Severed Heads Fall Before Ravana Like Bursting Pots of Curd

Hanuman and Angada move through the demon ranks one warrior at a time. Each opponent is crushed beneath their assault, and the heads of the fallen are sent toward the king who ordered the city to devour Rama's army.

They land before Ravana in a succession of heavy impacts. The familiar image Tulsidas gives is almost domestic: pots filled with curd striking the floor and bursting open. The battlefield enters the throne room through a comparison drawn from ordinary life.

The grotesque rain gives Ravana no distant report to dismiss. The cost of command falls visibly at his feet. Warriors who marched beneath his laughter return without praise, their broken forms answering the promise that fate had delivered monkeys as food. Pride called the feast, but grief now breaks open before the throne like vessel after vessel.

Before Ravana, the vessels of his confidence burst one by one, and no hand can gather them whole.