakshmana loosing nets of arrows, like three-headed serpents.

A sub-tale: Why are Rama and Lakshmana compared here to three-headed serpents? Because the tips of their bows rose above the right shoulder and the tips of their quivers above the left, like two more heads; so, with the head itself, they seemed to have three crests. This comparison of Valmiki’s shapes the divine and terrible image of a hero arrayed for war.

“These are the two,” thought Indrajit, and, drawing his bow, he veiled the quarters with streams of arrows like the rain-cloud. Unseen, on his airborne chariot, he pierced Rama and Lakshmana below with sharp arrows. Ringed by the force of his arrows, Rama and Lakshmana set arrows to their bows and brought forth divine weapons. Even as they covered the sky with a net of arrows bright as the sun, they could not so much as touch Indrajit. He made a darkness of smoke by his illusion and veiled the sky, and hid the quarters in mist and gloom. Neither the note of the string, nor the sound of the chariot-wheel or hoof was heard, nor was his form seen. In the thick darkness the mighty-armed Indrajit went on raining iron arrows like a wondrous rain of stones.

The enraged son of Ravana pierced every limb of Rama in the field with boon-given arrows bright as the sun. Pierced by the streams, like two mountains, those two tigers among men kept loosing gold-feathered sharp arrows. Heron-feathered, those arrows pierced Indrajit in the sky and fell to the earth bathed in blood. Bright with masses of arrows, the two best of men kept cutting the falling arrows with broad-headed shafts, and wherever they saw the arrows fall from, in that quarter they loosed their finest weapons. The great chariot-warrior Indrajit ranged in every quarter from his chariot, and, quick with his weapons, kept piercing them both; pierced by gold-feathered close-knit arrows, the two princes looked like kimshuka trees in bloom. His speed, his form, his bow and arrows, could no more be known than the sun veiled by cloud; and hundreds of vanaras, pierced by his arrows, fell dead.

Then the enraged Lakshmana said to his brother: “I will loose the Brahma missile to destroy all the rakshasas.” Rama said to the auspicious-marked Lakshmana: “It is not right to slaughter all the rakshasas of the earth to avenge one man. Whoever is not fighting, is hidden, is a suppliant with folded hands, is fleeing, or is out of his mind, you should not kill. I will try only for the death of this Indrajit, mighty-armed one. The two of us will loose weapons of great speed like venom-fanged snakes. Seeing this rakshasa, mean, hidden by illusion, his chariot unseen, the vanara chiefs will kill him by force. Even if he goes into the earth, into heaven, into the underworld, or into the sky and hides himself utterly, he will still burn under my weapon and fall dead to the earth.” Having spoken this word of deep meaning, the great Rama, ringed by the vanara chiefs, began to think on a swift means for the death of that cruel and terrible rakshasa.

The gist: Indrajit wages his war of illusion a second time, now making a darkness of smoke and staying invisible. Here Rama’s sense of dharma shows itself: he restrains Lakshmana from destroying all the rakshasas and resolves only on the death of Indrajit. And the very problem of killing an unseen enemy becomes the ground for Vibhishana’s coming revelation.

Indrajit’s Slaying of the Illusory Sita

Knowing the mind of the great Raghava, Indrajit turned back from that battle and entered the city. Remembering the deaths of those slain mighty rakshasas, his eyes red with wrath, the brave son of Ravana set out again. Ringed by rakshasas, the mighty descendant of Pulastya, that thorn of the gods, Indrajit came out by the western gate. Seeing Rama and Lakshmana ready in every way for battle, Indrajit brought out his skill in illusion. He set an illusory Sita on his chariot and, ringed by a great army, thought to kill her. To bewilder them all, the evil-minded Indrajit resolved to kill this Sita and advanced toward the vanaras.

Seeing him come out, all the forest-dwellers, enraged, boulders in hand, sprang up longing for battle. Hanuman, the great monkey, unassailable, went before them carrying a huge mountain peak. Hanuman saw the joyless Sita in Indrajit’s chariot: wearing a single braid, wretched, her face wasted with fasting, in a single soiled cloth, without ornaments, her limbs smeared with dust and dirt, that noblest of women. Looking a while at that lovely-limbed daughter of Janaka, Rama’s beloved, Hanuman was cast down; he knew the princess of Mithila at once, for he had seen her before.

Seeing that Sita, grief-stricken, joyless, wasted like an ascetic, seated in the chariot, wretched, in the power of the demon king’s son, and wondering what this could mean, the great Hanuman rushed with the vanara chiefs at the son of Ravana. Seeing the vanara host come, Indrajit, half-crazed with rage, drew his sword, seized Sita by the hair of her head, and dragged her. As she cried “Rama! Rama!,” the rakshasa began to strike the woman set in the chariot by illusion, before the very eyes of the vanaras. Seeing her held by the hair, Hanuman was cast down and wept tears of grief from his eyes.

Seeing Rama’s dear queen, Hanuman took her for Sita herself and spoke harsh words in his anger to the demon king’s son: “Wretch, for your own ruin you have seized her by the hair! Though born in a family of brahmarshis, you have taken shelter in a rakshasa’s nature. Sinner, shame on you, whose mind is such! Cruel, ignoble, ill-conducted, mean, of sinful valor, such a deed is the deed of an ignoble one; pitiless one, there is no mercy in you at all. What has this princess of Mithila done to you, cut off from home, kingdom, and Rama’s hand, that you kill her, pitiless one? Killing Sita, you will not be long-lived in any way; by this deed that deserves death you have fallen into my hands. Whoever kills the Sita for whom Sugriva, you, and Rama came here will go to the blameworthy world of the killers of women.”

So saying, ringed by armed vanaras, Hanuman in great fury rushed at Indrajit. Seeing the mighty vanara host come, Indrajit checked it with a fierce, enraged rakshasa army. Then, looking at that lovely-limbed beloved of Raghava, Indrajit said to Hanuman: “Before your very eyes this day I will kill this Vaidehi for whom Sugriva, you, and Rama came here. Having killed her, I will then kill Rama, Lakshmana, you, Sugriva, and that ignoble Vibhishana. As for your saying that women are not to be killed, vanara, that is well; but whatever gives pain to enemies must certainly be done.” So saying, Indrajit himself killed that weeping, illusory Sita with a sharp-edged sword.

Cut slantwise, in the line of the sacred thread, that ascetic woman, broad-hipped, fair to see, fell to the earth. Having killed that woman, Indrajit said to Hanuman: “Look, I have killed Rama’s beloved with the sword; this Vaidehi is slain, and your labor has come to nothing.” Then, having killed her with his great sword, Indrajit mounted his chariot in delight and roared with a great voice. The vanaras standing near heard the sound of Indrajit as he sat in that inaccessible airborne chariot, roaring with open mouth. Having killed Sita, the evil-minded son of Ravana was glad at heart; seeing him glad, the vanaras, their faces downcast, fled.

The gist: This illusion of Indrajit’s is the cleverest stratagem in the Ramayana: by killing not the real Sita but her illusory image, he breaks the morale of the vanara army. Hanuman’s grief and his sermon on dharma to Indrajit show how deep the wound of this trick cuts. But mark this: the Sita slain is an illusion, not the real one, as Vibhishana will make clear.

Hanuman’s Return and Indrajit’s Fire-Rite at Nikumbhila

Hearing Indrajit’s roar, terrible as Indra’s thunderbolt, the vanaras fled with great speed, looking on every side. Then Hanuman said to those vanaras, their faces downcast, wretched, terrified, fleeing apart: “Vanaras, why do you flee with downcast faces, casting off your zeal for war? Where has your valor gone? Come back behind me; I go before you. It is unworthy of heroes of noble birth to turn their backs on the field.” Gladdened by the wise son of the Wind’s word, the vanaras in great fury took up peaks and trees and, roaring, fell upon the rakshasas; ringing Hanuman, they followed him into the great battle.

Ringed by the vanara chiefs, Hanuman, blazing like fire, began to burn the enemy army. Like Yama the ender at the end of time, the great monkey, ringed by the vanara host, began to slaughter the rakshasas. Filled with grief and great wrath, Hanuman flung a great boulder at Indrajit’s chariot; seeing it come, the driver drew the chariot with its well-broken horses away. Not finding Indrajit, that raised boulder broke the earth and sank into it for nothing. As the boulder fell, the rakshasa army was stricken, and many rakshasas were crushed utterly under it.

Hundreds of vanaras rushed roaring at Indrajit, and the huge vanaras stirred to life with peaks and trees. The terribly valiant vanaras taunted Indrajit in the field and poured on him a great rain of trees and boulders. Under the tree-blows of those terrible vanaras the fearsome rakshasas rolled in the field. Seeing his army tormented by the vanaras, Indrajit, enraged, took up his weapons and advanced on the enemy, and, ringed by his own army, loosing streams of arrows, began to kill many tigers among vanaras with pike, thunder-weapon, sword, spear, and hammer-mallet. The vanaras too killed his followers.

The mighty Hanuman slaughtered the terrible rakshasas with strong-shouldered sal trees and boulders, and, checking the enemy army, said to the vanaras: “Vanaras, let us turn back! This army is no longer worth our conquering. Longing for Rama’s good, laying down our lives, the daughter of Janaka for whom we fought has herself been killed. Let us tell this news to Rama and Sugriva, and do whatever they command.” So saying, the vanara chief Hanuman, checking all the vanaras, fearless, turned back slowly with his army. Seeing Hanuman go to Raghava, the evil-souled Indrajit, wishing to make his offering, went to the sacred place called Nikumbhila and began to pour the oblation into the fire.

Reaching the sacrificial ground, the fire, blood-fed by the offering of that rakshasa, blazed up. Sated with the offered blood, wrapped in flames, that most fierce fire showed itself like the sun at dusk. For the prosperity of the rakshasas, Indrajit, knower of the rite, began to make the offering by the ordinance of scripture; seeing it, the rakshasas, knowers of right and wrong, held their ground beside him.

The gist: Hanuman gathers the vanaras again and checks the enemy, but the news of the illusory Sita’s death forces him to carry it to Rama. Indrajit seizes the moment to go and finish his offering at Nikumbhila, the very rite that makes him invincible. This mention of Nikumbhila is the seed of the decisive event to come.

Rama’s Swoon on Hearing of Sita’s Death and Lakshmana’s Consolation

Hearing the great uproar of the battle of rakshasas and vanaras, Raghava said to Jambavan: “Gentle one, from the terrible and towering din of weapons that is heard, it seems Hanuman has surely done some deed hard past belief. So go with your army and give quick aid to that battling vanara chief, lord of bears.” Saying “So be it,” Jambavan, king of bears, went with his army toward the western gate where Hanuman was. There the lord of bears saw Hanuman coming back, ringed by vanaras who had done their fighting, breathing hard with grief. Seeing the cloud-dark, war-ready army of bears in the way, Hanuman checked it well and turned back.

With that army the far-famed Hanuman came quickly to Rama and said in sorrow: “While we were fighting in the field and looked on helpless, the son of Ravana, Indrajit, killed the weeping Sita. Seeing her, foe-tamer, I was dazed in mind and cast down; and so I have come to tell you the tale.” Hearing Hanuman’s word, Raghava fainted with grief and fell to the earth like a tree cut at the root. Seeing the godlike Raghava fall, the vanara chiefs sprang up on every side and came to him and sprinkled him with water fragrant with lotuses and lilies, as one sprinkles a suddenly flaring, unbearable fire.

Then the deeply grieving Lakshmana took Rama in his arms and said to the ailing Rama this word, full of reason and meaning: “Noble one, you stand on the path of the good and have mastered your senses, and yet dharma could not save you from calamities, and so it seems fruitless. As the being of moving and unmoving creatures is plain to see, so dharma is not seen to be plainly the cause of happiness; therefore dharma is not the cause of happiness, this is my view. If unrighteousness bore fruit, then Ravana would go to hell, and you, being righteous, would never meet with ruin. Ravana is free of ruin and calamity has come upon you, as if dharma and adharma had traded their parts.”

A sub-tale: This dharma-denying speech of Lakshmana’s is in truth born of despair, sprung from seeing Rama undone by the “death” of the illusory Sita. As the divine Rama’s grief at the destruction of his beloved’s illusory image is a mere play of love, so this incongruous outburst of Lakshmana’s, at the sight of Rama in anguish, is also a turmoil born of love. Later, at the end of this same canto, Lakshmana himself says that he spoke all this only to wipe away Rama’s grief and rouse him to action.

Lakshmana set out his arguments further: “If happiness came only from dharma and sorrow only from adharma, then the unrighteous would meet only sorrow and the righteous only happiness. But those in whom unrighteousness is established grow in wealth, and the dharma-keeping suffer; so both seem well-nigh fruitless. If the wicked are destroyed by their own adharma, then that adharma, being itself the act of destruction, is itself fleeting and destroyed: what will it kill, that is itself destroyed in three moments? If dharma, grown weak, begs the help of strength, then that powerless dharma is fit only to be cast off. If dharma is a quality subordinate to the deeds of strength, then abandon dharma and take refuge in strength, as until now you took refuge in dharma.”

“If you say that you kept the dharma of guarding your father’s true word, then your father, having proclaimed you crown prince and yet not carried it through, cut you off from himself by untruth; were you not bound by that proclamation? Grief-bearing one, if dharma and adharma were plain to see, then Indra of the thunderbolt would not have performed the horse-sacrifice after killing the sage Vishvarupa, son of Tvashta. Raghava, dharma destroys enemies only when it is joined to strength; so the wise take refuge, as they please, in both, dharma and strength. Giving up the kingdom, you then cut down the very root of dharma, which is wealth.”

A sub-tale, the slaying of Vishvarupa and Indra’s horse-sacrifice: Lakshmana gives the example of Indra, who killed the sage Vishvarupa, son of Tvashta, and performed a horse-sacrifice in atonement for killing a brahmin. This story is told at length in the Srimad Bhagavatam: Vishvarupa was a three-headed ascetic who secretly offered oblations to the demons as well, and for this Indra cut off his three heads.

“From wealth grown and stored up, all actions flow as rivers from the mountains. All the actions of the poor and dull-witted dry up like the small rivers of summer. When one who longs for happiness, reared in comfort, gives up wealth and goes to do sin, then fault arises. He who has wealth has friends and kin; he alone is a man, he alone the learned one, he alone the valiant, he alone the wise, he alone the fortunate, he alone rich in virtues. I have set out the faults of giving up wealth in their contrary forms. Steadfast one, the reason for the vow of renouncing all, which you took when you gave up the kingdom, I do not know.”

“He who has wealth has dharma, pleasure, and gain all easily achieved; but to the poor, wealth does not come without effort. Joy, desire, pride, dharma, anger, calm, and self-restraint, all these flow from wealth, lord of men. The wealth by whose loss the world of the righteous and the ascetics is destroyed, that wealth is not seen in you, as the planets are not seen on a cloudy day. Brave one, in the very midst of your forest-dwelling and your keeping of your elder’s word, Ravana carried off your wife, dearer to you than life. Brave one, the great sorrow that Indrajit has given, I will this day undo by my deeds; so rise, Raghava!”

“Rise, tiger among men, long-armed one, keeper of vows! Being of great wisdom, the very Self, why do you not know yourself? Sinless one, all this I have said for your gladdening; knowing the destruction of the daughter of Janaka, in my wrath I will lay Lanka waste with my arrows, with its chariots, elephants, horses, and the demon king Ravana.”

The gist: Rama’s swoon on hearing of Sita’s death is his human play. Lakshmana’s long dharma-denying speech springs from despair, but in the end he himself confesses that all of it was said to wake Rama to action. This canto is one of the deepest philosophical passages of the Ramayana: on the bond between dharma and strength.

Vibhishana’s Revelation: Sita Lives

While the brother-loving Lakshmana was reassuring Rama, Vibhishana came there, having set the watch-posts each in its place: ringed by four heroes, dark as heaps of collyrium, like leaders of an elephant herd, carrying many weapons. Seeing the great Raghava sunk in grief and the vanaras with their eyes full of tears, Vibhishana found Raghava, joy of the House of Ikshvaku, fainted and lying in Lakshmana’s lap. Seeing Rama shamed and scalded with grief, Vibhishana, wretched with inner pain, said: “What is this?”

Looking at Vibhishana’s face, and at Sugriva and the vanaras, Lakshmana, his eyes full of tears, said briefly: “Gentle one, hearing from Hanuman’s mouth that Indrajit has killed Sita, Raghava has fainted.” Stopping Lakshmana as he spoke, Vibhishana said to the fainting Rama this word of full meaning: “Lord of men, what Hanuman said in his distress I hold as impossible as the drying up of the sea. Mighty-armed one, I know the mind of the evil-souled Ravana toward Sita: he will never have Sita killed.”

“For her good I begged him again and again, ‘Let Vaidehi go,’ but he never accepted that word. Him neither by conciliation, nor by gift, nor by division, and by war least of all, can anyone even look upon, let alone kill. That rakshasa has gone back having bewildered the vanaras; mighty-armed one, know the daughter of Janaka whom he killed to be an illusion. This day the wicked Indrajit will reach the sacred place called Nikumbhila and make his offering. If he completes the offering and returns, then even the gods with Indra will find him unconquerable in the field. Surely he wrought this illusion to confound us, for if the valor of the vanaras stayed unchecked in the field, they would break his rite. Therefore, before the rite is finished, let us go there with the army.”

“Tiger among men, cast off this grief that has come to you falsely; seeing you wasted with sorrow, the whole army sinks. Mighty-armed one, be of high spirit and sound heart, and stay here, and send Lakshmana with us and the army. This tiger among men will check that son of Ravana at his rite with sharp arrows, and then he will become fit to be killed. These sharp arrows of feather-winged Lakshmana, like cruel birds, will drink the blood of Indrajit. So, mighty-armed one, send the auspicious-marked Lakshmana for the destruction of the rakshasa, as Indra of the thunderbolt looses the bolt for the destruction of the enemy.”

“Best of men, delay is not right now in the killing of the enemy; loose Lakshmana for the enemy’s death as great Indra looses the bolt to churn a heavenly foe. If that best of rakshasas finishes his rite, he will become invisible in the field even to gods and demons; if he completes the rite, even the gods will have great misgiving in fighting him in the field, however eager for war.”

A key to understanding, the fire-rite at Nikumbhila: Indrajit’s power rested on the offering he completed at his Nikumbhila sanctuary: once the offering was done, he became invisible and unconquerable even to the gods. It is Vibhishana’s revelation of this secret that opens the only road to Indrajit’s death, striking him before the offering is complete. This is why he counsels that Lakshmana be sent at once.

The gist: Vibhishana’s revelation is the decisive turn of this stretch: he unlocks two secrets, that the slain Sita was no real Sita but an illusion, and that Indrajit’s power hangs on the Nikumbhila rite. Lifting Rama from grief, he turns him toward action and counsels sending Lakshmana to break the rite, which prepares the ground for the killing of Indrajit to come.

Vibhishana’s Counsel and Lakshmana’s March toward Nikumbhila

Even after hearing Vibhishana’s first words, Rama, unstrung by grief, could not clearly grasp what the rakshasa had said. Then, gathering himself, Rama, conqueror of enemy cities, said to Vibhishana, who sat beside him in Hanuman’s presence: “King of rakshasas, Vibhishana, we wish to hear again what you have said; repeat what was in your mind.” Then the word-skilled Vibhishana said his first words again: “Mighty-armed hero, the moment you gave the order I arrayed the army just as you commanded; all the forces are divided each in its place, and all the troop-leaders are set at their posts. Now hear one more thing, great lord. You grieve without cause; seeing your suffering, our hearts too are scalded.”

Vibhishana said: “King, let this grief go; this false sorrow only swells the enemy’s joy, so cast off this care as well. Brave one, make your effort and take heart. If Sita is to be won and the night-wanderers destroyed, then hear: the son of Ravana, Indrajit, has reached Nikumbhila, the sacrificial ground beneath the banyan tree. If he rises with his rite complete, count us all as good as dead. Brahma’s boon is such that whoever attacks him before he reaches Nikumbhila, before he perfects the sacred fire, drawing the bow against him, that enemy will become the cause of his death. Ender of the foe of Indra, pleased by his austerity the self-born Brahma gave him the missile called Brahmashira and horses that go where he wills; and by this very ordinance the death of that shrewd rakshasa has been fashioned as well.”

Vibhishana said: “So, joy of the Raghus, hear my helpful word. Let Sumitra’s son Lakshmana, ringed by a great army, go to kill Indrajit, who has reached Nikumbhila. The great archer Lakshmana, ever victorious in the field, can kill that son of Ravana with arrows like the venom of serpents. Mighty-armed one, the death of that weapon-rich rakshasa is fashioned in just this way. Rama, send Lakshmana for the killing of Indrajit; when he is slain, count Ravana and his whole house as good as dead.”

Rama answered: “One of true valor, I know the illusion of that terrible rakshasa. He is a knower of the Brahma missile, a great master of illusion, mighty; he can throw even the gods, Varuna among them, into a swoon in battle. Brave one, when he ranges the sky in his chariot, his course is no more known than the sun’s behind the clouds. Knowing the illusory power of that evil-souled enemy, Rama said to the glorious Lakshmana: “With Hanuman and the other troop-leaders, ringed by the whole of Sugriva’s host, and guarded by Jambavan, king of bears, with his army, kill that illusion-strong son of the rakshasa. This great rakshasa Vibhishana, who knows his illusions well, will follow behind you with his ministers.””

Hearing Rama’s word, Lakshmana of terrible valor took up another fine bow along with Vibhishana. Clad in mail, girt with sword and arrows, holding the bow in his left hand, the son of Sumitra touched Rama’s feet and said in delight: “Noble one, this day the arrows loosed from my bow will pierce the son of Ravana and land in Lanka as swans alight on a lotus-lake. This very day the arrows loosed from the string of my great bow will pierce the body of that terrible rakshasa and grind him to pieces.” Saying this before his elder brother, the fiery Lakshmana, longing to kill the son of Ravana, set out at once.

Bowing to his elder brother’s feet and walking around him in reverence, Lakshmana went toward the Nikumbhila sanctuary guarded by Indrajit. Blessed by his elder brother with auspicious mantras of well-being, the mighty prince Lakshmana went quickly with Vibhishana. Ringed by thousands of vanaras, Hanuman, and Vibhishana with his ministers, all went swiftly behind Lakshmana. Marching with the great vanara army, Lakshmana saw on the way the army of Jambavan, king of bears, drawn up. Having gone a long way, the son of Sumitra, joy of his friends, saw from afar the demon king’s army standing in array. Reaching Nikumbhila, the foe-tamer Lakshmana, bow in hand, stood firm to conquer Indrajit by the ordinance of Brahma, the boon given to the rakshasa.

With Vibhishana, the brave Angada, and Hanuman, son of the Wind, the mighty prince Lakshmana entered that strange army of the enemy, which flashed with spotless weapons, dense with banners, thick with great chariots, exceedingly terrible and of measureless speed; as if one were cutting through deep darkness to force his way within.

A key to understanding (the place): “Nikumbhila” is a secret sacrificial ground outside Lanka, beneath a banyan tree (nyagrodha). It is here that Indrajit, by pouring oblations into the fire, perfects the chariot and the power of invisibility given him by Brahma. Brahma’s boon was this: if any enemy attacks him while the rite is unfinished, before the fire is perfected, that enemy will be the cause of his death. The whole strategy rests on this striking of the unfinished rite in time.

The gist: Vibhishana tells Rama that Indrajit is performing a secret sacrifice at Nikumbhila; if it is perfected he will become invincible. Rama sends Lakshmana, with Hanuman, Angada, Jambavan, and the illusion-knowing Vibhishana, to kill him. Lakshmana reaches Nikumbhila and cuts his way into the array of the rakshasa army.

Hanuman’s Terrible Slaughter and Indrajit’s Entry into Battle

On that occasion Vibhishana, younger brother of Ravana, gave the auspicious-marked Lakshmana counsel deadly to the enemy and sound in aim: “This cloud-dark rakshasa army you see, entangle it swiftly in battle with the boulder-armed vanaras. Lakshmana, make the effort to break this great army; when it is broken, the demon king’s son Indrajit will appear right here. So, before Indrajit’s rite is finished, quickly cover the enemy with arrows like Indra’s thunderbolt and attack. Brave one, kill that illusion-bound, world-terrifying, cruel-deeded, evil-souled son of Ravana.”

Hearing Vibhishana’s counsel, Lakshmana began to rain arrows on the demon king’s son. The boulder-armed vanaras and the tree-fighting bears together stormed the army standing in array; the rakshasas too counterattacked to slaughter the monkey host with sharp arrows, swords, spears, and javelins. That tumultuous battle of vanaras and rakshasas set all Lanka ringing with its mighty din. With their misshapen faces and arms, the rakshasas turned their weapons on the vanara chiefs and struck great terror; and the huge, strong vanaras and bears too wounded all the rakshasas with trees and mountain peaks.

Hearing his army tormented by the enemy, the invincible Indrajit rose up from his unfinished rite. Coming out from the darkness of the trees’ shade, filled with wrath, the son of Ravana mounted his ready chariot yoked to horses. His face copper-red, his eyes red, bearing terrible bow and arrows, that fearsome rakshasa, dark as a heap of collyrium, began to shine like the ender of time. The moment they saw him on his chariot, the swift, terrible rakshasa army, eager to fight Lakshmana, ringed him about.

At that very moment the foe-taming Hanuman, mountainous, tore up an unassailable great tree. Burning the rakshasa army like the fire of doom, Hanuman with his many trees rendered it senseless in the field. Seeing the son of the Wind wreck the army with such speed, thousands of rakshasas rained weapons on him. Pike-bearers with pikes, sword-bearers with swords, spear-bearers with spears, pike-bearers with pikes, and others with iron bars, maces, spears, hundreds of dart-throwers, iron mallets, terrible axes, slings, thunder-like fists, and thunderbolt-like slaps, fell on the mountainous Hanuman from every side. The enraged Hanuman made a great slaughter of all these too.

Indrajit saw the mountainous son of the Wind slaying his enemies fearlessly and said to his driver: “Take the chariot where this vanara is; if we neglect him, he will destroy us all.” At that word the driver brought the invincible Indrajit on his chariot to Hanuman. Coming near, the rakshasa rained arrows, swords, pikes, and axes on the vanara’s head. Bearing those terrible weapons, Hanuman, filled with great fury, said: “Foolish son of Ravana, if you are a hero, fight. Having closed with the son of the Wind, you will not return alive. If you wish a single combat with me, fight with your arms; if you can bear my force, you will be counted the best of rakshasas.”

Seeing Indrajit raise his bow to kill Hanuman, Vibhishana pointed him out to Lakshmana: “Son of Sumitra, this son of Ravana on the chariot is Indrajit himself, the conqueror of Indra; he means to kill Hanuman. Kill him with your matchless, foe-averting, life-ending, terrible arrows.” At Vibhishana’s word the great Lakshmana fixed his gaze on that mountainous, terribly strong, invincible rakshasa on the chariot.

The gist: At Vibhishana’s counsel Lakshmana rains arrows on the rakshasa army; a tumultuous battle breaks open. Rising from his unfinished rite, Indrajit comes to the field on his chariot. Hanuman slaughters the rakshasa army with a great tree and challenges Indrajit to single combat. Vibhishana points Indrajit out to Lakshmana, and Lakshmana moves toward him.

The Sharp Exchange of Words between Indrajit and Vibhishana

Having said this to Lakshmana, the glad Vibhishana took him along and set out quickly. Going a little way and entering a great grove, Ravana’s younger brother showed Lakshmana the place where Indrajit poured his oblations into the fire. Pointing to a banyan tree, dark as a rain cloud and terrible to see, the fiery Vibhishana said: “Here the mighty son of Ravana offers a sacrifice to the spirits and then goes out to war. After that the rakshasa becomes invisible to all beings, and, unseen in the field, kills his enemies and binds them with his finest arrows. So, before this mighty son of Ravana reaches this banyan tree, destroy him with his chariot, horses, and driver by your blazing arrows.”

Saying “So be it,” the great and fiery Lakshmana, joy of his friends, stood firm there, drawing his wondrous bow to the full. At that moment the strong son of Ravana, Indrajit, appeared, seated on a fire-colored chariot, clad in mail, bearing a sword, furnished with a banner. The great and fiery Lakshmana said to that ever-unconquered descendant of Pulastya, Indrajit: “I challenge you to battle; come face me in the field and fight me.”

So challenged, the fiery and spirited Indrajit, seeing Vibhishana there, spoke harsh words: “Rakshasa, born and reared in this very house, you are my father’s own brother and my uncle; then why this treachery toward your own nephew, who is as a son to you? Wicked one, defiler of dharma, in you there is no sense of kinship, no goodwill, no pride of family, no discretion, no brotherly feeling, no dharma. Wretch, deserting your own kin to serve the enemy, you are pitied and blamed by the good. In your loose wit you do not grasp this great difference: how vast is the gulf between dwelling among one’s own and taking base shelter with a stranger. Base one, whether a stranger is full of virtue or one’s own kin is without virtue, the kinsman without virtue is still the better; a stranger stays a stranger. He who abandons his own side and serves the side of the stranger will be killed by those very enemies when his own side is destroyed. Younger brother of Ravana, the cruelty of showing your own vital points, and the boldness of bringing Lakshmana here, only one’s own kin could show.”

To the nephew’s words Vibhishana answered: “Rakshasa, why do you prattle for nothing, as if you did not know my nature? Son of the demon king, honor the dignity of your elders and give up harsh speech. Though I was born in a rakshasa clan of cruel deeds, still the first virtue of men, which is goodness, is my nature; my character is not that of a rakshasa. I do not delight in cruelty, nor in unrighteousness. But how should a brother cast out a brother of contrary character? He who abandons a man fallen from dharma, resolved on sin, finds happiness as one who shakes a venomous serpent from his hand.”

Vibhishana said: “Seizing another’s wealth, touching another’s wife, and excessive suspicion of friends, these three faults bring ruin. The terrible slaughter of great seers, enmity with all the gods, arrogance, anger, lasting hatred, and hostility, these faults, destroyers of life and lordship, covered the virtues of my brother Ravana as clouds cover the mountains. For these very faults I abandoned my brother, your father. Now neither this city of Lanka will remain, nor you, nor your father. Rakshasa, over-proud, of childish wit, insolent, and bound in the noose of Death, say what you will. Having called me harsh, calamity has come upon you this day; now you shall not reach this banyan tree. Having insulted Rama, you shall not live. Fight the prince Lakshmana in the field; slain and reaching Yama’s world, you will accomplish the work of the gods. Put forth all your strength and every arrow and weapon; but, once come into the path of Lakshmana’s arrows, you shall not return alive today with your army.”

A key to understanding (the concept): This exchange is one of Valmiki’s set-pieces of ethical debate. Indrajit appeals to family and blood-ties (“even a kinsman without virtue is better than a virtuous stranger”). Vibhishana answers from the standpoint of dharma: the abandonment of a sinner and a defiler of dharma is itself the higher good. Both sides argue their own case; this is the mark of Valmiki’s war-poetry, that even the enemy is given his reasons.

The gist: Vibhishana shows Lakshmana Indrajit’s secret sacrificial ground and tells him to kill him before he reaches the banyan tree. Indrajit appears and curses Vibhishana as a traitor to his own blood; Vibhishana answers by the standard of dharma that the abandonment of a sinner is right, and challenges Indrajit to fight Lakshmana.

The Fierce Arrow-Battle of Lakshmana and Indrajit

Hearing Vibhishana’s words, Indrajit, half-crazed with rage, spoke harsh words again and rushed forward. Mounted on a chariot yoked to black horses, bow and sword raised, the terribly strong Indrajit looked like the ender at the end of time. Seeing Lakshmana, seated on Hanuman’s shoulders and shining like the sun rising over the eastern mountain, Indrajit said to him along with Vibhishana and the vanara chiefs: “See my valor. This day you will bear the unassailable rain of arrows from my bow, like clouds pouring in the sky. My arrows will burn the bodies of you all as fire burns a heap of cotton. Piercing you with sharp arrows, with pike, spear, javelin, and lance I will this day send you all to Yama’s world. Who can stand before me in the field as I thunder like a cloud? In the earlier night-battle I laid you both, with your helpers, low on the earth in a swoon with arrows like thunderbolt and lightning. It seems that memory is gone from you, or plainly you are eager to go to Yama’s world, that you have come to fight me, who am enraged like a venom-fanged snake.”

Hearing the demon king’s roar, the enraged Lakshmana answered with a fearless face: “Rakshasa, you have boasted of the accomplishment of your deeds; but he alone is wise who reaches the end of the work by his deeds, not by words alone. Foolish one, what is hard for others to reach, you speak of in mere words and think yourself fulfilled. To fight while invisible, as you have chosen, is the way of thieves, not of heroes. Now I stand in the path of your arrows; this day show your fire; why boast in words?”

So challenged, the mighty Indrajit touched his fearsome bow and loosed sharp arrows. Arrows of great speed like the venom of serpents reached Lakshmana and pierced him, hissing like snakes. Indrajit riddled the body of the auspicious-marked Lakshmana with swift arrows; bathed in blood, pierced in every limb, Lakshmana began to shine like a smokeless fire. Proud of his deed, Indrajit came near and roared and said: “Son of Sumitra, these winged, sharp-edged, life-ending arrows loosed from my bow will take your life today. Struck down by me, on you the jackals, hawks, and vultures will fall. This day the base kshatriya Rama, of dullest wit, seeing you, his own devoted younger brother, killed by me, will wail. This day he will see you, your mail stripped off, your bow flung down, your head cut off, laid on the earth.”

To Indrajit speaking so harshly, the meaning-wise Lakshmana gave a fitting answer: “Cruel-deeded, foolish rakshasa, give up the strength of words; prove what you say by good deeds. Why boast without acting? Do the deed by which I will believe your boast. I will kill you without speaking a harsh word, without the least boast; watch.” So saying, Lakshmana drew to the ear and drove five iron arrows with great force into the rakshasa’s chest. Feathered with fair plumes, like blazing serpents, those arrows shone in Indrajit’s chest like the rays of the sun.”

The enraged Indrajit pierced Lakshmana with three well-aimed arrows. The lion among men, Lakshmana, and the lion among rakshasas, Indrajit, each longing for the other’s defeat, fought a tumultuous, grinding battle terrible as the fight of Indra and Vritra. Equal in strength and valor, invincible, the two clashed like planets fixed in the sky, or like two lions, and stood firm, loosing masses of arrows. Then the foe-crushing son of Dasharatha, hissing like a serpent in his wrath, loosed arrows at the demon king. Hearing the note of the bowstring, Indrajit, his face gone pale, looked at Lakshmana. Seeing his sallow face, Vibhishana said to the battling Lakshmana: “Mighty-armed one, from the signs of pallor on his face, it is certain this son of Ravana is broken in spirit; now make haste.”

Then the son of Sumitra fitted arrows like venom-fanged snakes and loosed them at Indrajit. Pierced by arrows like Indra’s thunderbolt, Indrajit was dazed for a moment; all his senses were shaken. Recovering his senses in a moment, Indrajit saw the brave son of Dasharatha, Lakshmana, standing firm in the field, and, his eyes red with rage, rushed at him. Coming near, he spoke harshly again: “Do you not remember my valor in the earlier battle, when I bound you with your brother and made you writhe in the field? You two brothers, in the great battle, fell to the earth in a swoon with your helpers under arrows like thunderbolt and lightning. It seems that memory is gone from you, or plainly you wish to go to Yama’s abode. If you did not see my valor in the earlier fight, I will show it today; now stand firm.”

So saying, he pierced Lakshmana with seven arrows and Hanuman with ten sharp arrows, then, with doubled rage, pierced Vibhishana with a hundred. Seeing Indrajit’s deed, Rama’s younger brother Lakshmana laughed and said, “This is nothing,” and, taking terrible arrows, loosed them at the son of Ravana and said: “Night-ranger, heroes do not strike so in the field; these light, feeble arrows are pleasant to me; battle-hungry heroes do not fight like this.” So saying, the archer Lakshmana covered Indrajit with arrows. Under his arrows, Indrajit’s great golden mail broke and scattered from the chariot like a net of stars falling from the sky.

Then the great and fiery, enraged Indrajit pierced Lakshmana with a thousand arrows; Lakshmana’s divine mail too broke. The two foe-tamers went on striking and counter-striking. Wounded by gold-feathered iron arrows, longing for glory, the two heroes streamed blood. Fighting for a long time, they poured terrible rains of arrows like two dark clouds of doom; yet neither turned from the field nor tired. Showing their weapons again and again, those masters of weapons wove nets of arrows small and great in the sky. The terrible note of their bowstrings set people trembling like thunderclaps. Pierced by nets of arrows, the two great heroes shone like two mountains covered with trees. Their limbs all bathed in blood, they shone like blazing fires. Much time passed, but neither turned away nor tired. Then, to relieve the toil of the invincible Lakshmana and to bring him aid and good, the great Vibhishana came and stood beside him in the field.

The gist: A long, evenly matched, terrible arrow-battle breaks open between Indrajit and Lakshmana. Each pierces the other, breaks his mail, and draws his blood. Between strokes Indrajit roars and Lakshmana answers. Vibhishana sees Indrajit’s face turning pale (broken in spirit) and comes to stand beside Lakshmana to relieve his toil.

Vibhishana’s Assault and the Killing of Indrajit’s Charioteer and Horses

Seeing the man and the rakshasa fighting like two rutting elephants, each longing for the other’s defeat, the strong Vibhishana, bearing his fine bow, stood firm at the front of the battle to watch their fight. Steadying himself, he drew his great bow and loosed sharp-pointed great arrows at the rakshasas. Fire-touched, those arrows, falling like heavy rain, tore the rakshasas apart as the thunderbolt tears great mountains. Vibhishana’s rakshasa followers too tore the brave rakshasas with pikes, swords, and spears. Ringed by those rakshasas, Vibhishana shone like a lord of elephants among rutting elephant-cubs.

Then, urging on the vanaras who loved the killing of rakshasas, the time-knowing rakshasa chief Vibhishana spoke words fit for the moment: “Lords of vanaras, here stands the demon king’s one last support (Indrajit), and this is his remaining army; why do you stand idle? When this sinner is killed in the field, the whole army but for Ravana is as good as dead. Brave Prahasta, mighty Nikumbha, Kumbhakarna, Kumbha, the night-ranger Dhumraksha, Jambumali, Mahamali, Tikshnavega, Ashaniprabha, Suptaghna, Yajnakopa, Vajradamshtra, Samhradi, Vikata, Arighna, Tapana, Manda, Praghasa, Praghas, Prajangha, Jangha, the invincible Agniketu, the valiant Rashmiketu, Vidyujjihva, Dvijihva, Suryashatru, Akampana, Suparshva, Chakramali, Kampana, Devantaka, and Narantaka, all these exceedingly strong rakshasa chiefs have been slain. Having killed them, you have as good as crossed the sea with your arms; now step easily over this puddle in a cow’s hoofprint (the remaining army).”

Vibhishana said: “That I, being an uncle and as a father, should kill my nephew who is as a son to me, is not fitting; but for Rama’s sake, casting off pity, I could even kill my brother’s son. Yet the moment I wish to kill him my eyes are checked with tears, so let the mighty-armed Lakshmana still him. Vanaras, together kill the servants who stand beside him.” Roused by that most glorious Vibhishana, the exultant vanara chiefs beat their tails and roared like lions, and, like peacocks at the sight of clouds, gave out cries of many kinds. Ringed by his troops, Jambavan too, with his vanaras, began to kill rakshasas with stones, nails, and teeth.

Seeing the bear-king Jambavan slaughtering rakshasas, the mighty rakshasas cast off fear and ringed him with many weapons and struck him with arrows, axes, pikes, staves, and spears. That tumultuous battle of vanaras and rakshasas grew terrible as the war of enraged gods and demons. The enraged Hanuman too tore up a sal tree from a mountain; setting Lakshmana down from his back, the great-minded, invincible Hanuman slaughtered thousands of rakshasas with many trees. Meanwhile Lakshmana and Indrajit, each longing for the other’s defeat, poured arrows on each other; like sun and moon veiled by clouds at the end of summer, the two kept covering each other again and again with nets of arrows. Such was the quickness of their hands that it could not even be seen when they gripped the string, when they drew arrows from the quiver, when they sorted and fitted them, when they drew the bow, when they loosed, and when they pierced the mark. The sky was covered with nets of arrows and a darkness fell; from the clash of Lakshmana and the son of Ravana a fierce panic broke out in both armies.

When the sun set and darkness fell on every side, thousands of great rivers of blood began to flow. The cruel flesh-eating creatures began to make terrible cries; at that hour neither did the wind blow nor the fire burn. “Let it be well with the worlds,” said the great seers, scalded there, and the gandharvas and charans, in anguish, fled. Meanwhile the son of Sumitra, Lakshmana, pierced with four arrows the four black horses of the lion among rakshasas, Indrajit, decked with golden ornaments. Then with one more arrow, yellow, sharp, fair-feathered, like the thunderbolt of great Indra, with the quickness of his hand, ringing with the note of his bowstring, the glorious Lakshmana struck the head of Indrajit’s driver from his body as he sat on the wheeling chariot. His driver slain, the great and fiery son of Mandodari, Indrajit, drove the chariot himself and then took up the bow again; that wondrous driving in the field amazed the onlookers.

When Indrajit’s hands were busy with the horses, Lakshmana pierced him with sharp arrows, and when he was engaged with the bow he loosed arrows at the horses. The swift-handed son of Sumitra tormented with masses of arrows Indrajit, who ranged fearlessly through those openings. Seeing his driver slain in the field, the son of Ravana lost his zeal for battle and grew downcast. Seeing the rakshasa’s downcast face, the greatly delighted vanara chiefs praised Lakshmana. Then Pramathi, Rabhasa, Sharabha, and Gandhamadana, four vanara chiefs, could not hold their speed; the four of terrible valor leapt onto Indrajit’s four fine horses. Under the weight of those mountainous vanaras, blood ran from the mouths of the horses; crushed and mangled, they fell lifeless to the earth. Having killed the horses and shattered the great chariot, the vanaras leapt swiftly back and stood beside Lakshmana. Horseless, Indrajit leapt down from the chariot with its slain driver and fell on Lakshmana with a rain of arrows; but Lakshmana, like great Indra, loosing his finest arrows, wounded the now-footed Indrajit badly with masses of arrows.

A sub-tale: The long roll of rakshasas in Vibhishana’s rousing speech (Prahasta, Kumbhakarna, Kumbha, Dhumraksha, Akampana, Devantaka, Narantaka, and the rest) is no mere flourish; every one of them is a warrior already slain across the whole Yuddhakanda. Vibhishana’s tally is a reminder that the entire strength of Lanka has been destroyed piece by piece, and now only Indrajit and Ravana are left. This list is a ledger of the war’s progress.

The gist: Vibhishana and Hanuman slaughter the rakshasa army; Vibhishana rouses the vanaras by naming all the rakshasas already slain. After sundown, in the fierce night-battle, Lakshmana strikes off the head of Indrajit’s driver; Indrajit drives himself, but the vanaras destroy his horses and chariot, and he is left on foot.

The Death of Indrajit

Horseless, standing on the earth, the great and fiery night-ranger Indrajit began to burn with the fire of his rage. The two archers, ready to kill each other with arrows, closed like two bull elephants that go out to conquer in a wood. The rakshasas and vanaras, killing one another, sprang this way and that, but did not leave their masters in the field. Then, rousing his rakshasas and glad himself, Indrajit said: “Best of rakshasas, this darkness has fallen on every side; it is hard to tell friend from foe. Fight boldly to bewilder the vanaras; I will go and return with a chariot. See to it that as I enter my city these mighty vanaras cannot fight me.” So saying, tricking the vanaras, the son of Ravana slipped into the city to fetch another chariot.

Having decked a fine chariot, gold-wrought, furnished with spears, swords, and arrows, yoked to excellent horses, driven by a well-wishing charioteer who could read the horses’ minds, the war-victorious Indrajit mounted it. Ringed by the best of the rakshasa host, driven by the strength of the ender, the brave son of Mandodari, Indrajit, came out again from the city. Coming out, the exceedingly bold Indrajit, with his swift horses, fell upon Lakshmana together with Vibhishana. Seeing the son of Ravana on his chariot, the son of Sumitra, the mighty vanaras, and Vibhishana were greatly amazed at the quickness of that shrewd rakshasa. The enraged Indrajit brought down the vanara chiefs with hundreds and thousands of arrows; they took refuge in Lakshmana as beings take refuge in Prajapati. Then, burning with the wrath of war, the joy of the Raghus, Lakshmana, showing his quickness of hand, cut Indrajit’s bow apart. Indrajit strung another bow, and that too Lakshmana cut with three arrows.

With Indrajit’s bow cut, the son of Sumitra pierced his chest with five arrows like venom-fanged snakes; the arrows passed through his body and sank into the earth like red great serpents. Vomiting blood from his mouth, Indrajit took up another fine, strong-stringed, more powerful bow, and with the quickness of his hand rained arrows like Indra on Lakshmana. But the unshaken Lakshmana checked that unassailable arrow-rain and showed Indrajit his wondrous valor. Then he pierced all the rakshasas in the field with three arrows each and Indrajit with masses of arrows. Wounded deeply by the strong enemy, Lakshmana loosed ten arrows at Indrajit, but they were destroyed on reaching the gold-bright mail of Lakshmana.

Taking Lakshmana to have impenetrable mail, the exceedingly enraged Indrajit, showing his quickness with weapons, pierced Lakshmana’s brow with three fine arrows; with the arrows lodged in his forehead, Lakshmana shone like a three-peaked mountain. Wounded though he was, Lakshmana drew his bow and struck the fair-earringed Indrajit on the face with five arrows. Bathed in blood, the two heroes shone like flowering palasha trees. Then Indrajit pierced Vibhishana with three iron-mouthed arrows, and all the vanara chiefs with one arrow each. The enraged, great and fiery Vibhishana killed the horses of the evil-souled son of Ravana with his mace. Horseless, Indrajit leapt from his great chariot and flung a spear at his uncle, but Lakshmana, increaser of Sumitra’s joy, cut it into ten pieces with ten arrows and brought it down. Then the enraged Vibhishana drove five arrows like the touch of the thunderbolt into the chest of the horseless Indrajit; gold-feathered, the arrows passed through his body and came out bathed in blood like red great serpents.

Exceedingly enraged at his uncle, the mighty Indrajit took up among the rakshasas a fine arrow given by Yama. Seeing him fit it, the terribly valiant Lakshmana took up a fine arrow given him by Kubera in a dream, invincible even to gods, demons, and Indra. The arrows of both, mouth clashing on mouth, met, lighting the sky with their fire; from that clash a fierce fire rose up with smoke and sparks, and, colliding like great planets, both arrows broke into a hundred pieces each and fell to the earth. Seeing his arrow wasted, Indrajit, shamed and full of rage, closed with Lakshmana again. The enraged son of Sumitra took up the Varuna missile, and the battle-fixed Indrajit loosed the Raudra missile; that Raudra missile made the wondrous Varuna missile of no effect. Then the enraged Indrajit fitted the blazing fire-missile that seemed to fold up the world; the brave Lakshmana checked it with the solar missile. Seeing his weapon checked, Indrajit, half-crazed with rage, took up the foe-splitting Asura missile; from it burst hammer-mallets, pikes, slings, maces, swords, and axes. Seeing that missile which no being can turn aside, the radiant Lakshmana checked it with the missile of Maheshvara.

Then a hair-raising, wondrous battle took place between the two; the beings in the sky ringed Lakshmana and began to guard him. Seers, ancestors, gods, gandharvas, Garuda, and nagas, putting Indra of the hundred sacrifices at their head, began to guard Lakshmana in the field. Meanwhile the younger brother of Raghava, Lakshmana, fitted that finest arrow, like the touch of fire, fair-feathered, well-jointed, the splitter of Ravana’s son, the terror of rakshasas, like the venom of a venom-fanged snake, honored by the gods, with which the great and fiery Indra, borne by the bay horses, had conquered the demons in the war of gods and demons of old.

Drawing that invincible Indra-missile on his fine bow, the glorious Lakshmana made an aim-fulfilling prayer: “If the son of Dasharatha, Rama, is righteous, true to his word, and without rival in valor, then let this son of Ravana be slain.” So saying, drawing to the ear, he loosed the straight-flying arrow charged with the Indra-missile at Indrajit. That arrow cut from his body and brought to the earth the glorious head of Indrajit, with its blazing earrings and helmet. Bathed in blood, that great golden head lay on the earth in sight of all. With his mail and helmet, his bow flung down, the slain son of Ravana fell to the earth. Then the vanaras and Vibhishana raised a shout of joy, as the gods at the killing of Vritra. In the sky rose the victory-cry of gods, great seers, gandharvas, and apsaras.

Seeing Indrajit fall, the victory-glad vanaras chased that rakshasa army, killing it as they went; flinging down their weapons, senseless, the rakshasas fled toward Lanka. Of the thousands of rakshasas not one was to be seen; as at sunset the rays do not linger, so at Indrajit’s fall the rakshasas scattered in the quarters. That rakshasa, the terror of all the worlds, being fallen, the waters became clear, the sky grew clean; the gods and demons rejoiced and said: “Now let the brahmins move about without fear.” The gods rained flowers; Indra with the great seers was glad. Like the sun with its rays gone calm, like a fire whose flame has died, the mighty-armed Indrajit lay lifeless.

The victory-glad vanara chiefs praised the blood-bathed Lakshmana; Vibhishana, Hanuman, and Jambavan, king of bears, hailed him too. Beating their tails, leaping, roaring, shouting “Victory to Lakshmana!,” the vanaras ringed the son of Raghu, Lakshmana, and stood by him. The joyful vanaras embraced one another and began to speak lovingly of what belonged to Rama. Seeing that deed of Lakshmana’s, hard for others to do, the vanaras took the highest joy, and hearing of the death of Indrajit, foe of Indra, the gods too rejoiced greatly in their hearts.

A key to understanding (the concept): This “duel” of missiles ties each weapon to a presiding deity, Varuna (water) against Raudra (Shiva the destroyer), Agneya (fire) against Saura (the sun), Asura against Maheshvara. Each weapon is stilled only by its counterpart. In the end the Indra-missile is decisive, but it succeeds only when Lakshmana makes a solemn true-vow (satyakriya) on Rama’s dharma and truth; the power of the weapon rests, in the last account, on dharma.

The gist: Indrajit goes back to Lanka for a fresh chariot, then returns and fights a fearsome missile-battle. Varuna and Raudra, Agneya and Saura, Asura and Maheshvara cancel each other out. At last, making a true-vow on Rama’s dharma and truth, Lakshmana strikes off Indrajit’s head with the Indra-missile. Gods and vanaras raise a shout of joy; the rakshasa army flees.

Rama’s Joy and Lakshmana’s Healing by Sushena’s Medicine

The auspicious-marked Lakshmana, his limbs bathed in blood, rejoiced at having killed in the field the foe-conquering Indrajit. Then, taking Jambavan, Hanuman, and all the vanaras with him, the great and fiery hero Lakshmana returned quickly, supported by Vibhishana and Hanuman, to where Sugriva and Rama were. Walking around Rama in reverence and saluting him, the son of Sumitra, younger brother in valor to Indra, stood by his elder brother like Vamana. With a joyful face, the brave Vibhishana told the great Rama the terrible news of Indrajit’s death, that the great Lakshmana had cut off the son of Ravana’s head.

The moment he heard that Indrajit was killed by Lakshmana, the mighty Rama said in boundless joy: “Well done, Lakshmana; I am pleased. You have done a deed hard for others. Count our victory certain now that the son of Ravana is destroyed.” Smelling the head of the glory-swelling Lakshmana, taking the praise-shy Lakshmana by force lovingly into his lap, folding his wounded brother in his arms, Rama gazed at him again and again with love. Smelling once more the head of Lakshmana, pierced with shafts, breathing hard, scalded with pain, quickly touching him and reassuring him, the bull among men Rama said: “Doer of a deed hard past belief, you have done a most blessed thing; now that his son is slain, I count Ravana as good as dead. With that evil-souled one destroyed, this day I am the victor. Brave one, by good fortune you have cut off the right-arm support (Indrajit) of the cruel Ravana; Vibhishana and Hanuman too did a great deed in the field.”

Rama said: “In three days and nights this hero has somehow been brought down; this day I am free of enemies. Hearing his son slain, Ravana will now come out with his great host in array; ringing him about, I will kill that invincible one. Lakshmana, with a guardian like you, now that Indrajit is dead, neither Sita nor the earth is beyond reach.” So saying, reassuring his brother and embracing him, the glad Rama said to Sushena: “Great sage, treat the friend-loving Lakshmana so that he is freed of his shafts and made wholly well. Quickly free the son of Sumitra of his shafts, and Vibhishana too, and whichever of the brave tree-fighting bears and vanaras are wounded and pierced, treat them all with care.”

At Rama’s word the great vanara chief Sushena gave Lakshmana a supreme medicine through the passage of the nose. At the mere scent of that medicine Lakshmana was freed of his shafts; his pain vanished and his wounds closed as well. By Rama’s command Sushena treated Vibhishana and the other friends and all the vanara chiefs too. Restored to himself, free of shafts and free of fatigue, Lakshmana in a moment was rid of his fever and rejoiced. On that occasion Rama, Sugriva, Vibhishana, and Jambavan, with the army, made merry a long while, seeing Lakshmana whole and glad. The great Rama, son of Dasharatha, again praised Lakshmana’s deed, hard past belief, and, hearing of Indrajit’s death, the vanara king Sugriva too rejoiced.

The gist: Vibhishana brings Rama the news of Indrajit’s death; overjoyed, Rama embraces the wounded Lakshmana and praises him. At the scent of the vanara physician Sushena’s medicine Lakshmana is freed of his shafts and made whole, and Vibhishana and the wounded vanaras are treated as well.

Ravana’s Resolve to Kill Sita in Grief, and Suparshva’s Prevention

Learning that Indrajit was slain, Ravana’s ministers came quickly to the ten-headed one and said: “Great king, with Vibhishana’s help Lakshmana has killed your son before our very eyes. The brave Lakshmana killed your brave son, invincible in the field, conqueror of Indra; having sated Lakshmana with arrows, he has gone to the highest worlds.” Hearing that terrible death of his son, Ravana fell into a great faint. Long after, coming to his senses, distraught with grief for his son, Ravana began to lament: “Alas, chief of the rakshasa host, my mighty child, having conquered Indra, how have you come this day into Lakshmana’s power? In your wrath you could pierce with arrows even Time and Yama, even the peaks of Mount Mandara; what then of Lakshmana? This day Yama, son of the sun, has become more honored by me, who has yoked you to the law of Time. A man killed for his master gains heaven; this is the way of good warriors.”

Ravana went on lamenting: “Hearing that Indrajit is slain, all the gods, the world-guardians, and the great seers will this day sleep in peace, free of fear. Without this one Indrajit, the whole earth with its forests and all three worlds seem empty to me. This day I will hear the wailing of the rakshasa maidens in the inner apartments like the trumpeting of she-elephants in a mountain cave. Tormentor of foes, leaving behind the office of crown prince, Lanka, the rakshasas, your mother, me, and your wives, where have you gone? Brave one, when I went to Yama’s world it was for you to perform my funeral rites; you have done the reverse, that you should go first. Child, while Sugriva and Rama with Lakshmana still live, without drawing this thorn from me, where have you gone, leaving us behind?”

As he lamented so, a great wrath born of grief for his son seized Ravana; as in summer the rays make the blazing sun blaze the more, so grief for his son inflamed the naturally wrathful Ravana. Knitting his brows on his forehead, he shone like the sea at doomsday with its crocodiles and waves. Yawning in his rage, smoke-laden fire came from Ravana’s mouths like the mouth of Vritra. Scalded by the killing of his son, in the grip of wrath, Ravana resolved in his mind on the killing of Sita. Red by nature and reddened the more by the fire of wrath, his eyes grew terrible. As he ground his teeth, the sound of his jaws was heard like the churning-rod of the sea of milk churned by gods and demons. Enraged like the fire of doom, whatever quarter he looked at, in that quarter the frightened rakshasas hid. Like the ender, ready to swallow all that moves and stands still, Ravana was one whom no rakshasa dared approach.

Then, to steady the rakshasas for war, the exceedingly enraged Ravana said among them: “For thousands of years I did the highest austerity and pleased the self-born Brahma; by the fruit of that austerity and Brahma’s grace I have no fear of demons, none of gods. The Brahma-given mail, bright as the sun, was not pierced even by thunderbolt-fists in the wars of gods and demons. This day, seated in my chariot in mail, even Indra himself cannot attack me in the field. Let Brahma’s terrible gift of bow and arrows be brought to me this day with the sound of hundreds of trumpets for the killing of Rama and Lakshmana.” Having so resolved, wretched, terrible of aspect, his eyes copper-red, Ravana said to those wretched-voiced rakshasas: “My child showed ‘Sita is slain’ by illusion only to deceive the vanaras; but now I will make that very lie true and kill the Rama-devoted Vaidehi.” So saying, Ravana drew his fine sword, bright as the spotless sky.

His mind distraught with grief for his son, Ravana, ringed by his wife Mandodari and his ministers, rushed with force to where the princess of Mithila, Sita, was. Seeing Ravana go with his sword, the ministers roared like lions and, clinging to one another, said: “Seeing this enraged rakshasa, this day both brothers, Rama and Lakshmana, will tremble. This enraged rakshasa has conquered the four world-guardians and brought down many enemies in the field; there is no equal on earth to his valor and strength. Bringing the jewels of the three worlds, Ravana enjoys them.” Amid the ministers speaking so, Ravana, half-crazed with wrath, rushed at Sita in the Ashoka grove. Though his well-wishing friends held him back with all their might, he rushed at Sita like a cruel planet rushing at Rohini in the sky.

Guarded by the rakshasa women, the blameless princess of Mithila, Sita, saw the enraged, sword-bearing rakshasa coming at her and began to lament in grief: “As this enraged one rushes at me, it seems this fool, though he has protectors, will kill me, helpless as I am. Many times this faithful-wife tormentor said to me, ‘Be my wife,’ and I refused, surely. Despairing of my service, in his wrath and folly he is ready to kill me. Or has this ignoble one this day, for my sake, killed the tigers among men, Rama and Lakshmana, in the field? I heard the terrible din of the rakshasas exulting and shouting; alas, if the princes have been destroyed for my sake. Or, unable to kill Rama and Lakshmana, this rakshasa, terrible in his grief for his son, resolved on sin, will kill me.”

Sita went on lamenting: “That word of Hanuman’s, I, wretched one, did not heed; if I had sat on his back and gone there, I would not now grieve, but would be in my husband’s lap like a virtuous wife. I think that, hearing of her son’s ruin in battle, the heart of Kausalya, mother of one son, will break; weeping, she will remember the birth, childhood, youth, righteous deeds, and beauty of the great Rama. In despair at her son’s death, senseless, having performed his rites, she will surely enter the fire or drown in the water. Shame on that unchaste, hunchbacked, sin-resolved Manthara, through whom Kausalya will meet this grief.” So the ascetic princess of Mithila, seized as by a planet like Rohini, was seen lamenting.

Meanwhile Ravana’s minister Suparshva, of good conduct, pure, learned in the Veda, a keeper of vows, devoted to his own duties, and wise, said to the rakshasa king Ravana, though the other ministers held him back: “Ten-headed one, very brother of Kubera, why do you wish, casting off dharma in your wrath, to kill Vaidehi? After your vow of Vedic study and celibacy you have always kept to your own duties, the fire-offering and the rest; then, brave lord of rakshasas, how do you count the killing of a woman fitting? Protector of the earth, guard the beautiful princess of Mithila, and pour out your wrath, with us all, on Rama in the field. This day is the fourteenth of the dark fortnight; make ready, and tomorrow, on the new moon, go out to victory with your army. As a charioteer and swordsman, seated on a fine chariot, only by killing the son of Dasharatha, Rama, will you win the princess of Mithila.” Accepting this dharma-fitting word of his friend, the evil-souled but valiant Ravana turned back to his palace and then, with his friends, went to the council-hall.

A key to understanding (the concept): Suparshva’s argument is not only one of mercy but of dharma and statecraft: the killing of a woman is a grave sin for a king, and by killing the very Sita for whose sake the war is being fought, Ravana would make his own goal pointless. Note that Sita’s lament here is of inner remorse (for not accepting Hanuman’s offer), and Ravana’s resolve is a loss of discernment born of grief; Valmiki shows the inner states of both without exaggeration.

The gist: Hearing of Indrajit’s death, Ravana faints and then, half-crazed with wrath, resolves to kill Sita and rushes at the Ashoka grove with his sword. Sita laments in remorse. The minister Suparshva stops him by recalling dharma and policy, that he should give up the killing of a woman and go out himself to fight Rama in the field; and Ravana relents.

The Slaughter of the Rakshasa Army at Rama’s Hands

Entering the hall, wretched and in deep grief, Ravana sat on a fine seat, hissing like an enraged lion. Wasted with grief for his son, the mighty Ravana joined his palms and said to all his army-chiefs: “Go out, all of you, ringed by masses of elephants, horses, and chariots and by foot-soldiers. Ringing the lone Rama, kill him in the field, pouring on him a rain of arrows like the clouds of the rains. Or when in the great battle his limbs are pierced by your sharp arrows, then, before the eyes of the world, I myself will easily kill him tomorrow.” Hearing the demon king’s word, the rakshasas went out swiftly on their chariots with many armies.

They flung iron bars, pikes, arrows, swords, axes, and life-ending weapons at the vanaras; the vanaras too flung trees and rocks at the rakshasas. At sunrise the most terrible battle of rakshasas and vanaras grew tumultuous. With strange maces, lances, swords, and axes they began to kill one another. As the battle raged, the wondrous dust that rose was laid by the streams of rakshasa and vanara blood. Rivers of blood began to flow in the field, bearing elephant-and-chariot banks, arrow-fish, banner-trees, and heaps of corpses. Bathed in the streams of blood, the vanara chiefs leapt again and again and broke banners, mail, chariots, horses, and weapons of every kind; with sharp teeth and nails they tore off the hair, ears, brows, and noses of the rakshasas. On each rakshasa a hundred vanaras fell, like birds on a fruit-laden tree. And the mountainous, mighty rakshasas too killed the terrible vanaras with heavy maces, lances, swords, and axes.

The great vanara army, being slaughtered by the rakshasas, took refuge in the son of Dasharatha, Rama, giver of refuge. Then the great and valiant Rama took up his bow, plunged into the rakshasa army, and rained arrows. Like the sun among clouds in the sky, the terrible rakshasas could not come near the entered Rama for fear of the fire of his arrows. As swift as a flash, the exceedingly terrible deeds of Rama, hard for others to do, the night-rangers could see only after they were done, not while they were being done; like the wind that blows in a wood, they could not see him crushing the great army and destroying great chariot-warriors. They saw only the army cut, pierced, burned, broken, and tormented, but they could not see the swift-acting Rama. As beings do not see the Self within them enjoying the objects of the senses, so the rakshasas could not see Rama striking their bodies.

“He is killing this elephant-host, he is killing that great chariot-warrior, he is killing the foot and the horse with sharp arrows,” saying so, the rakshasas, in the confusion of taking one another for Rama, began to kill one another in the field. Bewildered by the great Rama’s Gandharva missile, the rakshasas could not see Rama burning the army. Now they saw a thousand Ramas in the field, now a single Rama. They saw the whirling, firebrand-like golden tip of the great one’s bow, but not Raghava himself. Beings saw that wheel of Rama, whose nave was his body, whose flame was his courage, whose spokes were his arrows, whose felly was his bow, whose sound was the note of his bowstring, whose splendor was his fire and wisdom and virtue, and whose edge was his divine weapons, slaughtering the rakshasas like the wheel of Time.

In the eighth part of the day (about one hour and a half), Rama alone, with arrows like tongues of fire, destroyed an army of the form-changing rakshasas of the speed of wind: ten thousand chariots, eighteen thousand swift elephants, fourteen thousand horses with their riders, and full two hundred thousand rakshasas on foot. Horseless, chariotless, their banners broken, the rakshasas who survived the slaughter fled toward Lanka. With its slain elephants, foot, and horses, that field became like the playground of the enraged Rudra. Then the gods, with gandharvas, siddhas, and the greatest seers, praised Rama’s deed, crying, “Well done, well done.” At that hour the righteous Rama said to Sugriva, Vibhishana, Hanuman, Jambavan, Mainda, and Dvivida, who stood by: “Such divine power of weapons is in me (Vishnu) alone, or in the three-eyed Shiva.” Having destroyed that rakshasa army, the great Rama, equal to Indra, having conquered the toil of his weapons, was praised by the greatly delighted hosts of gods.

A key to understanding (the concept): Rama’s “all but invisible” war is one of Valmiki’s poetic figures: his speed is so great that the rakshasas cannot see him, only his deeds. The image of the “Rama-wheel” (body as nave, arrows as spokes, bow as felly) is joined to the wheel of Time, Rama himself becomes Time and slaughters the rakshasa army. The killing of an army of more than two hundred thousand single-handed in the eighth part of the day is the prelude, before Ravana’s own death, to Rama’s divine strength.

The gist: Ravana sends his whole army against Rama. Guarding the vanara host that has taken refuge in him, Rama plunges into the rakshasa army and slaughters it so swiftly that the rakshasas cannot even see him; in their confusion they kill one another. In the eighth part of the day Rama alone destroys the entire vast army; the gods praise him.

The Lament of the Rakshasa Women

Many thousands of elephants, horses with their riders, thousands of chariots with fire-colored banners, thousands of form-changing brave rakshasas of golden banners fighting with mace and iron bar, all were destroyed by the blazing, gold-decked arrows of Rama, who never tires of his work. Seeing and hearing this, the night-rangers who survived the slaughter and the rakshasa women fell into confusion, wretchedness, and deep anxiety. The widowed rakshasa women, who had lost husbands, sons, and kin, gathered together and, stricken with grief, began to lament.

The rakshasa women said: “How did the old, gaunt, sunken-bellied Shurpanakha dare to approach Rama, of a form like the god of love, in the forest? How did that rakshasi, devoid of every virtue, ill-faced, come to feel love for Rama, endowed with every virtue, of great splendor, fair-faced? For the misfortune of our people and the ruin of Dushana, Khara, and the whole rakshasa clan, that white-haired, wrinkled, misshapen woman offered Raghava an unfit insult. For her sake alone Ravana took up this great enmity and, for his own destruction, carried off Sita.”

The rakshasa women said: “The ten-headed one will never win the daughter of Janaka, Sita, and he has bound an undying enmity with the mighty Raghava. That Rama alone, longing for Sita, killed Viradha, was warning enough for him. That Rama, with arrows like tongues of fire, killed in Janasthana fourteen thousand rakshasas of terrible deeds was proof enough. That Khara, Dushana, and Trishira were killed in the field with arrows like the sun was proof enough. That the flesh-eating Kabandha, with arms a yojana long, was killed as he roared in rage, was proof enough. That Rama killed Vali, son of Indra, mighty as Meru, was proof enough. That Rama gave the kingdom to Sugriva, sitting on Rishyamuka with his hope broken, was proof enough. Vibhishana spoke words full of dharma and gain, good for all the rakshasas, but in his folly they did not please Ravana. If Ravana, younger brother of Kubera, had heeded Vibhishana’s word, this Lanka would not have become a grief-stricken burning-ground.”

The rakshasa women went on lamenting: “Even hearing of the killing of the mighty Kumbhakarna and the invincible Atikaya, and of his dear son Indrajit at Lakshmana’s hands, Ravana did not come to his senses. ‘My son, my brother, my husband was slain in the field,’ this cry is heard from every rakshasa household. The brave Rama has killed chariots, horses, elephants, and foot by the thousand, place upon place. Whether it is Rudra, Vishnu, great Indra of the hundred sacrifices, or the ender himself in the form of Rama who slaughters us. Having lost our heroes, despairing of life, seeing no end to our fear, we lament like the helpless. Brave Ravana, who won Brahma’s great boon, does not understand this most terrible fear born of Rama. Once Rama attacks him, neither gods nor gandharvas nor pishachas nor rakshasas will save Ravana. In every battle of Ravana’s, portents appear that foretell his destruction at Rama’s hands.”

The rakshasa women said: “Pleased, Brahma gave Ravana safety from gods, demons, and rakshasas, but safety from men he did not ask. So I hold this present fear to be a fear from man, the terrible fear that will end the lives of the rakshasas and of Ravana. Tormented by the mighty boon-holder Ravana, the gods worshipped Brahma; for the good of the gods Brahma gave the assurance that from this day all demons and rakshasas will forever roam the three worlds in fear. Then the gods led by Indra pleased the great Shiva, slayer of Tripura; pleased, Shiva said that for the good of them all a woman would appear, the destroyer of rakshasas. That woman sent by the gods, like the hunger of the ancient age, will swallow us all, Ravana included. This terrible destruction, wrapped in grief, has come from the evil deeds of the ill-mannered, foolish Ravana. From Raghava, from the destruction come like the time of the end of an age, we see no world in which to take refuge; like she-elephants ringed by a forest fire, we have no shelter. The great descendant of Pulastya (Vibhishana) did the right thing in time, that he took refuge with the very one (Rama) who was to be feared.” So all the rakshasa women, clasping one another in their arms, tormented by dejection, distress, and fear, began to weep in most terrible high voices.

A key to understanding (the concept): This lament of the rakshasa women is a “remembrance-canto” of the whole Rama-story, the insult of Shurpanakha, the killing of Khara and Dushana, Kabandha, Vali, the giving of the kingdom to Sugriva, Janasthana, all these are recalled together, showing that Ravana was warned again and again yet did not take heed. Mark this especially: Ravana asked Brahma for safety from gods, demons, and rakshasas, but held man beneath contempt and did not ask for safety from man, and this becomes the door of his death, for Rama comes in the form of a man.

The gist: After the destruction of the army, the rakshasa women lament. They blame Shurpanakha, recall all the events of the Rama-story, and say that Ravana was warned again and again yet did not heed. Ravana did not ask for safety from man, and for that very reason the man-fear that is Rama will be the cause of his ruin.

Ravana’s March to Battle and the Sallying of the Generals

In house after house of Lanka Ravana heard the piteous lament of the stricken rakshasa women. Sighing long, sunk a moment in thought, the exceedingly enraged Ravana grew terrible to see. Biting his lip between his teeth, his eyes red with wrath, like the very fire of doom, terrible even to the rakshasas, Ravana said to Mahodara, Mahaparshva, and Virupaksha standing near, in a voice thick with rage, as if he would burn them with his glance: “Tell the armies quickly to go out to war at my command.” Frightened by his words, the rakshasas at the king’s command told the armies to go out without delay.

Saying “So be it,” those terrible-looking rakshasas performed the rites of blessing and set out toward the front of battle. Worshipping Ravana in due form, those great chariot-warriors stood with folded hands, longing for victory. Half-crazed with rage, Ravana laughed and said to Mahodara, Mahaparshva, and Virupaksha: “This day, with arrows like the doomsday sun, I will send Rama and Lakshmana to Yama’s world. This day I will pay the debt of Khara, Kumbhakarna, Prahasta, and Indrajit by killing the enemy. Under the clouds of my arrows, neither the middle air will be seen, nor the quarters, nor the sky, nor the sea. This day, with nets of bow and arrow, I will kill the vanara troops in turn. Seated on my wind-swift chariot, I will churn the vanara army with the arrow-waves risen from the sea of my bow. Like an elephant, this day I will trample the vanara troops that are like ponds. This day the vanara chiefs, with arrows in their mouths, will deck the earth with lotuses on their stalks. With a single arrow I will pierce a hundred tree-fighting vanaras. This day I will wipe the tears of those whose brothers and sons are slain by killing the enemy. This day, with vanaras pierced by arrows, senseless, and scattered, I will so cover the ground that the earth is seen only with effort. This day I will sate crows, vultures, and all flesh-eaters with the flesh of the arrow-slain enemy. Let my chariot be readied at once and my bow brought; let the night-rangers who remain come behind me to battle.”

Hearing this, Mahaparshva told the generals to array the army quickly. At the order, the swift, valiant generals ran through Lanka, urging on the rakshasas from house to house. In a moment terrible-looking, terrible-faced rakshasas came out roaring, bearing in their arms swords, pikes, spears, maces, pestles, plows, sharp-edged spears, great mallets, staves, discuses, axes, slings, dart-throwers, and other fine weapons. By Ravana’s command four generals led out more than a hundred thousand chariots, three hundred thousand elephants, six hundred million horses, as many mules and camels, and countless rakshasas on foot.

The generals had set the king’s army in front; meanwhile the driver brought and set there Ravana’s chariot, furnished with the finest divine weapons, decked with many ornaments, filled with many weapons, hung with nets of bells, studded with many gems, adorned with jewel-pillars, and set with thousands of golden pinnacles. Seeing it, all the rakshasas were amazed. Seeing that terrible chariot, bright as tens of millions of suns, like blazing fire, driven by its charioteer, yoked to eight horses, ablaze with its own splendor, the demon king Ravana rose at once and mounted it. Ringed by many rakshasas, Ravana, grave in his majesty, went out from Lanka as if cleaving the earth. The great din of trumpets, tabors, drums, conches, and the clamor of the rakshasas rose on every side.

“With parasol and chowries, the carrier-off of Sita, the brahmin-slayer, the thorn of the gods, the ill-conducted rakshasa king comes to fight the best of the Raghus, Rama,” such was the clamor heard. At that great din the earth shook, and hearing it the vanaras fled in fear. The mighty, great and fiery Ravana, ringed by his ministers, came to the field longing for victory. By Ravana’s leave the invincible Mahaparshva, Mahodara, and Virupaksha mounted their chariots too. Roaring with joy, as if cleaving the earth, giving out terrible cries, they went out longing for victory. Ringed by hosts of rakshasas, the fiery Ravana went out to war like Yama at the end of time, his bow raised.

Then the great chariot-warrior Ravana, with his swift horses, went out by the northern gate where Rama and Lakshmana were. At that hour the light of the sun was destroyed, the quarters were veiled in darkness, birds cried terribly, and the earth shook. The cloud rained blood, the horses stumbled, a vulture settled on the peak of his banner, and she-jackals gave out inauspicious cries. Ravana’s left eye throbbed, his left arm trembled, his face turned pale, and his voice grew a little faint. As the ten-headed one went out to battle, these death-boding portents arose. From the sky fell a meteor sounding like a thunderclap; vultures mingled with crows cried inauspiciously. Not heeding these terrible portents, Ravana, driven by fate, went out in his folly to his own death.

At the noise of the chariots of those great rakshasas, the vanara army too came forward and stood firm for battle. A tumultuous battle broke open, vanaras and rakshasas challenging one another, enraged, longing for victory. Then the enraged ten-headed one made a great slaughter of the vanara hosts with his gold-decked arrows. Wherever he went from his chariot, rolling his eyes in wrath, the vanara chiefs of that quarter could not bear the force of his arrows. One’s head was cut off, one’s heart pierced, one’s ears cut; one was made lifeless, one torn open at the side, one’s head split, one’s eye burst.

A key to understanding (the numbers): Ravana’s army numbers (a hundred thousand chariots, three hundred thousand elephants, six hundred million horses) are in Valmiki’s manner of hyperbole; they are not an exact count but a figure for the vastness of Lanka’s remaining strength. Likewise the flock of portents at Ravana’s setting out (the sun’s luster lost, the rain of blood, the throbbing eye, the vulture on the banner) belongs to that tradition of epic in which the hero’s or the anti-hero’s coming death is foretold by signs in nature.

The gist: Ravana resolves to go out himself, arrays his remaining vast army and his divine chariot. Ignoring a flock of death-boding portents, he goes out by the northern gate and begins to slaughter the vanara chiefs with his arrow-rain.

The Slaughter by Sugriva and the Death of Virupaksha

With the vanaras cut limb from limb by the ten-headed one’s arrows, that field of Lanka was strewn. Like moths in a blazing fire, the vanaras could not bear Ravana’s unassailable arrow-rain even a moment. Tormented by sharp arrows, screaming, the vanaras fled like elephants ringed by fire and burning. To check Ravana, doubly enraged by the destruction of a great force and the killing of Virupaksha, Sugriva, seeing the vanaras broken, handed his post to Sushena and went swiftly to battle. Setting a vanara as brave as himself in his place, the tree-armed Sugriva went out to face the enemy; at his side and behind, all the vanara chiefs took up great rocks and many trees and went with him.

Sugriva roared a great roar and, churning the best of rakshasas, went on crushing many rakshasas; as the wind scatters great masses of cloud, so the huge vanara lord brought down rakshasas with trees grown by the wind of doom. Like a cloud pouring hail on flocks of birds in a wood, Sugriva rained rocks on the rakshasa army. Under the rock-rain of the king of vanaras, the rakshasas, their heads split, fell like tumbled mountains. As the rakshasas grew fewer on every side, broken by Sugriva, roaring and falling, then the invincible archer rakshasa Virupaksha leapt from his chariot, announced his name, and climbed onto an elephant’s back, and, with a terrible cry, rushed at the vanaras. Loosing terrible arrows on Sugriva at the head of the army, he heartened the frightened rakshasas.

Deeply pierced by that rakshasa’s sharp arrows, the exceedingly enraged lord of vanaras Sugriva cried out and resolved on his death. Brave Sugriva tore up a tree, sprang, and struck the great elephant standing before him. Under Sugriva’s blow the great elephant drew back a bow’s length and sat, and began to trumpet. From the churned elephant the valiant rakshasa Virupaksha leapt and came face to face. Sugriva flung a huge rock like a cloud at him; seeing the rock come, the bold rakshasa dodged and struck with his sword. Under the strong rakshasa’s sword-blow Sugriva, for a moment, seemed to lose his senses on the ground. Springing up suddenly, whirling his fist swiftly, he struck the rakshasa on the chest. Struck by the fist, Virupaksha cut Sugriva’s mail with his sword and kicked him, so that Sugriva fell. Rising the moment he fell, Sugriva loosed a slap like the thunderbolt; by his skill Virupaksha dodged it and struck Sugriva’s chest with his fist. Then the lord of vanaras Sugriva grew angrier still and, seeing the rakshasa’s guard, watched for his opening. In wrath he struck a great palm-blow on Virupaksha’s temple; under that slap like great Indra’s thunderbolt, Virupaksha, bathed in blood, streaming blood from all nine openings like a fountain, fell to the earth.

Seeing Virupaksha slain, bathed in bloody foam, rolling his eyes in wrath, more misshapen still, the joined army of vanaras and rakshasas became like the surging Ganga. Both swift armies, vast as the sea, roared like two great oceans meeting when their dividing wall breaks. Seeing the mighty, famed Virupaksha slain by Sugriva, that field of battle looked like the surging Ganga.

The gist: When the vanaras flee under Ravana’s arrow-rain, Sugriva takes charge and crushes the rakshasas with a rain of rocks. The rakshasa Virupaksha, mounting an elephant, wrestles with Sugriva; in the end Sugriva strikes him on the temple with a thunderbolt-slap and kills him.

Mahodara’s Fierce Battle with Sugriva and His Death

In the great battle, killing each other, the two armies grew thin like two ponds in summer. Doubly enraged by the destruction of his army and the killing of Virupaksha, the demon king Ravana was pained; seeing his thinning army slaughtered by the vanaras and the adverse turn of fate, he was distressed. To Mahodara standing near he said: “Mighty-armed one, at this hour my hope of victory rests on you. This day show your valor and destroy the enemy army; this is the time to repay the debt of your master’s food, so fight well.”

Saying “So be it,” the best of rakshasas Mahodara plunged like a moth into the fire, into the enemy army. Urged by his master’s word and his own valor, the fiery Mahodara began to slaughter the vanaras. The great-hearted vanaras took up huge rocks, plunged into the terrible enemy army, and began to kill rakshasas. The enraged Mahodara cut off the hands, feet, and thighs of the vanaras with gold-decked arrows. Grievously tormented by the rakshasas, the vanaras fled in the ten quarters; some took refuge in Sugriva. Seeing his great vanara army broken, Sugriva rushed at Mahodara standing near. The great and fiery lord of vanaras flung a huge, terrible rock like a mountain to kill him; but the unshaken Mahodara cut the unassailable rock into a thousand pieces with his arrows, and it fell, scattered like a flock of vultures.

Seeing the rock broken, the half-crazed Sugriva tore up a sal tree and flung it, and that too Mahodara cut into many pieces. Brave Mahodara, splitter of the enemy army, pierced Sugriva with arrows. Then Sugriva saw an iron bar lying on the ground; whirling it, with fierce speed he brought down Mahodara’s fine horses. Horseless, Mahodara leapt from his great chariot and fought with a mace in hand. Bearing mace and iron bar, the two heroes clashed like two roaring bulls, like clouds with lightning. The enraged Mahodara flung his mace, blazing like the sun, at Sugriva; but Sugriva, his eyes copper-red with rage, struck the terrible mace as it came with his iron bar, so that both mace and iron bar broke and fell. Then the fiery Sugriva took up from the ground a terrible gold-inlaid iron pestle and flung it; Mahodara too flung his mace, and, colliding with each other, both broke and fell.

Their weapons broken, the two closed with their fists, full of splendor and strength like two blazing fires. Roaring, striking each other with palm-blows, they rolled on the earth, then rose swiftly, and the invincible heroes began to shove each other with their arms. Weary of the arm-battle, the swift Mahodara took up a sword with a shield lying near; the swifter vanara chief Sugriva took up a great sword with a shield too. Full of wrath, masters of weapons, the two, raised swords in hand, rushed gladly at each other. Each longing for the other’s defeat, they moved swiftly in right and left circles, warding off each other’s blows. The foolish Mahodara, proud of his valor, struck his sword on Sugriva’s heavy mail; the sword stuck in the mail, and as Mahodara was drawing it out, Sugriva cut off his head, with its earrings and helmet, with his own sword. His head cut off, Mahodara fell, and his army vanished from the field. Having killed him, the glad Sugriva roared; Ravana was enraged, and Rama was glad. The wretched-faced rakshasas fled in fear. Having brought Mahodara down like a broken piece of a mountain, the son of the sun, Sugriva, began to shine with his splendor like the unassailable sun. Having won victory in the field, the vanara king Sugriva was gazed upon by the hosts of gods, siddhas, yakshas, and beings, wild with joy.

The gist: Ravana puts Mahodara forward. Mahodara slaughters the vanaras, but has a long single-combat with Sugriva through rock, tree, iron bar, mace, pestle, and at last sword and fists. Mahodara’s sword sticks in Sugriva’s mail, and at that very moment Sugriva cuts off his head.

The Death of Mahaparshva at Angada’s Hands

Seeing Mahodara slain and Sugriva, the mighty Mahaparshva, his eyes red with wrath, threw Angada’s terrible army into confusion with his arrows. That rakshasa struck the heads of the vanara chiefs from their bodies as the wind strikes fruit from the stalk. Some he cut off the arms of, some he tore open at the side. Tormented by Mahaparshva’s arrow-rain, all the vanaras grew downcast and dispirited. Seeing his army distraught, tormented by the rakshasa, the swift Angada surged like the sea at the full moon.

Taking up an iron bar bright as the sun’s rays, the vanara chief Angada struck Mahaparshva in the field; under the blow the senseless Mahaparshva fell with his driver from the chariot to the earth. Just then, coming out from his troop like the sun from a cloud, the fiery, mighty Jambavan, king of bears, bright as a heap of dark collyrium, in wrath took up a huge rock like a mountain peak and, with force, killed his horses and shattered his chariot. In a moment, coming to his senses, the mighty Mahaparshva again pierced Angada with many arrows and struck Jambavan in the chest with three, and pierced Gavaksha too with many arrows.

Seeing Gavaksha and Jambavan tormented with arrows, the half-crazed Angada took up a terrible iron bar. Gripping in both arms that sun-bright iron bar of the rakshasa standing at a distance, whirling it with force, the son of Vali flung it to kill Mahaparshva. Flung by that strong one, the iron bar knocked from the rakshasa’s hand his arrow-laden bow and his helmet. Then, coming near swiftly, the mighty son of Vali, Angada, in wrath struck a palm-blow on his earringed temple. The enraged, swift, great and radiant Mahaparshva raised a huge axe in one hand and flung at the son of Vali that firm axe, oil-washed, spotless, made of mountain-stuff; as it fell on the bone of Angada’s left shoulder, the enraged Angada turned it aside. Angada, of valor like his father’s, clenched a fist like the thunderbolt and, knowing the vital points, dashed that fist like great Indra’s bolt against the rakshasa’s chest near the heart. Under that blow, in the great battle, the rakshasa’s chest split, and he fell dead to the earth. As he fell, his army was thrown into confusion, and the great wrath of Ravana woke in the field, and the fierce lion-roar of the glad vanaras rose. With that roar, as if cleaving Lanka with its mansions and towers, a great sound arose like the sound of the gods with Indra. Hearing that great roar of gods and vanaras in his wrath, the demon king Ravana, foe of Indra, stood again ready for battle.

The gist: Mahaparshva slaughters the vanaras, but Angada strikes him down with an iron bar; Jambavan shatters his horses and chariot. Coming to, Mahaparshva fights again and flings an axe, but Angada wards it off and splits his heart with a thunderbolt-fist. Mahaparshva is slain, and Ravana stands firm again for battle.

The First Direct Battle of Rama and Ravana

Seeing Mahodara and Mahaparshva slain, and the mighty brave Virupaksha killed, a great wrath seized Ravana in the great battle. He urged his driver and said: “Killing Rama and Lakshmana, I will free myself from the grief of my slain ministers and my besieged city. I will cut down in the field that Rama-tree that bears the flowers and fruit of Sita, whose branches are Sugriva, Jambavan, Kumuda, Nala, Dvivida, Mainda, Angada, Gandhamadana, Hanuman, Sushena, and all the vanara chiefs.” So saying, setting the ten quarters ringing with the noise of his chariot, the great chariot-warrior Ravana rushed swiftly at Raghava. At that sound the whole earth with its rivers, mountains, and forests shook, and lions and other beasts and birds were frightened.

Ravana brought forth a most terrible, dreadful tamasa missile, presided over by Rahu, and began to burn the vanaras with it; they fell on every side. Unable to bear that weapon fashioned by Brahma himself, the vanaras broke and fled, and dust rose from the earth. Seeing hundreds of vanara armies broken by Ravana’s finest arrows, Rama stood firm in the field. Seeing the vanaras broken and Ravana coming, the foe-taming Rama took his stand, gripping his bow by the middle, like Indra with his younger brother the mighty Vishnu. Holding his great bow that seemed to scrape the sky, his broad eyes like lotus-petals, standing invincible with the long-armed Lakshmana, Rama was seen by Ravana. To ring Ravana first, Lakshmana drew his bow and loosed arrows like tongues of fire; but the great and fiery Ravana checked those arrows in the sky with his own.

Cutting one arrow of Lakshmana’s with one, three with three, ten with ten, Ravana showed the quickness of his hand. Then, passing Lakshmana by, the war-victorious Ravana came up to Rama, who stood firm as a mountain in the field. His eyes red with wrath, Ravana rained arrows on Rama. Seeing the streams of arrows loosed from Ravana’s bow, Rama swiftly took up broad-headed arrows and cut apart those terrible arrow-masses, blazing like serpents, with his sharp broad-heads. Then Rama and Ravana began to cover each other with many rains of sharp arrows, and, moving in left and right circles, drew wondrous wheels a long while; invincible, each shoved the other with the force of his arrows. As those two, like Yama and the ender, loosed arrows together, all beings were terrified. The sky was covered with many arrows as with clouds hung with garlands of lightning in the rains; with sharp heron-feathered arrows the sky seemed pierced through.

Like two great clouds risen at sunset and at sunrise, the two heroes filled the sky with darkness. A battle broke open, unassailable and unthinkable, like that of Vritra and Indra. Both fine archers, masters of war and weapons, ranged the field unchecked; wherever they went, arrow-waves rose like seas pierced by the wind. Then Ravana, maker of the world’s weeping, laid a garland of iron arrows on Rama’s brow with unbroken speed; but Rama bore that arrow-garland from the Raudra bow, like a wreath of blue-lotus petals, on his head, and was not troubled.

The enraged Rama took more arrows, recited the mantra of the Raudra missile, drew his bow, and loosed a stream of unbroken arrows at Ravana; but falling on Ravana’s mail, dense as a great cloud, they could bring no pain to that impenetrable armor. Then Rama, skilled in all weapons, struck Ravana, seated on his chariot, on the brow with a supreme weapon; but the arrows, made useless by Ravana, hissed like five-headed serpents and sank into the earth. Having made Raghava’s weapon useless, the half-crazed Ravana brought forth the Asura missile, and loosed by illusion sharp arrows with the faces of lions and tigers, herons and crows, vultures and hawks, jackals and wolves, asses, boars, dogs and cocks, crocodiles and serpents. On Rama, Ravana loosed these and other arrows, hissing like snakes. Wrapped in the Asura missile, Rama, fiery as fire, loosed the fire-missile and brought forth arrows with the faces of fire, sun, moon, half-moon, comet, and great meteor, of the color of planets and stars, like lightning. Pierced by Raghava’s weapon, Ravana’s terrible arrows were destroyed in the sky, but before they were destroyed they killed thousands of vanaras. Seeing that Asura missile made useless, all the form-changing vanaras, rejoicing, turned their faces to Sugriva and gave out a great cry. Having by force made the Asura missile useless, the great son of Dasharatha, Rama, rejoiced, and the glad lord of vanaras roared aloud.

The gist: Enraged by the killing of his ministers, Ravana rushes at Rama himself. With the tamasa missile he routs the vanaras, but Rama, with Lakshmana, stands firm. A wondrous battle of arrows and missiles breaks open; Rama makes useless with the fire-missile Ravana’s Asura missile (its arrows with the faces of beasts and birds).

Lakshmana’s Swoon by Ravana’s Shakti and Ravana’s Flight

His weapon made useless, the demon king Ravana grew doubly enraged and at once loosed another terrible Raudra missile, fashioned by Maya, at Rama. From his bow, spears, maces, pestles, mallets, hammers, cudgel-nooses, and blazing thunderbolts began to come out on every side like the wind of doom. But Rama made it useless with the Gandharva missile. Then, his eyes copper-red with wrath, Ravana loosed the solar missile; from the terribly swift Ravana’s bow great gleaming discuses began to come out, by which the sky blazed as with moon, sun, and planets. But the swift-acting Rama cut apart those discuses and the strange weapons with masses of arrows. Seeing his weapon destroyed, Ravana pierced all Rama’s vital points with ten arrows; but the great and fiery Rama was not shaken in the least.

Then the exceedingly enraged Rama pierced all Ravana’s limbs with many arrows. Meanwhile the enraged, mighty foe-slayer Lakshmana took seven arrows and cut into many pieces Ravana’s banner with its device of a man’s head, and with a single arrow struck off the head of the rakshasa’s driver with its blazing earrings. Then with five sharp arrows he cut apart Ravana’s bow, like an elephant’s trunk. Then Vibhishana leapt swiftly and, with his mace, brought down Ravana’s cloud-dark, mountainous blue horses. Horseless, Ravana leapt from his chariot and, in fierce wrath at his brother Vibhishana, hurled at him a great spear like the blazing thunderbolt. But the great and fiery Lakshmana cut it apart with three arrows before it reached him; a roar of the vanaras rose in the field. That gold-garlanded spear, broken into three, fell from the sky scattering sparks like a great meteor.

Then Ravana took up a huge spear, hard even for Time to bear, blazing with its own splendor, hung with bells, of great sound, fashioned by Maya, unfailing and foe-slaying. Aiming it at Lakshmana, the exceedingly enraged Ravana, roaring, loosed it. Loosed with terrible speed, sounding like thunderbolt and lightning, that spear sped at Lakshmana. Addressing the coming spear, Rama said, as if charging it with a mantra: “May it be well with Lakshmana; may this spear come to nothing; may its effort be broken.” But loosed by the strength of the enraged Ravana, that blazing spear, like a venomous serpent, entered the chest of Lakshmana, who stood fearless, and, blazing like the tongue of Vasuki, sank deep into his broad chest. Pierced in the chest by the spear driven far by Ravana’s force, Lakshmana fell to the earth.

Seeing Lakshmana in that state, the great and fiery Rama, out of a brother’s love, was cast down. Brooding a moment, his eyes filling with tears, he grew angrier still, like the fire of doom. “This is no time for grief,” he thought, and, resolved on the killing of Ravana, gazing at Lakshmana with care, Rama fought a tumultuous battle. Seeing Lakshmana pierced by the spear in the field, bathed in blood, like a serpent-entered mountain, Rama gripped that terrible spear with his hands; the strong, enraged Rama pulled it out and broke it. As he was drawing out the spear, the stronger Ravana rained vital-piercing arrows on all Rama’s limbs. But heedless of those arrows, embracing Lakshmana, Rama said to Hanuman and Sugriva: “Best of vanaras, keep Lakshmana thus ringed about; the time has come for the valor I have long desired. Let this sin-resolved ten-headed one be killed; his death I desire as the chataka bird desires the cloud at the end of summer.”

Rama said: “Vanaras, this very moment I make this true-vow: soon you will see the world without Ravana, or without Rama. The loss of kingdom, the exile in the forest, the wandering in Dandaka, the insult to Sita, the war with the rakshasas, the terrible, hell-like sorrow and hardship, this day, killing Ravana in the field, I will free myself of all these. That sinner, for whose sake this vanara army was brought here, Vali was killed and the kingdom given to Sugriva, the sea was crossed and the bridge built, has come this day within my sight; come within my sight, he will not live. As a serpent that comes within the gaze of the venom-eyed one, or within the gaze of Garuda, Ravana will not now escape. Invincible vanara chiefs, sit at your ease on the mountain peaks and watch this battle of mine with Ravana. This day let all three worlds, the gandharvas, gods, seers, and charans, see the Rama-ness of Rama in the field. This day I will do a deed that the worlds with all that moves and stands still will tell of as long as the earth bears creatures.” So saying, the ready Rama began to strike Ravana in the field with sharp arrows decked with heated gold; Ravana too poured on Rama a rain of blazing iron arrows and pestles like a cloud.

A tumultuous din rose from the arrows Rama and Ravana loosed at each other. From the sky, cut and scattered, blazing-tipped arrows fell to the earth. The great din of both bowstrings, terrifying all beings, was a wonder to hear. Then Ravana, covered by the arrow-rains of the great Rama and tormented by his blazing bow, fled in fear, as a cloud scatters when struck by the wind.

The gist: Ravana looses the Raudra, solar, and other missiles, and Rama makes them all useless. Lakshmana cuts Ravana’s banner, driver, and bow, and Vibhishana kills his horses. In fury Ravana drives the unfailing spear fashioned by Maya into Lakshmana’s chest; Lakshmana falls. Rama breaks the spear, makes the true-vow to kill Ravana, and his arrow-rain drives Ravana off the field in fear.

Rama’s Lament and Hanuman’s Bringing of the Sanjivani Mountain

Seeing the brave Lakshmana struck down in the field by the stronger Ravana’s spear, bathed in a stream of blood, Rama, who had just fought a tumultuous battle with the evil-souled Ravana, said to Sushena, loosing masses of arrows: “Look, by Ravana’s valor Lakshmana has fallen to the earth and writhes like a serpent and gives me grief. Seeing this hero, dearer to me than my own life, bathed in blood, where is the strength for battle left in me, with my mind so troubled? If this auspicious-marked brother of mine, praiser of war, has gone to the five elements, then what use are my life or my happiness to me? My valor seems ashamed, my bow slips from my hand, my arrows fall, and my sight is at the mercy of tears. My limbs go slack like those of men asleep in a dream; a fierce anxiety grows, and even a wish to die. Seeing my brother pierced in a vital part, grief-stricken, groaning, my limbs are melting away.”

Seeing his dear younger brother wandering, as it were, at the edge of life, Rama, sunk in great sorrow, fell into anxiety and grief. Seeing Lakshmana pierced and covered in the dust of battle, in deepest dejection, his senses unstrung, he began to lament: “Victory itself will not please me; what joy will the moon give before the eyes of a blind man? What have I to do with battle or with life, where Lakshmana lies struck down in the field? As the great and fiery Lakshmana came with me when I went to the forest, so I too will follow him to the world of Yama. A brother-lover like me, ever devoted to me, this brother has been brought to this state by the treacherous-fighting rakshasas. In land after land wives and kin are found, but I do not see the land where a full brother is found. Without the invincible Lakshmana, what is a kingdom to me? What will I say to mother Sumitra, who loves her son? Sumitra’s reproach I will not be able to bear; what will I say to mother Kausalya and to Kaikeyi? The mighty Bharata and Shatrughna will ask, ‘You took Lakshmana with you; how have you returned without him?’, and what will I say? Rather than hear the reproach of kin, it is better to die here. What evil did I do in a former birth, that my righteous brother lies slain before me? Brother, best of younger brothers, foremost of the brave, my lord, why do you go to the other world, leaving me alone? Why do you not speak to me as I lament? Rise, look; why do you lie there? Look on wretched me with open eyes.”

To Rama speaking so with unstrung senses, Sushena said a fine word of comfort: “Best of men, give up this despairing thought that breeds grief and pains you like arrows at the front of battle. The glory-swelling Lakshmana has not gone to the five elements; his face is neither disfigured nor darkened; his face even now is bright and glad. King, with your eyes full of tears, look with your own eyes: his palms are still like lotus-petals and his eyes very clear; the lifeless do not look like this. His heart, beating and breathing again and again, in one who lies with slack limbs as if asleep, tells that he lives. Foe-tamer, do not despair; he still breathes.”

So saying, the greatly wise Sushena said to the great monkey Hanuman standing near: “Gentle one, go quickly from here to the Mahodaya mountain that Jambavan told you of before. On its southern peak grow the great herbs vishalyakarani, savarnyakarani, sanjivakarani, and sandhani; bring them for the reviving of the brave Lakshmana.”

So bidden, the glorious Hanuman went to the herb-mountain, but he could not tell those herbs apart, and grew anxious. Then a thought arose in the mind of the boundlessly mighty son of the Wind: “I will take this whole peak and return. Sushena has told me of the healing herb that grows on this peak, this I know by inference. If I return without the vishalyakarani, harm will come from the passing of time, and great distress will arise.” So thinking, the mighty Hanuman went swiftly to the fine mountain and, shaking the mountain peak three times, tore up that peak with its many blossoming trees and held it in both hands. Lifting that mountain peak like a blue rain-cloud full of water, Hanuman sprang from the earth into the sky.

Setting down the peak and resting a moment, the swift Hanuman said to Sushena: “Best of vanaras, I could not tell those herbs apart, so I have brought this whole peak of the mountain.” Praising the son of the Wind at his words, the vanara chief Sushena tore up the herb. All the vanara chiefs there, seeing that deed of Hanuman’s, hard even for the gods, were amazed. The greatly radiant Sushena crushed that herb and gave it to Lakshmana through the passage of the nose. At the mere scent, the shaft-pierced, foe-slaying Lakshmana was freed of his shafts and made well, and rose swiftly from the earth. Seeing Lakshmana risen, the glad vanaras hailed him, crying “Well done, well done.”

Rama said, “Come, come,” and, his eyes full of tears, folded Lakshmana in a close embrace and said: “Brave one, by good fortune I see you returned from death. Had you gone to the five elements, I would have had no use for life, for Sita, or for victory; what meaning would there be in my living?” Pained by this faint-hearted speech of Rama’s, Lakshmana said: “One of true valor, having first vowed the killing of Ravana and the crowning of Vibhishana, do not now speak so like one of little spirit. The truthful do not make their vow in vain; the keeping of a vow is the mark of greatness. Sinless one, to despair on my account does not become you; this day fulfill your vow by killing Ravana. Once come into the path of your arrows, the enemy, like a great elephant in the grip of a sharp-fanged lion, will not return alive. I wish that before the sun sets, having done his work, this evil-souled one be quickly killed. Noble one, if you wish the killing of Ravana in the field, the fulfillment of the vow you have taken, and your desire for the daughter of Janaka, then, brave one, do quickly what I say this very day.”

A key to understanding (the concept): These four herbs are named for their several tasks: vishalyakarani (which draws the shaft or weapon from the body and heals the wound), savarnyakarani (which restores the color changed by the burning of the wound to its original hue), sanjivakarani (which brings the swooning back to their senses), and sandhani (which joins a broken bone). Hanuman’s lifting the whole mountain when he cannot tell the herbs apart shows both his practical wit and his boundless strength; in the later tradition of story this episode became famous as the “sanjivani mountain.”

The gist: Seeing Lakshmana fallen, Rama laments in deep grief. The physician Sushena reassures him that Lakshmana lives and sends Hanuman for the Himalayan herbs. Unable to tell the herbs apart, Hanuman lifts the whole mountain-peak; by Sushena’s medicine Lakshmana is made well and rises, and urges Rama to cast off despair and fulfill his vow to kill Ravana.

Source: Srimad Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddhakanda, Cantos 68 to 101 (Gita Press, Gorakhpur).