The skies turned crimson, and the winds howled as the great war drums of Rama’s army thundered through the land. Upon the mighty bridge, vanaras and bears stood ready — their eyes fierce, their hearts burning with the fire of duty.
Before them rose Lanka, proud and golden, its towers gleaming beneath the sun, unaware that this day would be written in the pages of eternity.
Rama, with Lakshmana by his side, lifted his mighty bow and spoke, his voice steady as the mountains, “O noble warriors, today we fight not for glory, but for love, for dharma, and for the rescue of Sita. Let no fear touch your hearts. Victory shall be ours.”
With a roar that shook the heavens, the vanaras charged. Trees were their weapons, mountains their missiles, and their strength was born of devotion.
From the golden gates of Lanka, Ravana’s mighty Rakshasa army surged forth — dark as the night, fierce as a storm. Chariots rolled, maces swung, and arrows rained from the skies like fire.
The earth trembled beneath the clash of titans. Vanara met Rakshasa, and the skies filled with the sound of battle. Fierce warriors like Angada, Nala, and Neela fought bravely, their roars shaking the mountains.
Lakshmana, swift as lightning, fought like a lion. Arrows flew from his bow, piercing through demons, clearing the path for Rama.
Amidst the chaos, Rama’s eyes searched only for one — Ravana, the cause of this great sorrow. But the demon king remained hidden in his palace, sending forth his fiercest warriors one by one.
The first mighty general to face Rama’s army was Prahasta, commander of Lanka’s legions. Tall as a mountain, his voice roared like thunder. But Nila, the brave vanara, rose to the challenge, meeting Prahasta’s might with fearless strength.
The battle raged — arrows darkened the sky, maces shattered bones, and rivers of blood flowed. Yet dharma stood firm.
With a final roar, Nila struck down Prahasta, sending the great demon crashing to the earth. The Rakshasa army wailed, their leader lost.
Rama’s heart did not waver. He raised his bow, sending arrows like flaming serpents into the ranks of the enemy. Every shot sang the song of justice, every arrow carried the weight of his love for Sita.
As night fell, the battlefield lay covered in dust, blood, and sorrow. Yet Rama’s army stood strong, their spirits unbroken, their eyes shining with the light of victory.
And so, the first day of the great war ended — a day where courage roared louder than fear, where dharma stood tall against the dark.
But the war had only just begun. For Ravana, enraged and burning with pride, had sworn to unleash his deadliest warriors — and the fiercest battles were yet to come.