Valmiki Ramayana 6.22.2

6.22.2

cārāṇāṃ rāvaṇaḥ śrutvā prāptaṃ rāmaṃ mahābalam
jātodvego 'bhavat kiṃ cit sacivāṃś cedam abravīt

The tyrant's troubled eye confessed
The secret fear that filled his breast.
With dread of coming woe dismayed
He called his counsellors to aid;
Then sternly silent, deep in thought,
His chamber in the palace sought.
Then, as the surest hope of all,
The monarch bade his servants call
Vidyujjihva, whom magic skill
Made master of the means of ill.
Then spake the lord of Lanka's isle:
'Come, Sita with thine arts beguile.
With magic skill and deftest care
A head like Ráma's own prepare.
This head, long shafts and mighty bow,
To Janak's daughter will we show.'
He ceased. Vidyujjihva obeyed,
And wondrous magic skill displayed;
And Rávan for the art he showed
An ornament of price bestowed.
Then to the grove where Sitá lay
The lord of Lanká took his way.
Pale, wasted, weeping, on the ground
The melancholy queen he found,
Whose thoughts in utmost stress of ill
Were fixed upon her husband still.
The giant king approached the dame,
Declared in tones of joy his name;
Then heeding naught her wild distress
Bespake her, stern and pitiless:
"The prince to whom thy fancies cling
Though loved and wooed by Lanká's king,
Who slew the noble Khara,--he
Is slain by warriors sent by me.
Thy living root is hewn away.
Thy scornful pride is tamed to-day.
Thy lord in battle's front has died,
And Sitá shall be Rávan's bride.
Hence, idle thoughts: thy hope is fled;
What wilt thou, Sitá, with the dead?
Rise, child of Janak, rise and be
The queen of all my queens and me.
Incline thine ear, and I will tell,
Dear lady, how thy husband fell.
He bridged his way across the sea
With countless troops to fight with me.
The setting sun had flushed the west
When on the shore they took their rest.
Weary with toil no watch they kept,
Securely on the sand they slept.
Prahasta's troops assailed our foes,
And smote them in their deep repose.
Scarce could their bravest prove their might;
They perished in the dark of night.
Axe, spear, and sword, directed well,
Upon the sleeping myriads fell.
First in the fight Prahasta's sword
Reft of his head thy slumbering lord,
Roused at the din Vibhíshan rose,
The captive of surrounding foes,
And Lakshman through the woods that spread
Around him with his Vánars fled.
Hanumán fell: one deadly stroke
The neck of King Sugriva broke
And Maunta sank, and Dwivil lay
Gasping in hand his life away.
The Vánars died, or fled dispersed