On Angad queller of his foes.
But Angad from his foeman tore
The murderous mace the warrior bore,
And low in dust his coursers rolled,
His driver, and his car of gold.
Struck by the shafts Prajangha sped,
The Vánar chief Sampáti bled,
But, heedless of his gashes he
Crushed down the giant with a tree.
Then car-borne Jambumáli smote