Even as his body was pierced by the sharp arrows of a swift-handed rākṣasa, Sugrīva, the lord of the monkeys, pressed on relentlessly. Undaunted by his wounds and the rain of missiles, he struck the terrifying rākṣasa named Praghasa, who was devouring the monkey armies as though he would swallow them whole. With great speed and the strength of a seven-leaved tree, Sugrīva battered Praghasa, refusing to yield. Elsewhere on the battlefield, Lakṣmaṇa, radiant and resolute, loosed a single arrow that struck Virūpākṣa. At the same moment, the formidable rākṣasas—Agniketu, Rashmiketu, Suptaghna, and Yajñakopa—wounded Rāma with their arrows. Angered by their assault, Rāma’s wrath blazed forth. With four terrible arrows, each gleaming like a tongue of fire, he severed the heads of those four rākṣasas, felling them instantly in the heat of battle. Mainda, another mighty monkey chief, met Vajramuṣṭi in combat. With a blow of his powerful fist, Mainda struck Vajramuṣṭi down, sending him tumbling from his chariot with his horses, as if a mountain had been torn from the earth. On another front, Nikumbha, the night-stalking rākṣasa, pierced Nīla—who shone dark as a mass of collyrium—with sharp arrows, just as the sun’s rays pierce a cloud. Nikumbha, swift and relentless, then struck Nīla with a hundred arrows and laughed in cruel delight. But Nīla, fierce as Viṣṇu in the midst of battle, seized the wheel of his chariot and, with a single mighty swing, cut off the heads of both Nikumbha and his charioteer. In the sight of all the rākṣasas, Dvivida, whose touch was as fierce as thunder and lightning, struck down Ashaniprabha using a mountain peak as his weapon. Yet Ashaniprabha, shining like a flash of lightning, wounded Dvivida with arrows that resembled thunderbolts, piercing the monkey lord’s body. Enraged and undeterred by his wounds, Dvivida seized a great sala tree and, with a furious blow, struck down Ashaniprabha—destroying his chariot, horses, and charioteer together. Meanwhile, Vidyunmali, resplendent in golden ornaments and standing tall on his chariot, struck Sushena with arrows and roared again and again in challenge. Sushena, the foremost of monkeys, saw his foe on the chariot and, with a great mountain peak, shattered Vidyunmali’s chariot, bringing it crashing down. Vidyunmali leapt nimbly from the wreckage, landing on the ground with mace in hand, ready to fight. Sushena, his anger kindled, seized a massive rock and charged at the night-stalker. Vidyunmali met Sushena’s rush, striking him swiftly on the chest with his mace. Yet Sushena, unfazed by the terrible blow, hurled the rock in silence at Vidyunmali’s chest. The rock struck true, crushing Vidyunmali’s heart, and the rākṣasa fell lifeless to the ground. Thus, in single combat, the heroic night-stalking rākṣasas were battered and brought low by the valorous monkeys, as if demons were being vanquished by the gods. All around, the field was littered with barbed arrows, maces, spears, javelins, and shafts. Chariots and war-horses lay cast aside, wheels and axles broken, yokes splintered and scattered across the earth. The ground was strewn with slain elephants in rut, fallen monkeys and rākṣasas, and the debris of shattered warcraft. The battlefield became a dreadful sight, haunted by jackals roaming in packs. Headless bodies of monkeys and rākṣasas rose up in all directions amid the tumult, echoing the legendary battles between gods and demons. As the chiefs of monkeys struck down their foes, the night-stalkers, maddened by the scent of blood, rallied fiercely, longing for the sun’s setting so they might regain their strength in the darkness. As the conflict raged on, the sun finally set, and night descended, bringing with it a deadly darkness. Still, both armies—monkeys and rākṣasas—driven by enmity and the desire for victory, continued their fierce struggle. A night battle broke out, with each side searching for the other in the gloom. The rākṣasas cried, “There is a monkey!” while the monkeys shouted, “There is a rākṣasa!” Amidst the dreadful darkness, they struck at one another with all their might. Cries of “Strike! Tear apart! Flee!” arose in tumult from the warring armies. In the darkness, the rākṣasas clad in golden armor appeared as mountain lords amid forests of glowing herbs. Surging with wrath, the rākṣasas rushed about with great speed, devouring vanaras in the blackness. Their sharp teeth tore apart horses with golden headgear, and they shattered serpent-bannered chariots. The mighty vanaras, in turn, shook the rākṣasa army, toppling elephants, their riders, and chariots adorned with banners and flags. Enraged, the vanaras dragged their foes and bit them with their teeth, while Lakṣmaṇa and Rāma struck down rākṣasas with arrows as deadly as venomous serpents. They felled the foremost of the rākṣasas, both those who were visible and those hidden in the shadows. Dust, churned by the hooves of horses and the wheels of chariots, rose up and clouded the air, blocking the ears and eyes of the combatants. As the dreadful, hair-raising conflict raged on, terrible rivers of blood began to flow across the field. The sound of drums, mridangas, and panavas, mingled with the blare of conch shells and the clatter of chariot wheels, arose—astonishing and fearsome to hear. The cries of slain and wounded rākṣasas, and the groans of wounded vanaras, filled the night. On the battlefield, the chiefs of the vanaras lay slain by spears, tridents, and axes, while rākṣasas of mountain-like form, masters of illusion, were also struck down. Weapons and showers of missiles covered the ground, which was thick with mud of blood, hard to discern and difficult to cross. That night became terrible, a destroyer of both vanaras and rākṣasas, like the Night of Time itself—impossible for any being to overcome. In that dreadful darkness, the rākṣasas, exultant and eager, advanced upon Rāma with showers of arrows, seeking to overwhelm him as the night wore on.