All the rakshasas gazed in astonishment at the wondrous sight before them. Ravana, lord of the rakshasas, was especially struck; he rose at once, his resolve hardening. Without delay, he mounted his formidable chariot—a vehicle blazing with his own fierce splendor, radiant as a million suns, shining like fire itself. Eight noble horses were yoked to it, and his charioteer stood ready. Ravana set out suddenly, surrounded by a host of rakshasas, advancing with such gravity and power that it seemed as if he would rend the very earth beneath him. A great tumult arose: drums thundered repeatedly, mridangas and patahas resounded, conches blared, and the rakshasas raised a mighty clamor. The king of the rakshasas, he who had stolen Sita—wicked in his conduct, slayer of Brahmins, terror of the gods—arrived, attended by a splendid parasol and fans. The tumultuous cry resounded: “He comes to fight with the best of the Raghus!” The earth itself trembled at this uproar, and the monkeys, hearing the sudden din, fled in fear. Yet Ravana, mighty-armed and surrounded by his counselors, pressed forward, his splendor blazing as he sought victory in battle. At his command, Mahaparsva, Mahodara, and the formidable Virupaksha mounted their own chariots, exulting and roaring as if to split the earth, uttering dreadful sounds and eager for triumph. Radiant and surrounded by the vast forces of the rakshasa hosts, Ravana went forth to battle, his bow raised, resembling Death at the end of time. With his swift horses, he drove out through the gate where Rama and Lakshmana awaited. As he emerged, the sun lost its brilliance, darkness enveloped the quarters, the twice-born uttered ominous cries, and the earth trembled beneath these portents. Blood rained from the sky, the horses stumbled, a vulture swooped down upon the banner’s crest, and jackals howled inauspiciously. Ravana’s left eye throbbed, his left arm quivered, his face grew pale, and his voice faltered ever so slightly. These dire omens appeared as the ten-headed rakshasa went forth to battle, clearly foretelling death in the fight to come. A meteor blazed down from the sky with a thunderous sound; vultures and crows mingled, howling ominously. Yet, disregarding all these terrible signs, Ravana—deluded and impelled by fate—pressed on, unheeding, toward his death. The thunder of the rakshasas’ chariots roused the monkey army, and they too surged forward for battle. A tumultuous clash erupted between the monkeys and the rakshasas, both sides enraged and eager for victory, challenging each other fiercely. Now the ten-headed Ravana, his fury ablaze, wrought great slaughter among the ranks of the monkeys with his golden-adorned arrows. Some monkeys fell with their heads severed at the front lines, others with their hearts pierced or their ears cut away. Some lay dead, their breath gone; some were torn at the sides, some with their heads split open, others deprived of their eyes. Wherever Ravana, his eyes wide with rage, advanced in his chariot across the battlefield, the monkey chiefs could not withstand the onslaught of his arrows. Thus begins the ninety-sixth canto of the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda. Struck down by the arrows of the ten-necked Ravana, the earth was soon strewn with the bodies of monkeys. The monkeys could not endure, even for a moment, the fierce and unstoppable shower of Ravana’s arrows, just as moths cannot withstand the blaze of a fire. Pierced by the sharp arrows, they cried out and fled in all directions, like elephants fleeing from a raging conflagration. Ravana, scattering the monkey battalions with his arrows, moved among them like the wind dispersing great clouds. Having swiftly wrought carnage among the forest-dwellers, the lord of the rakshasas then hastened in battle to confront Raghava himself. Seeing the monkeys broken and routed, Sugriva quickly placed Sushena, a hero equal to himself, in command of the division, and resolved to fight. He armed himself with a great tree and advanced toward the enemy. On his sides and behind him, all the monkey chiefs followed, carrying mighty mountains and various trees. Sugriva roared mightily on the battlefield, striking down many rakshasas and crushing their foremost warriors. Like the wind at the end of an age that uproots great trees, the mighty lord of monkeys shattered the rakshasa ranks. He rained down a storm of mountains upon them, as a cloud showers stones upon flocks of birds in the forest. Struck by these mountain showers hurled by the monkey king, the rakshasas fell with shattered heads, like mountains split apart. As the rakshasas were being diminished on all sides, broken by Sugriva and crying out in pain, Virupaksha, the rakshasa archer, announced his own name, leapt from his chariot, and mounted the back of a great elephant. Mighty in strength, Virupaksha roared with a terrifying sound and charged toward the monkeys. He released dreadful arrows at Sugriva in the midst of the army, causing alarm among the monkeys and delight among the rakshasas.