On the battlefield, Makarākṣa, fierce son of Khara, confronted Rāma with burning eyes. His voice thundered with menace as he declared, “Today, struck by the force of my arrows, you will fall to the realm of the dead, Rāma, and there you will dwell with those valiant ones whom you have slain. Why say more? Listen to my words: let all the worlds bear witness as you and I stand face to face in battle. With weapons, the mace, or even our bare arms—let us fight with whatever skill each of us has mastered, Rāma.” Hearing these bold words, Rāma, son of Daśaratha, laughed, his composure unshaken. He replied to Makarākṣa, who was ever quick with retort, “Why do you boast so vainly, demon, with such words unfitting for you? Victory in battle is not won by speech, but by the clash of arms. Fourteen thousand rākṣasas, your father, Triśiras, and Dūṣaṇa too—I slew them all in Daṇḍaka. And today, O wicked one, vultures, jackals, and crows with sharp beaks and claws will feast on your flesh.” Stung by Rāma’s words, the mighty Makarākṣa loosed a torrent of arrows at Rāghava. But Rāma, swift and precise, shattered those arrows in flight with a shower of his own golden-feathered shafts, which fell to the earth in thousands, severed and harmless. The two warriors, son of Khara and son of Daśaratha, met with all their strength, and the din of their battle echoed like thunderous clouds or the twang of taut bowstrings. Arrows clashed in mid-air, and the noise resounded across the field. All the gods, demons, gandharvas, kinnaras, and great serpents gathered in the sky to witness this wondrous combat. Each time their bodies were struck, their fury and strength only grew, and they answered each blow with another. Makarākṣa cut down Rāma’s arrows, and Rāma, in turn, severed those of the rākṣasa. Showers of arrows veiled the battlefield, covering all directions so thickly that nothing else could be seen. Enraged, Rāghava’s might surged forth—he cut down Makarākṣa’s bow and struck the charioteer with eight sharp arrows. Rāma’s arrows shattered the chariot, killed the horses, and brought them crashing down. Thus, Makarākṣa, deprived of his chariot, stood alone upon the earth. Undaunted, the rākṣasa seized a spear in his hand—a terror to all beings, blazing like the fire at the end of the world. This great spear, hard to obtain and given by Rudra, blazed in the sky like a weapon of destruction. At the sight, all the gods fled in fear, and the night-wanderer whirled the flaming spear, hurling it at Rāghava in furious wrath. But Rāma, undaunted, loosed four arrows that met the spear in flight, shattering the divine, gold-adorned weapon into many pieces. The fragments fell to earth like a great meteor, and the beings in the sky cried out in wonder, “Well done! Well done!” Seeing his mighty spear destroyed, Makarākṣa raised his fist and roared at Kakutstha, “Stand! Stand!” As the rākṣasa charged, Rāghava laughed, fitting the fire-weapon to his bow. With this weapon, Rāma struck down the rākṣasa in battle—his heart pierced, Makarākṣa fell dead upon the field. Seeing their champion fallen, all the rākṣasas, terrified by Rāma’s arrows, fled straight to Laṅkā. The gods, delighted, beheld Khara’s son, the night-wanderer, lying shattered by the force of Daśaratha’s son’s arrows, as if a mountain had been struck by a thunderbolt. Now listen to the next sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Yuddhakāṇḍa. News of Makarākṣa’s death reached Rāvaṇa, the conqueror in battle. Seized by a fury that made him grind his teeth, the king pondered his next move. Enraged and determined, he commanded his son Indrajit with burning words, “Go to battle, my son. Slay the mighty Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, whether you are visible or invisible. In every way you surpass them in strength. You, whose deeds are unmatched, have conquered even Indra. What more need be said? When you see these men, will you not slay them in battle?” Thus commanded, Indrajit accepted his father’s words and went to the sacrificial ground to offer oblations into the fire. As he performed the rites, rākṣasa women arrived, wearing red headbands and agitated, bringing weapons, arrow-feathered shafts, sacred firewood, bibhītaka fruits, blood-red garments, and a ladle of black iron. Around the fire, Indrajit spread arrow-feathered shafts and spears, then seized by the throat a living, entirely black goat. As soon as the oblation was offered and the smokeless, blazing fire flared up, auspicious signs of victory appeared. The fire, its flames curling to the right and shining like molten gold, rose up and accepted the offering on its own. Having satisfied the gods, Dānavas, and rākṣasas with his offerings, Indrajit ascended his excellent, invisible, and auspicious chariot—ready to enter the battle once more.