धूम्राक्षस्य निर्याणम्

Sitting with the rākṣasas, his ministers, Rāvaṇa now heard the tumultuous roaring of the mighty monkeys. Hearing that loud roar, deep and resonant as thunder, he said among his ministers: "This great noise of so many delighted monkeys, rising like the thunder of clouds, makes it plain that they are overjoyed — there is no doubt of it, for their mighty roars are churning up the salt ocean. Yet the two brothers Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa are bound by sharp arrows, and this great noise seems to rouse my misgivings." Having said this to his ministers, the lord of the rākṣasas told the rākṣasas standing near him, "Find out at once why all these forest-dwellers, at a time of grief that has fallen on them, have found cause for joy." The roar described at the end of the previous sarga reaches Rāvaṇa's ears here, joining the two sargas. His reasoning is shrewd: joy is impossible in a time of grief, so something must have changed. The roar is "deep and resonant" — not a cry of fear but the rich sound of joy — and the ocean churning under it is an exaggeration that shows its power. Rāvaṇa is intelligent and quickly senses trouble, but his pride will not let him accept the truth; "seems to rouse my misgivings" is half an admission of fear, never a full one. In the previous sarga he embraced his son and cast off his fever; now that fever returns. He makes his decisions surrounded by his ministers and does not go to look for himself, and the command "let it be found out" has a king's impersonal ring. That the monkeys' joy is the enemy's fear is the psychology of war.

So ordered, the rākṣasas climbed the rampart in great agitation and saw the army guarded by the great-souled Sugrīva, and the two illustrious Rāghavas freed from that most terrible bond of arrows and on their feet again — and all the rākṣasas were dismayed. Their hearts struck with terror, those fearsome rākṣasas came down from the rampart, pale, and went before the lord of the rākṣasas. With downcast faces, speaking skilfully, they told Rāvaṇa the unwelcome news in full, exactly as it was: "The two brothers Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, whom Indrajit bound in battle with the bond of arrows so that they could not stir their arms, are to be seen on the battlefield freed from that bond, like two elephants that have broken their fetters, with the strength of lordly elephants." Hearing their words, the mighty lord of the rākṣasas was overcome with anxiety and grief, and his face lost its colour. "My enemies were crushed in battle by Indrajit and bound with terrible arrows given by a boon, arrows like venomous serpents, unfailing, bright as the sun. If they have been caught in that bond of weapons and still gone free, then I see all this army of mine in peril. Those arrows bright as fire, which took my enemies' lives in battle, have come to nothing." As a bound elephant breaks its fetters by sheer strength, so did the two brothers. The rākṣasas, skilled in speech, report even unwelcome news exactly and do not deceive the king — a brave thing to do, since Rāvaṇa's anger was well known. From the high ramparts of Laṅkā the whole monkey army could be seen, and the spies turn pale, the bodily mark of fear; the army "guarded by Sugrīva" is well ordered again — it had fled before, but now stands firm. Rāvaṇa's anxiety is deep because Indrajit's arrows came from a boon and were famed as unfailing; their failure shows that fate has turned against him. For the first time he sees the future of his whole army in doubt. He says "my enemies," not "Indrajit's," for he had counted his son's victory as his own, and so the defeat is his too; the failure of those arrows is the failure of Indrajit's invincibility, his chief support. "Like venomous serpents" recalls the nature of the serpent-noose — the arrows really were serpents. And now Rāvaṇa's own face loses its colour, as his messengers' had done. Yet he does not give up the war; his anxiety turns into anger.

With these words Rāvaṇa, enraged and hissing like a serpent, spoke in the midst of the rākṣasas to a rākṣasa named Dhūmrākṣa: "You of terrible valour, go out at once with a great army of rākṣasas and kill Rāma and the monkeys." So commanded by the wise lord of the rākṣasas, Dhūmrākṣa walked around him in reverence and quickly left the royal palace. Coming out through the gate, he said to the commander of the forces, "Hurry the army along; what use is delay to a man who longs to fight?" Hearing Dhūmrākṣa's words, the commander, at Rāvaṇa's order, swiftly made the army ready, and mighty night-rangers of fearsome form, hung with bells, roaring and exultant, gathered round Dhūmrākṣa. Rāvaṇa's anger is pictured as a serpent's hiss — especially apt, since it was serpents that had just failed his hopes. Dhūmrākṣa's walking around the king is a mark of respect, and "what use is delay?" shows his eagerness, for delay does not become a man eager for battle. The bells tied on the rākṣasas made a terrifying noise in battle, and their army is still full of joy, for they do not know the monkeys' strength. After Indrajit, Rāvaṇa sends out his commanders one by one — Dhūmrākṣa, then Vajradaṃṣṭra, Akampana and Prahasta — and this order is the backbone of the Yuddha Kāṇḍa. Rāvaṇa does not go out himself but sends his commanders; that is his policy, but by it his heroes are destroyed one at a time.

They went out, those terrible rākṣasas, roaring like thunderclouds, with weapons of every kind in their hands — spears and hammers, maces, pattiśas, iron clubs and pestles, iron bars, bhindipālas, lances, nooses and axes. Others, in armour, went out in chariots adorned with banners and covered with networks of gold, drawn by asses with faces of many kinds, or on very swift horses and on elephants in rut — tigers among the rākṣasas, as unassailable as tigers. Dhūmrākṣa, whose voice was like an ass's bray, mounted a heavenly chariot yoked with asses adorned with gold, with the faces of wolves and lions, and surrounded by rākṣasas the mighty warrior went out laughing through the western gate, where Hanumān was stationed. And as that very terrible rākṣasa, dreadful to see, set out in that fine chariot drawn by asses and braying like an ass... The long list of weapons shows how well armed the rākṣasa army was, each warrior with a different weapon, and the variety of mounts too — chariots, horses, elephants and asses; asses were the rākṣasas' special mount, and an ill omen as well. Dhūmrākṣa's braying voice suggests his harshness, and asses with the faces of wolves and lions are a creation of magic, a symbol of the rākṣasas' terror. He goes out laughing, and that pride foretells his end, as Indrajit too had laughed. Hanumān had long been posted at the western gate, so Dhūmrākṣa goes straight to him, and their fight comes in the next sarga. The rākṣasas roar like thunderclouds, as the monkeys did in the previous sarga — both armies thunder, but one with joy and the other with arrogance — and "unassailable as tigers" speaks of their wild ferocity. It is a varied army, but it has a single leader, and he is full of pride.

...cruel birds in the sky tried to hold him back, and a huge and terrible vulture swooped down on top of his chariot. Carrion birds settled in a cluster on the top of his standard. A great white headless trunk, wet with blood, fell to the ground near Dhūmrākṣa, letting out harsh cries. The rain-god rained blood and the earth shook. The wind blew against him with a noise like a thunderbolt, and the quarters, covered in masses of darkness, lost their light. Seeing these portents, so terrible and so fearful for the rākṣasas, Dhūmrākṣa was troubled, and all the rākṣasas marching before him were bewildered. Then the mighty and terrible Dhūmrākṣa, eager for battle, went out surrounded by many night-rangers and saw the vast monkey army, like a mighty flood, guarded by Rāghava's arms. Ill omens are a fixed feature of the Rāmāyaṇa's battle scenes: whenever a rākṣasa leader sets out, nature itself foretells his death. The vulture, the carrion birds, the headless trunk, the rain of blood, the earthquake, the contrary wind and the darkness are all signs of death; the birds seem to try to stop him from going. As the commander Rāvaṇa sent out marches, every part of nature — sky, earth, wind, clouds and birds — sets itself against him, a poetic proof that the side of adharma will lose. Dhūmrākṣa is troubled yet does not turn back, the courage of the rākṣasas, but without wisdom. And the monkey army, "like a mighty flood," like the ocean at the end of the world, already foretells his defeat.