Canto 45 Marshals in the Mire Like the balls of fearsome fire Forthwith set out seven Marshals. Famous for their fighting skills Went thy all for Hanuman’s scalp. Drawn by horses that were swift Chariots theirs were made of gold. Bows theirs were all gold plated Quivers of theirs were made of gems. Enraged they all at the thought Scores of Lankans lost their lives In their own land at alien hands. At the head of their force then Attack they led all from the front. Like the darts of pouring rain Sent they arrows