There, in that otherworldly realm, Ravana—the mighty-armed, ten-headed lord of the rakshasas—beheld the righteous souls, radiant with their own inner brilliance, shining brighter than all others. With his immense power and indomitable strength, Ravana intervened, rescuing those beings who were suffering the consequences of their own misdeeds. By force and valor, he freed them from their torment. Those souls, delivered by the formidable rakshasa king, experienced a fleeting happiness—joy so sudden and unimaginable that it caught them unawares. But as Ravana, the great rakshasa, continued to release the departed, the guardians of the dead, enraged at this defiance, rushed forth to confront the king of the rakshasas. From all directions arose a tumultuous sound, as the warriors of Yama, lord of justice, charged into battle, their valor resounding like thunder. By the hundreds and thousands, these heroes unleashed a hail of spears, clubs, tridents, maces, darts, and javelins upon the Pushpaka, Ravana’s celestial chariot. Their assault shattered the chariot’s seats, palaces, railings, and gateways, much like swarms of bees breaking apart honeycombs. Though the Pushpaka, established by the gods, was battered and broken in the fray, it remained undestroyed, preserved by the power of Brahma. Ravana’s own army was vast beyond measure, countless in number, with hundreds and thousands of foremost warriors at its head. Then, with trees and mountains, and even with hundreds of palaces, Ravana and his ministers fought as they wished, wielding whatever came to hand. The ministers of the rakshasa lord, their bodies smeared with blood and struck by all manner of weapons, plunged into a great and terrible battle. Fiercely the mighty warriors of Yama and the ministers of Ravana struck each other, illustrious heroes clashing weapon against weapon. As the combat raged, the warriors of Yama abandoned the ministers and rushed straight at Ravana himself, showering him with spears. The ten-headed lord, his limbs bloodied and battered by blows, yet shone resplendent upon the Pushpaka, like a blossoming ashoka tree. Drawing upon his immense power, Ravana hurled spears, maces, nooses, javelins, swords, arrows, clubs, rocks, and trees at his enemies. A dreadful storm of trees, rocks, and weapons rained down upon Yama’s army, striking the earth with fury. Yet the warriors of Yama, breaking through and repelling Ravana’s onslaught, struck down his terrible rakshasa forces by the hundreds of thousands. They surrounded Ravana like a mountain beset by futile attacks, battering him with slings and spears until he was breathless. Stripped of his armor, enraged, and drenched in streams of blood, Ravana abandoned the Pushpaka and leapt to the earth. Armed with his bow and arrows, he advanced into the fray. Regaining his senses in an instant, he stood furious, resembling Death itself on the battlefield. Then, fitting the divine Pashupata weapon to his bow, Ravana called out, “Stand! Stand!” and drew back the string. Drawing the bow to his ear, the enemy of Indra, burning with rage, released the arrow as Shiva had done at Tripura. That arrow blazed like a smokeless fire, fierce as a forest fire raging in summer, ready to consume all before it. Wreathed in flames, accompanied by flesh-eating spirits, the arrow sped forth, reducing entire battalions and forests of trees to ashes. Burned by its radiance, the armies of Vaivasvata fell like trees consumed by wildfire. Then Ravana, possessed of terrible valor, together with his ministers, let out a mighty roar, as if to shake the very earth. Hearing that great roar, Vaivasvata—lord of the dead—believed his enemy had triumphed and that his own forces were destroyed. His eyes reddened with anger, he commanded his charioteer, “Bring my chariot at once.” At his command, the charioteer brought forth the divine, resplendent chariot. The mighty Yama, radiant and formidable, mounted it, with Death himself, club in hand, standing before him. The embodied Rod of Time, by whom the imperishable threefold world is restrained, stood at Yama’s side, blazing with the brilliance of fire, ready to serve as his divine weapon. The flawless nooses of Time were arrayed beside him, along with a solid, shining club, radiant as fire itself. At this, the three worlds were thrown into agitation, and the gods trembled to see Time so enraged—terrifying to all beings. Urged on by his charioteer, the splendid, radiant horses set out, their dreadful roar announcing their coming as they sped toward the lord of the rakshasas. In a moment, these horses, swift as thought and equal to the steeds of Indra, bore Yama to the heart of the raging battle. Upon seeing that terrifying chariot, accompanied by Death, the ministers of Ravana were seized by terror. Overwhelmed by fear, their courage failed, and they cried, “We cannot fight here!” Fleeing in all directions, they scattered, losing all will to resist. Yet Ravana, beholding that fearsome chariot that struck terror in the worlds, was unmoved. No fear entered his heart. Then, approaching Ravana, Yama—enraged—hurled spears and javelins, striking at Ravana’s vital points. But Ravana, undisturbed, responded with a shower of arrows upon Vaivasvata’s chariot, like a dark cloud pouring rain upon the earth. The battle between these mighty beings thus blazed forth, terrible and awe-inspiring to all who beheld it.