The winds grew still, the skies darkened, and the earth itself seemed to hold its breath, for the final moment had come — the mighty Rama and the proud Ravana stood face to face on the vast battlefield of Lanka.
Ravana rode forth in his golden chariot, his ten heads towering like dark mountains, his eyes burning with pride and fury. Around him, the remnants of his once-mighty army trembled, for even they knew — this was the battle of destiny.
Rama, calm as the ocean, stood tall with his divine bow, Lakshmana by his side, and the vanara army roaring in support. Yet Rama’s gaze held no hatred, only the steady fire of dharma.
Ravana laughed, his voice thundering through the skies, “O Rama! You come to fight me for a woman? Fool! I am Ravana, lord of Lanka, feared by gods and men alike. Turn back, or face your doom!”
Rama’s voice rang out, gentle yet firm, “O Ravana, your pride blinds you. You speak of fear, but know this — I fight not for glory, but to uphold righteousness. Today, your sins end here.”
With a roar, the battle began.
Ravana’s arrows flew like fiery serpents, darkening the skies. Rama met them with his own — each shining like the sun, breaking Ravana’s weapons, striking down his pride.
Chariots clashed, the earth shook, and mountains trembled. The gods above watched in awe as two mighty warriors fought — one for pride, the other for love and dharma.
Ravana’s power was great. He hurled divine weapons, roared his fury, and his strength seemed endless. Yet Rama, steady as the mountains, fought with the grace of the heavens.
Hour after hour, the duel raged, neither yielding. Then Rama lifted the great Brahmastra — the celestial arrow blessed by the gods, glowing with the light of a thousand suns.
He prayed, “O mighty gods, O elements of nature, witness this moment. May this arrow end Ravana’s cruelty and restore peace to the world.”
With a mighty pull, Rama released the Brahmastra. It flew through the sky, cutting through Ravana’s dark magic, breaking every shield, and striking straight at his heart.
Ravana screamed — a sound that shook the three worlds. His ten heads bowed, his chariot shattered, and the mighty king of Lanka fell, his body crashing to the earth.
The skies cleared, the winds sighed in relief, and the gods rained flowers from the heavens. The long night was over.
Rama stood silently, his heart heavy, his eyes soft with compassion. “O Ravana,” he whispered, “you were mighty, learned, and brave — but pride was your fall. May your soul find peace.”
Thus ended the great war — Ravana, the king of demons, lay defeated, and dharma had triumphed once more.
The earth sang, the skies rejoiced, and all creation bowed before Rama — the prince who fought for love, for truth, and for the victory of righteousness.