The battle raged with unrelenting fury as the rākṣasas hurled torrents of trees and stones toward Rāma, filling the field with a tumult so wondrous and terrifying that it made the hair stand on end. Once more, the fierce rākṣasas attacked Rāma from every side, and the clash between them grew ever more dreadful and intense. All directions and regions became crowded with rākṣasas, their numbers so great that they surrounded Rāma on every side, and the air was thick with a rain of arrows. In the midst of this chaos, the mighty Rāma, letting out a terrifying sound, invoked the radiant Gandharva missile against his foes. Instantly, thousands of arrows sprang forth from the curve of his bow, rushing out to fill all ten directions, converging upon the enemy like a storm. Struck by this relentless hail, the rākṣasas watched in awe and terror as Rāma drew, released, and wielded arrow after dreadful arrow, each shaft more formidable than the last. The sky itself seemed cloaked in darkness from the sheer number of arrows, so much so that even the presence of the sun could not pierce the gloom—Rāma stood at the center, ceaselessly casting his missiles. The earth was soon strewn with the fallen: many struck down at once, many slain in a single moment, and many more collapsing in exhaustion. Everywhere, rākṣasas lay dead or dying—slain, fallen, severed, shattered, and torn apart—littering the battlefield in their thousands. Severed turbans and heads, arms and thighs adorned with shining ornaments, lay scattered amid the carnage. Among the wreckage were shattered horses, noble elephants, and broken chariots, their yak-tail fans, parasols, and banners trampled and torn. Rāma’s arrows had struck down warriors, split spears and pikes, snapped swords, and scattered javelins and axes across the ground. Rocks were crushed to powder, and the earth became a vast, terrifying expanse, covered with the remnants of remarkable weapons and the destruction they had wrought. Seeing their comrades slain, the remaining rākṣasas were overcome with terror and distress. Not one dared to move against Rāma, the conqueror of enemy cities. At this moment, Dūṣaṇa, the mighty-armed leader of the rākṣasas, saw his army being destroyed before his eyes. Resolute, he issued orders to the fiercest and most formidable of his warriors. He commanded five thousand rākṣasas, who were unwavering in battle, to attack Rāma with all their might. They launched themselves forward, wielding spears, pikes, swords, and hurling showers of rocks and trees. From all sides, they rained an unbroken storm of arrows upon Rāma, and a deadly cascade of trees and rocks fell toward him. But Rāma, righteous-souled and steadfast, received their onslaught with sharp arrows of his own, standing unmoved—like a great bull, eyes closed, bracing against the storm. Anger blazed within Rāma at the destruction the rākṣasas had wrought. Filled with wrath, he seemed to shine with his own radiance. He covered Dūṣaṇa and his entire army with arrows from all sides. Enraged, Dūṣaṇa, destroyer of foes, answered with arrows as fierce as thunderbolts, striving to block Rāma’s assault. But Rāma, his fury only growing, seized a razor-headed arrow and, with a single shot, cut down Dūṣaṇa’s great bow. With four more arrows, he struck down the four horses of Dūṣaṇa’s chariot. Sharp arrows slew the horses, and with a crescent-headed arrow, Rāma severed the charioteer’s head. Three more arrows pierced Dūṣaṇa’s chest. Deprived of his bow, chariot, horses, and charioteer, Dūṣaṇa seized a terrifying iron club, massive as a mountain peak, wrapped in golden bands—a weapon known for crushing the armies of the gods. Studded with sharp iron spikes, smeared with blood and fat, its touch was like thunderbolts and lightning, capable of shattering enemy fortresses. Grasping this dreadful weapon, Dūṣaṇa, the night-stalking rākṣasa of cruel deeds, rushed at Rāma. But as Dūṣaṇa charged, Rāma loosed two arrows, severing both of Dūṣaṇa’s ornamented arms. The great-bodied rākṣasa fell to the battlefield, his hands and his iron club tumbling down like Indra’s banner cast to the earth. Deprived of his arms, Dūṣaṇa crashed to the ground like a noble elephant whose tusks have been broken. Witnessing Dūṣaṇa fallen and slain upon the field, all beings honored Kakutstha Rāma, exclaiming, “Well done! Well done!” At that moment, three furious leaders of the rākṣasa army, as if drawn by the noose of death itself, joined forces and charged at Rāma. Mahākapāla, Sthūlākṣa, and the mighty Pramāthī prepared for battle. Mahākapāla raised his massive spear, Sthūlākṣa seized a pattiśa, and Pramāthī brandished his battle-axe. Seeing them come, Rāma met their assault with keen-tipped arrows, receiving them as one would unwelcome guests. With a swift shot, he cut off Mahākapāla’s head. With countless arrows, he crushed Pramāthī, and with a storm of shafts, he filled the large eyes of Sthūlākṣa, who fell to earth like a great tree with its branches lopped away. In a single moment, Rāma, still burning with wrath, destroyed Dūṣaṇa’s five thousand followers, sending them all to the abode of Yama. When news of Dūṣaṇa’s death and the destruction of his followers reached Khara, the rākṣasa chief was seized with rage. He ordered the mighty generals of his army, saying, “Dūṣaṇa has been slain in battle, along with his attendants. With the great army, go and fight Rāma, that mere man. With every kind of weapon, let all the rākṣasas slay him!