Atikāya, the mighty rākṣasa, quaked beneath the relentless assault of Lakṣmaṇa’s arrows, tormented as the fabled fortress of Tripura once trembled under Rudra’s divine missile. Yet, regaining his composure amid the storm of shafts, Atikāya paused to reflect, his mind steady and proud: “Well done! My enemy is truly worthy of praise for this shower of arrows.” Resolute once more, he steadied his powerful arms, mounted the platform of his chariot, and began to maneuver skillfully across the battlefield. With practiced ease, the foremost among rākṣasas seized three arrows, then five, and then seven, fitting, drawing, and loosing them in swift succession. These arrows, radiant with golden feathers and blazing like the sun itself, seemed to set the very sky aflame as they hurtled toward their mark, embodying death itself. But Lakṣmaṇa, Rāghava’s steadfast younger brother, remained unshaken. With a flurry of sharp arrows, he cut down Atikāya’s deadly barrage, scattering them harmlessly. Witnessing his arrows destroyed in midair, Atikāya, son of Rāvaṇa and terror of the gods, was seized by fury. He grasped a keen arrow, fitted it to his bow, and, radiant with might, released it with speed. The shaft struck Saumitri—Lakṣmaṇa—in the chest as he advanced, drawing forth a torrent of blood, like the ichor streaming from a maddened elephant. Even as he bled, Lakṣmaṇa swiftly found himself without arrows. Undeterred, he seized a single sharp shaft and invoked upon it a mighty missile weapon—the missile of fire. As he prepared the arrow, it blazed forth on his bow, shining with the power of the great-souled warrior. Atikāya, undaunted and brimming with energy, responded by taking up a fierce missile. He fitted to it an arrow with a golden shaft, serpent-like in form, and prepared to counter Lakṣmaṇa’s assault. Lakṣmaṇa, his arrow blazing and dreadful, charged with the fire missile, hurled it at Atikāya with the force of Death itself. Perceiving the fire-charged arrow hurtling toward him, Atikāya—the night-stalker—released in reply a fierce arrow powered by the missile of the sun. The two arrows, their tips ablaze with energy, collided in the sky with the fury of two enraged serpents. As they struck, they consumed one another, falling to the earth as nothing but ashes, their brilliance extinguished. Atikāya’s anger only grew. He released the Tvaṣṭṛ’s reed missile, but Lakṣmaṇa, valorous as ever, countered it with the missile of Indra, cutting it down before it could reach him. Seeing his weapon destroyed, Atikāya, son of Rāvaṇa, became furious and fitted an arrow with the missile of Yama, the god of death. He hurled this deadly missile at Lakṣmaṇa, but Lakṣmaṇa swiftly struck it down with the missile of the wind. Now enraged, Lakṣmaṇa unleashed a rain of arrows upon Atikāya, as a thundercloud pours forth torrents of rain. The arrows struck Atikāya’s armor, resplendent with diamonds, but their tips broke and they fell useless to the ground. Observing his arrows rendered ineffective, Lakṣmaṇa—renowned for destroying enemy heroes—showered his foe with a thousand more shafts. Yet, though battered by this relentless storm, the massive rākṣasa, guarded by his invincible armor, stood unshaken. Atikāya retaliated with an arrow shaped like a venomous serpent, striking Lakṣmaṇa in a vital spot and wounding him. For a moment, the tormentor of foes faltered and lost consciousness. But soon he regained his senses, and, with four excellent arrows, struck down Atikāya’s horses and charioteer, and shattered his banner with a further shower of shafts. Unperturbed, Saumitri—Lakṣmaṇa—continued his assault, aiming deadly arrows at Atikāya, intent on slaying him. Yet, despite his best efforts, he could inflict no harm upon the rākṣasa in battle. At that moment, Vāyu, the wind-god, drew near and spoke: “This one has a boon from Brahmā and is shielded by invincible armor. Only the Brahmāstra can pierce him; he is vulnerable to no other weapon.” Hearing Vāyu’s counsel, Saumitri, his valor equal to Indra’s, seized a swift and powerful arrow and invoked upon it the supreme Brahmāstra. As he fitted this celestial weapon to his arrow, the very directions, the moon, the sun, the great planets, the sky, and the earth trembled in awe. Having invoked the Brahmāstra upon his feathered shaft—like Yama’s own messenger—Saumitri released it at the son of Rāvaṇa. The arrow, thunderbolt-like and swift as Garuḍa, sped forth with increasing velocity, and Atikāya saw it coming. In a desperate effort, Atikāya struck at the oncoming arrow with many sharp shafts, but the Brahmāstra, unstoppable as the wind, pressed on toward his side. Seeing this blazing arrow, radiant as the fire of death, Atikāya hurled spears, javelins, maces, axes, pikes, and arrows in its path. But all his wondrous weapons proved useless. The flaming arrow, unimpeded, struck Atikāya’s crested head and severed it from his body. His head, still adorned with helmet and armor, was shattered by Lakṣmaṇa’s arrow and fell to the earth like a peak torn from the Himavat mountains. Witnessing their champion fallen, his garments and ornaments scattered, the remaining night-stalkers were overcome with terror. Faces downcast, dejected and weary from battle, many of them wailed aloud, their voices breaking in anguish and despair.