Lanka, the golden city of the Rakshasas, stood proud and tall as the mighty ocean kissed its shores. But dark clouds gathered above, for the winds carried news that made even the bravest hearts tremble — Rama had crossed the sea.
Ravana, seated upon his jeweled throne, laughed loudly when the message reached him. “What folly is this? A mortal prince dares march upon mighty Lanka with monkeys and bears as his army?”
Yet deep within, a shadow stirred — the first whisper of fear.
His wise ministers and brave sons gathered, their faces grave. “O King,” they spoke, “this is no ordinary prince. Rama is the very embodiment of dharma. His arrows are lightning, his strength unmatched. Surrender Sita, and save Lanka.”
But Ravana’s pride towered above their words. “Never! No man, no god shall take Sita from me. Let them come — let them see the fury of Lanka!”
The city shuddered as Ravana roared his command, “Prepare for war! Sound the drums! Let Lanka rise in all her glory.”
Chariots rolled out, golden and fierce. Warriors with eyes like fire readied their weapons. The Rakshasa army — vast and terrifying — filled the streets, eager for battle.
Meanwhile, upon the shores, Rama stood tall, his bow gleaming like the sun. He gazed at Lanka, his voice calm but strong. “The time has come. We shall send a final message — one last chance for peace.”
Hanuman was chosen. Leaping high, he soared into Lanka once more, standing boldly before Ravana’s court. “O Ravana, heed this final warning. Return Sita with honor, and spare your kingdom this war. Bow before Rama, and you shall be forgiven.”
Ravana’s laughter boomed. “Bow? To a wandering prince? You speak madness, monkey! Go back and tell your master — let him come, and let him face the wrath of Lanka!”
With sorrow, Hanuman returned. Rama’s eyes held no anger, only quiet resolve. “So be it,” he whispered. “Lanka has chosen her fate.”
The conch shells blew, their sound rising like thunder. The earth trembled as Rama’s army prepared — the vanaras ready to fight, their hearts burning with loyalty, their hands eager to serve.
Thus, the first roar of battle echoed through the land, the skies darkened, and the great war was set to begin — a war of dharma against adharma, of love against pride.
The stage was set. The world held its breath, waiting for the storm that would decide the fate of Lanka — and the fate of all.