The Princes of Ayodhya-The Ramayan Through Short Stories

The Invincible Mortal and the Mortal Demon (Ravan dies, guys)

Any decent, self-preserving demon would have quivered and quavered after hearing Ram's speech, seeing the ghosts of his evils, watching the sun's light surrounding his enemy in a halo of brilliance, or really just seeing this great mortal ready to kill them. But Ravan wasn't decent, and certainly not life preserving, and really had no thoughtful bone in his fleshy, ugly body, forget the sheer muscle control required to start shaking, so quivering and quavering was quite impossible for him. He stared at the ghosts for a single moment, and then glanced back at Ram.

"You summon the supernatural to help you, Ram." he cackled, before raising his bow again. "Like a coward."

"Don't mistake their presence for my weakness, Ravan." Ram boomed. "I simply invite them to watch your demise. It is their right, as it is of my vanar sena, who have lost so many fathers, brothers, and sons to your army."

Ravan cocked an eyebrow, before shrugging. "Well then, you shouldn't be too troubled by my summoning of my own army." Many meters behind him, the few remaining in Ravan's army materialized, standing ankle deep as the Earth sagged beneath them, too disgusted to touch them. "After all, they too have lost fathers, sons, brothers, and leaders to your ragtag group of monkeys and bears."

He dropped his bow and reached out both his arms, grasping an Agni astra and a Varun astra, throwing them one after the other at Ram. Through the whistling wind and the swirling dust storm that seemed to overtake the battlefield, only their hazy glows were visible through the mist. Still, Ram's trained eyes sharply identified them, and without a moment's hesitation, they were obliterated from the air.

Then, it was his turn. Ram folded his hands so he could hold three arrows, one in each crook of his fingers, and let them fly towards Ravan. Wrought from iron, they were barely visible through the haze, and yet, Ravan managed to splinter them with his own. The shards flew towards Ravan's army, turning into red embers.

Ravan turned his head around to follow their flight, but Ram's gaze remained trained solely on him. Years and years in the forest had taught him to never get distracted by the rustle of a leaf, a fallen twig, a disguised demoness or a golden deer. Certainly not the remnants of his arrow. But he wouldn't attack. No, Ravan needed to be aware of every second of his death, needed to track his demise, finally grasping onto him when he'd been teasing it for so many eons.

Just as Ravan's head twitched to turn back around and not a second later, Ram lifted an astra gifted to him in his early days by Vishwamitra. Hard eyes, rough words, a weapon pressed trustingly into youthful, unpracticed hands. Perhaps not even the great sage could have predicted how far his gift would go.

The simple arrow morphed into a large, golden spear in his hand, which he strung into his bow. The shrill sound of his elastic bowstring was Ravan's only warning as the astra soared towards him. It was aided so by the wind, which turned around and forgot all about any destination it could have ever had.

It seemed hopeless for Ravan, all of a sudden. Here he was, still turning around, and yet, the end of his life was moving faster than any reflex. He wasn't even prepared. His bow lay on the ground of his chariot. His hand still remained far away from his astras.

The weapon whistled with the screams of death, even the shrill breath of the wind unable to mask it. Yama seemed trapped inside its depths.

The world stopped turning. The sun stopped soaring across the sky.

Neel gasped, his binoculars grasped tightly in war-worn hands. Could this be it? The end of Ravan?

Jal dropped her sewing, walking up behind Neel and squinting into the sky. Sugriv gripped onto Angad, as if worried that his nephew would drift away.