As the battle raged on, Saumitri—Lakṣmaṇa, the valiant brother of Rāma—prepared to unleash a weapon of supreme power. As he fitted that mighty, sharp-pointed arrow with the Brahmāstra, the very fabric of the universe seemed to tremble: the directions quaked, the moon and sun shuddered, the great planets, the vast sky, and the earth itself all shook in awe of the weapon about to be released. Having invoked the Brahmāstra upon his feathered arrow, which now resembled the very messenger of Yama, the god of death, Lakṣmaṇa released it in battle, aiming straight at Atikāya, the formidable son of the enemy of Indra. The arrow, swift as a thunderbolt, surged forth from Lakṣmaṇa’s bow, gaining in speed and fury, adorned with fine feathers like those of Garuḍa, the king of birds. Atikāya, mighty and vigilant, saw this missile approaching with ferocious force. Reacting quickly, Atikāya struck at the oncoming arrow with a barrage of sharp shafts, hoping to turn it aside. Yet, undeterred and unstoppable, the arrow—swift as Garuḍa—pressed on with tremendous force, aiming directly for his side. Seeing the arrow blazing toward him like the fire of death itself, Atikāya, undaunted, hurled at it every weapon at his disposal: spears, javelins, maces, axes, pikes, and more arrows. But all these wondrous weapons were rendered useless; the arrow, glowing like a mass of fire, cut through them all, seized Atikāya’s crested head, and sliced it cleanly from his body. The mighty head, still adorned with helmet and armor, shattered by Lakṣmaṇa’s arrow, tumbled to the earth like a peak of the Himavat mountains crashing down. Atikāya’s lifeless body fell, his garments and ornaments scattered, and all the surviving night-stalkers—Rākṣasas—were seized with terror. Their faces downcast, dejected and exhausted by the relentless blows, many of them wailed aloud, their voices breaking with grief and fear. Panic seized the Rākṣasas. Heedless of anything else, they fled in all directions toward the safety of Laṅkā, terrified by the fall of their mighty leader. In stark contrast, the hosts of monkeys, filled with joy, their faces radiant like blossoming lotuses, gathered around Lakṣmaṇa. They honored him, the fortunate one, for slaying the fierce and nearly unapproachable enemy. Lakṣmaṇa, delighted at having struck down the exceedingly strong Atikāya—who had loomed over the battlefield like a mass of storm clouds—was swiftly and greatly honored by the monkey hosts. Then, with his task complete, he returned to Rāma’s side. Now, listen to the seventy-second chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Yuddha Kāṇḍa. When news reached the king—Rāvaṇa, lord of Laṅkā—that Atikāya had been slain by the great-souled Lakṣmaṇa, he was deeply troubled. He spoke with anguish, recalling the mighty warriors who had fallen: Dhūmrākṣa, exceedingly wrathful and foremost among weapon-wielders; Akampana, Prahasta, and Kumbhakarṇa—heroes, undefeated conquerors in battle, all now lost to him. He remembered how these warriors, with their vast armies and immense bodies, skilled in every weapon, had been slain by Rāma, whose actions seemed effortless. Many other valiant and great-souled heroes had also fallen, including his own son, Indrajit, renowned for strength and valor. He recalled how those two brothers, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, had once been bound by terrible arrows—boons of great power—by a bondage that could not be undone by any god or even the mightiest asura. That dreadful spell could not be loosened by yakṣas, gandharvas, or serpents; Rāvaṇa did not know whether it was by the brothers’ power or by illusion and delusion that they were freed. Yet freed they were. Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa had returned, and all the warriors, the valiant Rākṣasas who had marched forth at his command, had been slain in battle by the exceedingly strong monkeys. Rāvaṇa lamented that he saw no one left who could destroy Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, along with their army, the heroic Sugrīva, and Vibhīṣaṇa. He acknowledged Rāma’s immense power and mastery of weapons. Having encountered Rāma’s valor, the Rākṣasas had met their end. Rāvaṇa, his heart heavy, confessed that he now considered the heroic Rāghava to be Nārāyaṇa himself, the supreme being, free from all harm. Out of fear of Rāma, the city of Laṅkā kept its gates and arches closed; everywhere, the city was guarded by ever-vigilant troops. He gave strict orders: the Aśoka grove, where Sītā was held, must be especially watched, with knowledge of every entry and exit at all times. Wherever there was a garrison, the Rākṣasas must stand guard, each with their own forces surrounding them. The movements of the monkeys must be observed constantly—at dusk, midnight, and dawn. No disrespect was to be shown toward the monkeys, for what enemy force, however prepared, had managed to withstand them? The mighty Rākṣasas, hearing the words of their lord, carried out his commands exactly as instructed. Having given all these orders, Rāvaṇa, burdened with the arrow of anger and dejection, entered his palace. There, the mighty lord of the night-walkers, his wrath burning within, could not stop thinking of his son’s calamity. He sighed deeply, his heart consumed with grief. Now, hear the seventy-third chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Yuddha Kāṇḍa. The surviving Rākṣasas, after the chiefs—Devāntaka, Triśiras, Atikāya, and others—had been slain, went quickly to Rāvaṇa to report the losses. On hearing suddenly of their deaths, the king’s eyes overflowed with great tears as he reflected on the terrible loss of his sons and brothers. Seeing his father thus, dejected and submerged in an ocean of grief, the best of charioteers, Indrajit, son of the Rākṣasa king, approached and spoke these words to him: “Father, do not give in to despair while Indrajit, the lord of the night-dwellers, still lives. No one struck by my arrows—Indra’s enemy—survives in battle. “Today, you shall see Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, their bodies shattered and torn by my arrows, lying lifeless on the ground, their limbs covered with sharp shafts. Hear this vow of mine, certain and joined with both valor and destiny: today itself, I will satisfy you by striking down Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa with unfailing arrows. “Today, Indra, Yama, Viṣṇu, Rudra, the Sādhyas, Agni, the Moon, and the Sun shall witness my immeasurable prowess, fierce as Viṣṇu’s at the sacrifice of Bali.” Thus, Indrajit pledged to avenge the fallen and restore hope to his grieving father, as the great war for Laṅkā continued.