Ramayana · The Burning of Lanka, and the Return

About 121 min read · 20,557 words

Freed by Sita’s gracious words of leave, Hanuman drew back from that place and turned a thought over in his mind. The chief purpose, the sight of the queen, was accomplished; yet one small task remained. No mission was complete until he had measured the enemy’s strength, and against demons three of the four means of statecraft would fail him here. Conciliation does not tame a demon; a gift is wasted on people already rich beyond counting; and you cannot sow division among men drunk on their own might. Only the fourth means remained, force, a plain show of prowess. If he broke Ravana’s lovely pleasure grove here and now, and in doing so drew out the enemy’s army, its ministers, its ranks of chariots and elephants and horse, and learned which side would prove the heavier in war, then and only then would he be truly obeying his master Sugriva. So the son of the Wind resolved to lay waste the beautiful pleasure garden that adjoined Ravana’s inner apartments.

The wrecking of the Ashoka grove and the slaughter of the Kinkaras

Swift as the wind and terrible in his strength, the son of Maruta began to break the trees with the great thrust of his thighs. He trampled that pleasure garden, thick with all manner of trees and vines, until it looked like Nandana, Indra’s heavenly grove, laid in ruin. Trees came up by the roots; ponds were churned and clouded with mud; the crests of its little hills were ground to rubble. The soft copper-red shoots withered, and the creepers lay scattered like women whose garments have been pulled loose. Arbors of vine, pavilions painted with pictures, houses of polished stone, all were smashed; the tame beasts of prey, the deer, and the birds cried out in their distress. The whole shape and glory of that great garden was undone. Having done this thing that would cut Ravana to the heart, and hungry now to face many mighty warriors alone, Hanuman went and stood upon the arch of the garden’s main gate, blazing like the noonday sun.

The screaming of the birds and the crash of falling trees threw all of Lanka into fear; cruel omens began to show themselves before the demons. Startled from sleep, demonesses with fearsome faces looked out on the wrecked grove and on that huge monkey. To frighten them Hanuman swelled to a vast size. The demonesses asked Janaka’s daughter who he was, whose envoy, from where and on what errand he had come, and what he had said to her. The virtuous Sita answered that she knew nothing of these demons who could take any shape they wished; only a snake knows the ways of a snake’s feet. She herself was afraid, and understood no more than that this must be some shape-shifting demon. Hearing this, some of the demonesses stayed where they were, and some ran to carry the news to Ravana.

The demonesses told Ravana that in the middle of the Ashoka grove a monkey of dreadful form and boundless daring had spoken with Sita and now stood there; that Sita had hidden his identity; that he might be a messenger of Indra, or of Kubera, or one sent by Rama in search of her. He had wrecked the whole lovely garden, they said, sparing only the shimshapa tree, a kind of rosewood, under which Sita sat. They begged Ravana to punish this fierce creature harshly. At this the demon king Ravana flared up like a funeral pyre; from the fury in his eyes fell tears like drops of burning oil from a lamp. He ordered demon heroes called Kinkaras, warriors as mighty as himself, to seize Hanuman.

From that palace poured eighty thousand swift Kinkaras, gripping iron maces and clubs; all of them huge-bellied, great-tusked, dreadful of form and immense in strength, eager to take Hanuman. They fell upon the monkey standing on the arch as moths fall upon a flame. Hanuman slapped his tail on the ground with a roar that filled Lanka with sound, and swelled to a vast body, and at the noise birds dropped out of the sky. In a loud voice he proclaimed: victory to the mighty Rama, to the mighty Lakshmana, and to King Sugriva who has taken refuge with Raghava; he himself was Hanuman, son of the Wind, servant of Rama the lord of Kosala, and destroyer of enemy armies. A thousand Ravanas, he cried, could not stand against him in battle; he would grind Lanka down, salute Sita, and go home fulfilled before the eyes of every demon. Then he seized a terrible iron crossbar lying on the arch and set about the slaughter of those night-rangers as thousand-eyed Indra destroys the demons with his thunderbolt. All eighty thousand Kinkaras were killed. The few who survived carried word to Ravana that the Kinkaras were slain; and Ravana sent Jambumali, the son of Prahasta, unconquerable in war.

A key to understanding (the four means): The science of statecraft names four means: conciliation (talking a man round), gift (offering wealth), division (sowing discord), and force (the use of power). Reading the situation, Hanuman judged that the first three were useless against demons drunk on their own strength, so only force would serve. Wrecking the garden was a deliberate device to gauge the enemy’s power and to reach the royal court.

The gist: After the sight of Sita, and to learn the enemy’s strength, Hanuman laid the Ashoka grove to waste, frightened the demonesses, and cut down with an iron bar the eighty thousand Kinkaras Ravana sent. Now Ravana dispatched Jambumali, son of Prahasta.

The slaying of Jambumali and the burning of the chaitya-palace

His slaughter of the Kinkaras done, Hanuman thought carefully: the grove was wrecked, but the chaitya-palace, the temple-hall of the demons’ guardian deity, still stood. So he climbed that temple, tall as the peak of Mount Meru, and shone there like the risen sun. From its height he roared again and filled Lanka with the sound. At the dreadful noise of his tail striking the stone, the birds and the temple’s guards fell down in a faint. Again he raised the same war cry: victory to Rama and Lakshmana, victory to King Sugriva whom Raghava shields; I am Hanuman, servant of Rama, lord of Kosala. A hundred guards of the temple came out with all manner of weapons, javelins, swords, and battle-axes, and ringed him about like a great whirlpool in the waters of the Ganga. Then the enraged son of the Wind tore loose one of the temple’s pillars, a pillar plated with gold and cut with a hundred edges, and whirled it; the friction kindled a fire, and the temple began to burn. Like Indra with his thunderbolt, he killed all hundred guards with that same pillar.

Standing in the air, Hanuman proclaimed that Sugriva commanded thousands of monkey chieftains as mighty as himself, ranging over the whole earth; some with the strength of ten elephants, some ten times that, some the equal of a thousand elephants. Soon Sugriva would come ringed by such monkeys in hundreds, in thousands, in hundreds of thousands, in tens of millions; and then there would be no Lanka left, no demons, and no Ravana, who had made an enemy of Rama, the hero of the Ikshvakus.

At Ravana’s command the strong son of Prahasta, Jambumali, a great-tusked archer, came out bearing a great bow like a rainbow. He wore a red garland and red robes, fine earrings, and had rolling eyes; he was unconquerable in battle, and the twang of his bowstring rang like thunder and lightning. Seeing Jambumali come in a chariot yoked to donkeys, Hanuman rejoiced and roared. Jambumali pierced Hanuman where he stood on the arch with sharp arrows: a crescent-headed shaft in the face, a barbed one in the head, and ten iron arrows in the arms. Pierced by the arrows, his copper-red face shone like a red lotus opened wide and lit by the rays of the autumn sun.

Enraged, Hanuman tore up a great rock nearby and hurled it, but Jambumali shattered it with ten arrows. Then Hanuman uprooted a huge sal tree and whirled it, but Jambumali cut the tree apart with four arrows, and struck the arms with five, the breast with one, and pierced the chest with ten more. His body filled with arrows, Hanuman in a great fury raised that first iron crossbar, whirled it with tremendous force, and brought it down on Jambumali’s broad chest. Under that blow no head could be seen, no arms, no knees, no bow, no chariot, no horses, no arrows; the great charioteer fell lifeless to the ground, his body ground to powder, like a felled tree. Hearing that Jambumali and the Kinkaras were dead, Ravana’s eyes went red with rage, and he gave the order to the mighty sons of his minister Prahasta.

A key to understanding (the chaitya-palace): The chaitya-palace was the temple-hall of the demons’ family deity, the seat of Lanka’s religious prestige. After the wrecking of the garden, its burning was a direct blow to the enemy’s morale.

The gist: Hanuman climbed the chaitya-palace, killed its hundred guards, set the hall ablaze with a fire struck from a pillar, and proclaimed that the monkey army would wipe Lanka out. Then he brought down Prahasta’s son Jambumali with the iron bar.

The slaughter of the ministers’ sons and the five commanders

At Ravana’s command the seven sons of his minister Prahasta came out, blazing like fire, mighty, of boundless valor and skilled in the science of weapons, with a great army. Their chariots were sheathed in golden armor, dressed with flags and pennants, and thundered like storm clouds; splendid as clouds charged with lightning, they made their bowstrings sing. Hearing of the Kinkaras’ death, their mothers, with their kinsmen and friends, were seized with grief and dread. Vying each to outrun the other, they fell upon Hanuman where he stood unmoving on the arch and poured arrows on him as the monsoon clouds pour rain. Buried under the arrow-storm, Hanuman was lost from sight like the king of mountains hidden in cloud; but the swift monkey, ranging through the clear sky, dodged their arrows and the rush of their chariots as easily as the Wind-god sports among the clouds.

With a fearful cry Hanuman swooped on the demons. Some he killed with an open-handed blow, some with a kick, some with his fist, some he tore with his nails; some he crushed against his chest, some between his thighs, and some fell dead at the mere sound of his roar. When all seven of the minister’s sons were dead, what remained of the army fled to the ten directions; the elephants trumpeted in broken voices, the horses fell, and the ground filled with wrecked chariots. Rivers of blood began to flow, and Lanka seemed to scream in a warped voice with all its many cries. Having destroyed those arrogant demons, the hero Hanuman went and stood once more upon that same arch.

When word of the death of his ministers’ sons reached him, Ravana masked his face and formed a hidden resolve. He sent five of his best commanders, Virupaksha, Yupaksha, Durdhara, Praghasa, and Bhasakarna, swift as the wind and skilled in strategy, to take Hanuman prisoner. He said that from what he had seen he no longer held this to be an ordinary monkey; surely it was some creature of vast power, perhaps fashioned by Indra through the strength of his austerities to destroy them. He had seen monkeys before, Vali and Sugriva, Jambavan, Nila, and Dvivida, yet the speed, the fire, the cunning, and the strength of this creature in monkey shape were a marvel. Ravana bade his commanders take care, act as time and place required, and guard their own lives, for victory in battle is never certain.

Taking their lord’s command upon their heads, the commanders, blazing like fire, went out on rutting elephants, on horses of tremendous speed, and on chariots. They saw Hanuman on the arch, radiant as the risen sun. Durdhara buried five sharp arrows in his head; pierced, Hanuman leapt into the air and made the ten directions ring. Durdhara loosed arrows by the hundred, but Hanuman checked them with his roar alone, then suddenly dropped like a thunderbolt onto Durdhara’s chariot; the eight horses were crushed, axle and yoke snapped, and Durdhara fell dead to the earth.

Seeing Durdhara down, Virupaksha and Yupaksha sprang into the air in fury and beat Hanuman’s chest with their maces. Checking their rush, Hanuman came down to the ground like Garuda, tore up a sal tree, and struck the two heroes dead. Seeing three of them slain, the swift Praghasa with his pike and the enraged Bhasakarna closed on his flanks; Praghasa struck at Hanuman with a sharp battle-spear and Bhasakarna with a lance. Bright as the rising sun and burning with anger, Hanuman uprooted a mountain crag, with beasts and serpents and trees still on it, and crushed both demons to dust. When all five commanders were dead, Hanuman destroyed the remnant of their army, dashing horse against horse, elephant against elephant, warrior against warrior, chariot against chariot, like thousand-eyed Indra destroying the demons. Then, terrible as the fire of doom and waiting for his moment, Hanuman went and stood again upon the arch.

The gist: Hanuman destroyed the seven sons of Prahasta, then Ravana’s five commanders (Durdhara, Virupaksha, Yupaksha, Praghasa, and Bhasakarna) along with their armies, and each time returned to hold the archway.

The slaying of prince Aksha

Hearing that his five commanders were dead, Ravana turned a considering look toward his war-eager son, prince Aksha. Stirred by his father’s glance alone, the brilliant young prince, armed with a bow figured in gold, sprang up in the assembly like fire leaping when the best of brahmins pour clarified butter into it. Bright as the young sun, he mounted a chariot plated with a mesh of burning gold, yoked to eight fine horses swift as thought, a chariot unconquerable even for gods and demons, that moved through the sky without support, furnished with quivers, eight swords, spears, and javelins; and so Aksha advanced on the great monkey Hanuman. Filling sky and earth with the din of horse and elephant and chariot, he came with his army.

Hanuman, poised like the fire of doom to destroy demons, was surprised that so slight a boy had come to fight. With lion’s eyes Aksha looked on him with a proud gaze. Fierce with pride in his own valor, Aksha pierced Hanuman with three sharp arrows and challenged him. Pierced by those three gold-feathered shafts and streaming blood, Hanuman, radiant as the risen sun, shone as if wreathed in rays. Seeing Aksha ready as an offering to the fire, Hanuman swelled with joy and roared. Between the two there was a battle so strange that gods and demons alike marveled; the earth screamed, the sun grew dim, the wind stood still, Mount Trikuta trembled, and the sea grew troubled.

Seeing Hanuman’s valor rise, Aksha’s fire and strength and the speed of his arrows rose too, like the sun at the hour of doom. He filled the sky with an arrow-storm. Hanuman thought within himself: “This is no mere boy; he does deeds beyond a boy, and my heart is unwilling to kill him. He is great-souled, brave, steady, honored even by gods and yakshas and sages. Yet if I let him be, he will only grow stronger; it is not wise to ignore a rising fire. So now it is right that he die.” Resolved on this, the son of the Wind quickened his speed. First he killed all eight of Aksha’s fine horses with open-handed blows; with the axle broken and the horses dead, that great chariot fell out of the sky to the earth. Then Aksha sprang into the air with bow and sword, like a sage who has cast off his body through yoga and rises to the world of the gods. Hanuman chased him through the sky, seized both his feet firmly, and, as Garuda seizes a great serpent, whirled him a thousand times and dashed him with force to the ground. The demon’s arms, thighs, waist, and chest were shattered, his bones and eyes crushed, his joints pulled apart. When Aksha was slain, the gods, Indra, the sages, the yakshas, and the serpents marveled, and Hanuman filled Ravana’s heart with a great fear. Then, watching for his moment, he went and stood once more upon the arch.

The gist: Ravana’s son prince Aksha showed marvelous courage; Hanuman first felt an admiring unwillingness to kill him, then destroyed his horses and chariot, caught him by the feet in the air, and dashed him dead upon the ground.

Indrajit arrives and the Brahmastra binding

Even with Aksha slain, the great-minded Ravana steadied himself and summoned his eldest son, the god-like Indrajit. “In all the three worlds,” he said, “there is no tireless warrior to match you; you are guarded by the strength of your arms and by austerity, a knower of time and place, and supreme in judgment. You are the first among masters of celestial weapons; by your worship of Brahma you have won divine arms. Before the power of your weapons the gods with Indra and the Maruts cannot stand. All the Kinkaras, Jambumali, my seven ministers’ sons, my five commanders, and my dear brother Aksha are dead; now my only trust is in you. Call the divine bow to mind, weigh your own strength against the enemy’s, and set yourself to the task of subduing him and taking him unhurt.” He told him not to take an army, and to carry no weapon like the thunderbolt, for Hanuman was like fire and could not be killed by any weapon. Even so, he said, know that this is in keeping with the duty of kings and the code of the warrior.

Taking his father’s command upon his head, Indrajit walked around his lord in reverence and set out in a chariot yoked to four sharp-fanged tigers. As he came forth the horizons went dark, jackals and other savage beasts howled, and covering the sky the serpents, yakshas, sages, and siddhas gathered to watch the fight. Hearing the rumble of the chariot and the twang of the bow, Hanuman rejoiced greatly, swelled to a vast form, and roared. The two heroes, each an enemy to match Indra and Bali, swift and unafraid, closed with each other. Indrajit loosed long, sharp, gold-feathered arrows swift as the thunderbolt, but Hanuman slipped between the arrows like the wind and ranged through the sky. Indrajit found no opening to strike Hanuman, and Hanuman found none to seize him; the two, god-like in valor, became unbearable each to the other.

Seeing that even his unfailing arrows left Hanuman unhurt, Indrajit fell into deep thought. He understood then that this monkey could not be killed, and formed the plan of taking him captive. He loosed upon Hanuman the missile presided over by Brahma, charged with the mantras of the Self-born. Bound by that weapon, Hanuman fell motionless to the ground. Yet he knew that this was Brahma’s weapon, and that he himself had received a boon from the Grandsire; so out of reverence for Brahma, and out of a wish to meet Ravana, he accepted the weapon’s bond, though he was able to break it. He reasoned that, guarded as he was by Brahma, by Indra, and by his father the Wind, he had nothing to fear, and that being taken by the demons would give him his chance to speak with Ravana.

Then the demons who had come near reviled him and bound him with ropes of hemp and tree-bark. The instant they bound him with bark-rope, the bond of the Brahmastra let go, for one binding does not hold beside another. But Indrajit, understanding this, was troubled to think that these demons, ignorant of the ways of the weapon and its mantra, had wasted his great feat by binding him with rope, so that the weapon would not work again. Freed of the weapon though he was, Hanuman gave no sign of it; and the cruel demons, beating him with their fists, dragged him toward Ravana.

Indrajit brought that best of monkeys, now held only by bark-rope, before Ravana in the royal court. The demons presented the captive, bound like a rutting elephant, to their king. Hanuman looked on the highborn, well-mannered old attendants seated there and on the jewel-studded hall; the demons were dragging him this way and that. He saw Ravana too, blazing with fire and strength, like the burning sun. “Who is this, whose is he, from where has he come, what is his errand, whose creature is he?” the demon warriors murmured; some in anger cried, “Kill him, roast him, eat him!” His eyes red with rage, Ravana ordered his highborn chief ministers to question him. Questioned in turn, Hanuman said at the outset: “I have come as the envoy of Sugriva, king of the monkeys.”

A key to understanding (the Brahmastra binding): Indrajit is the son of Ravana who earned the name Indrajit, conqueror of Indra, by defeating Indra; his birth-name was Meghanada. His Brahmastra was unfailing, yet it did no harm to Hanuman, because Hanuman held a boon from Brahma himself. Hanuman accepted the bond on purpose so that he might speak with Ravana face to face, a considered strategy and no defeat.

The gist: Ravana’s eldest son Indrajit, unable to defeat Hanuman in battle, bound him with the Brahmastra. Though able to break free, Hanuman accepted the bond out of a wish to meet Ravana, and was brought into Ravana’s court.

Hanuman’s wonder at Ravana’s splendor

Amazed at Indrajit’s feat, and his eyes red with anger at the sin of Sita’s abduction, the dreadfully valorous Hanuman looked at Ravana. He was ringed with strings of pearls and crowned with a golden diadem set with diamonds and priceless gems; he wore costly silks, was smeared with red sandal paste, and adorned with strange paintings. His twenty eyes were terrible and faintly red, his great teeth bright and sharp, his lips hanging; with his ten heads he blazed like Mount Mandara, its peaks alive with serpents. A pearl necklace on his chest, dark as a heap of black collyrium, his full-moon faces made him look like a cloud lit by the young sun. His twenty arms, decked with armlets and bracelets, smeared with fine sandal, were like five-hooded serpents. He sat on a splendid throne of strange crystal set with jewels, on a fine couch, fanned with whisks by well-dressed young women. Beside him sat four ministers who knew the essence of counsel, Durdhara, Prahasta, Mahaparshva, and Nikumbha; and he shone like the earth ringed by its four seas, like Indra ringed by the gods.

Tormented though he was by those fearsome demons, Hanuman gazed at Ravana in utter wonder and thought within himself: “What form, what steadiness, what strength, what splendor! Every mark of greatness is present in the demon king. Had he not leaned toward unrighteousness, he could have been the guardian of the world of the gods, Indra and all. Yet because of his cruel and pitiless deeds, deeds the world condemns, every creature, gods and demons alike, goes in dread of him. Roused to anger, he could turn the whole world into a single sea.” Seeing the might of the demon king of boundless fire, the wise Hanuman fell into many such thoughts.

The gist: Seeing Ravana’s dazzling splendor and his ten-headed, twenty-armed form, Hanuman marveled, and felt in his heart that every fine quality except righteousness was Ravana’s; and it was that lack of righteousness that was dragging him toward ruin.

Prahasta’s question in Ravana’s court and Hanuman’s answer

Looking at the tawny-eyed Hanuman standing before him, the long-armed Ravana, who made the world weep, filled with great anger. Troubled by suspicion, he thought: “Could this be the blessed Nandi himself, who cursed me on Kailasa when I mocked him? Or could it be Bana, son of Bali, in monkey shape?” His eyes red with fury, Ravana spoke fitting, meaningful words to his chief minister Prahasta, that the wretch be questioned: from where has he come, what is his purpose, why has he wrecked the grove and killed the demons, why has he entered my unconquerable city?

At Ravana’s command Prahasta said to Hanuman: “Do not be afraid; be well. If Indra has sent you to Ravana, tell the truth and you go free. If you are the envoy of Kubera, Yama, or Varuna, or one sent by Vishnu who seeks victory, speak the truth. Your fire is not that of a monkey; only your shape is a monkey’s. Tell the truth and you are freed; lie, and your life is in danger.” Hearing this, Hanuman said to the demon king: “I am no envoy of Indra, nor of Yama, nor of Varuna; I have no friendship with Kubera, and Vishnu has not sent me. By my very birth I am a monkey, and I came here only to see the demon king. That sight was hard to win, and so, to win it, I wrecked the grove. Then mighty demons eager for battle fell upon me, and to save my body I had to fight them in the field. Neither gods nor demons can bind me with weapon or noose; this is the boon I hold from the Grandsire Brahma. It was only from a wish to see the king that I honored the weapon. Freed of it though I was, the demons reported me as bound and brought me to you. I have come to you on an errand of Rama’s; know me for Raghava’s envoy and hear my words for your good, lord.”

The gist: Ravana had Hanuman questioned through the mouth of Prahasta about his identity and purpose. Hanuman said plainly that he was of the monkey race, that he was Rama’s envoy, and that it was to see Ravana that he had wrecked the grove and fought in self-defense.

The tale of Rama, and Hanuman’s counsel to Ravana

Looking at Ravana, the resolute Hanuman spoke fearless and weighty words: “I have come to you with a message from Sugriva. Lord of demons, your brotherly equal, the monkey king Sugriva, asks after your welfare and sends you counsel joined with righteousness and gain, good for this world and the next. Hear it. There was a king named Dasharatha, master of chariots, elephants, and horses, a father to his people and their kinsman, brilliant as Indra. His dear eldest son Rama, at his father’s word, came to the Dandaka forest with his wife Sita and his brother Lakshmana. In Janasthana his wife Sita, daughter of the great-souled Janaka, king of Videha, was lost. Searching for Sita, the prince Rama reached Mount Rishyamuka with Lakshmana and met Sugriva. Rama promised to win back Sugriva’s lost monkey kingdom, and Sugriva promised to search for Sita. Rama killed Vali in battle with a single arrow and made Sugriva lord of monkeys and bears; Vali you already know of old.”

“Bent on finding Sita, the true-worded Sugriva sent monkeys in their hundreds of thousands to every quarter, swift as Garuda and the wind. I am Hanuman, son of the Wind; for Sita’s sake I leapt across a sea a hundred yojanas wide and came, wishing to see you, and in my search I found Janaka’s daughter in your garden. Therefore, great and wise one, you who know the truth of righteousness and gain, you who have won lordship by austerity, you must not hold another man’s wife by force. Wise men do not entangle themselves in deeds that go against righteousness and destroy their own root. Before the arrows of Lakshmana, loosed at Rama’s anger, not even gods and demons can stand. In all three worlds there is no one who can wrong Raghava and remain happy.”

“So heed my words, good for all three times and in keeping with righteousness and gain: give Janaki back to Rama. This Sita, whom you do not recognize, is like a five-hooded serpent that will bring the whole of Lanka to ruin. Like food laced with poison, this queen cannot be digested even by gods and demons. It is not fitting to destroy the merit and long life you won by austerity. Rama is no god, no yaksha, no demon; he is a man; Sugriva is king of the monkeys. How, O king, will you save your life from these? A man who has reached the far edge of unrighteousness reaps no fruit of righteousness; the fruit of your former merit is spent, and the fruit of this sin, the theft of Sita, will come to you soon. Remember the slaughter at Janasthana, the killing of Vali, and the friendship of Rama and Sugriva, and think of your own good.”

“I alone could destroy Lanka with its horses and chariots and elephants, but this is not Rama’s resolve. Rama has vowed before the monkeys and bears that he will destroy the enemies who carried off Sita. Wrong Rama, and not even Indra himself can stay happy, let alone an ordinary being like you. Gods, demons, gandharvas, vidyadharas, nagas, yakshas, the lords of all the worlds, cannot stand against Rama in battle. Brahma, Rudra the destroyer of the three cities, and Indra himself cannot hold their ground before Raghava in the field.” Hearing this plain but unwelcome answer, Ravana, his eyes rolling with fury, gave the order to kill the great monkey.

A key to understanding (a hundred yojanas and the night of doom): “A hundred yojanas” is a span of some eight hundred miles, which Hanuman crossed in a single leap. Calling Sita the “night of doom” (Kalaratri, the goddess who presides over the dissolution of the world) and a “five-hooded serpent,” Hanuman warns Ravana that she will be the very cause of Lanka’s ruin.

The gist: Hanuman told the tale from Rama’s exile through the theft of Sita to the friendship with Sugriva, spoke of Rama’s invincibility, and gave Ravana righteous counsel to return Sita. Ravana in fury ordered him killed.

Vibhishana intervenes: an envoy must not be killed

When Ravana, senseless with rage, ordered Hanuman killed, Vibhishana, the best of the wise, did not approve the killing of an envoy. With folded hands he said: “King of demons, forgive me, set anger aside, and hear me. Good kings who know statecraft do not kill an envoy. To kill this monkey, hero, is against righteousness, condemned by the world, and unworthy of you. You know righteousness, you are grateful, you are skilled in the duty of kings, and you know the true good of creatures. If even a discerning man like you falls under the sway of anger, then knowledge of the scriptures is only wasted labor. Let an envoy be punished only after right and wrong have been weighed.”

Hearing Vibhishana’s words, Ravana answered: “There is no sin in killing the wicked; so I shall kill this wicked monkey.” Then, hearing that speech rooted in unrighteousness and full of fault, Vibhishana, best of the wise, spoke words joined with the highest truth: “Lord of Lanka, be pleased, and hear the essence of righteousness and gain. The good say that an envoy, at no time and in no place, deserves death. This enemy is strong and has done immense harm, yet the wise still do not permit the killing of an envoy; the scriptures name many other punishments for an envoy: maiming a limb, flogging, shaving the head, or branding the body; but the killing of an envoy we have nowhere heard of.”

“How can one so skilled in righteousness and gain as you, one who weighs right and wrong, fall under the sway of anger? Men of true worth do not give way to anger. In discussion of righteousness, in worldly conduct, and in grasp of the scriptures there is none like you; you are the first among all gods and demons. So, conqueror of hostile cities, do not attempt his death. This monkey, be he good or bad, has been sent by others; a messenger, who is not his own master and speaks the purpose of others, does not deserve death. And if he is killed, who else will come across the great sea from that far shore? Better to turn your effort against the gods and Indra. Once he is dead, there will be no one left to goad those two proud princes to war. Rather, to show the enemy your power, send some heroes with a part of your army to seize those two princes, who are stricken with grief at the loss of Sita.” Ravana, mighty as he was, took his younger brother Vibhishana’s fine and welcome counsel to heart.

The gist: Vibhishana opposed Ravana’s order to kill the envoy, named the other punishments the scriptures allow for an envoy (maiming and the rest), and showed that killing an envoy was wrong. Ravana accepted this.

Fire on the tail, and Sita’s prayer

Hearing his brother’s counsel, fitted to time, place, and good sense, Ravana said: “You are right that killing an envoy is condemned. Even so, he must have some punishment. A monkey’s tail is its dearest ornament; so let his tail be set alight at once, and let him go back with it burned, so that his friends, his kin, and his own people may see him marred and wretched.” The demon king ordered that he be led with his flaming tail through the whole city and its crossroads. The demons, cruel with rage, began to wrap Hanuman’s tail in old cotton rags; and as it was wrapped, the great monkey swelled like a forest fire that has found dry fuel. The demons sprinkled oil and set the tail alight, and Hanuman, his face bright as the young sun, filled with fury and outrage, began to strike the demons with that very burning tail. Then the cruel demons bound him tighter still.

Women, children, and old folk, all the night-rangers, were delighted. Bound as he was, the hero Hanuman thought, as the moment required: “Bound though I am, the demons are no match for me; if I snap these cords and spring up, I could kill them all again. Yet it is while acting for my master’s good that these wretches have bound me, and I have not taken my revenge. Alone I am enough for all the demons in battle, yet for love of Rama I will bear all this. Besides, it will let me survey Lanka once more, for in the night I could not see the layout of its fortress well. Before the night is out I shall certainly study Lanka; and though they bind me again and burn my tail and torment me, my heart feels no weariness.” Then the delighted demons, blowing conch and drum and proclaiming him a spy, led him through the city. Hanuman took in the city’s marvelous seven-storied mansions, its well-divided squares, its house-thronged lanes, its crossroads and highways. Women, children, and old folk crowded out in curiosity to see the burning tail.

While the tip of Hanuman’s tail was burning, the demonesses with their savage eyes carried the cruel news to Sita: “Sita, that copper-faced monkey you spoke with is being led through the lanes with his tail on fire.” Hearing this cruel thing, so like her own abduction, the grieving daughter of Videha worshipped Agni the fire-god in her heart and wished the great monkey well. The wide-eyed queen, having purified herself, prayed to the bearer of oblations: “If I have served my husband, if I have practiced austerity, if my devotion to one husband is true, then, O fire-god, be cool for Hanuman. If in the heart of the wise Rama there is any tenderness for me, if any of my good fortune remains, then be cool for Hanuman. If the righteous Rama knows me to be chaste and longing for our reunion, then be cool for Hanuman. If the true-worded, noble Sugriva can carry me across this ocean of sorrow, then be cool for Hanuman.”

Then the sharp-flamed tongues of the fire began to rise toward the south, a sign of good fortune, as if to tell the fawn-eyed Sita of the great monkey’s safety. Even with the fire touching his tail, Hanuman’s father the Wind began to blow cool as snow, and the queen took comfort. Seeing his tail burning, Hanuman thought: “Why does this blazing fire not burn me all round? A great flame is there to see, yet it gives no more pain than a heap of snow laid on the tip of my tail. Surely this is by that same power of Rama’s by which, on my crossing, I saw the marvel of Mount Mainaka in the sea. By Sita’s mercy, by the fire of Raghava, and by my father’s friendship with fire, the flame does not burn me.”

Then the great monkey thought a moment longer: “How is it that one like me is bound by these base demons? While there is prowess in me, it is right to answer this.” Thinking so, the swift Hanuman snapped his cords, sprang roaring into the air, and reached the city gate, high as a mountain peak and empty of demons. In an instant he took a very small form and shook off his bonds, then swelled again to a body vast as a mountain. Looking about, he saw an iron crossbar lying at the gate; the long-armed son of the Wind took it up and killed all the guards of the gate anew. Having killed them, wreathed in the flame-garland of his burning tail, Hanuman shone like the sun ringed with rays, and gazed again on Lanka.

A sub-tale: That Hanuman was not burned by the fire was no accident. On one side stood the power of Sita’s chastity and the fire of Rama; on the other, Hanuman’s father the Wind’s ancient friendship with fire, and that same “power of Rama” by which, on the sea-crossing, Mount Mainaka rose of its own accord. All three causes together turned the fire cool.

The gist: In place of death Ravana punished Hanuman with a parade through the city, his tail ablaze, which Hanuman accepted as a chance to study Lanka. By Sita’s prayer, the fire of Rama, and fire’s friendship with the Wind, the flame turned cool; then Hanuman snapped his cords and killed the guards of the gate.

The burning of Lanka

Gazing at Lanka, his wish fulfilled and his spirit high, Hanuman considered what work remained: “What task is left that will give these demons still more torment? The grove is wrecked, the chief demons are dead, a part of the army is destroyed; only the ruin of the fortress remains. When the fortress is ruined, my labor of crossing the sea and wrecking the grove will bear sweet fruit, and with a little more effort the labor of finding Sita will be crowned. It is only just to feed this fire that burns on my tail with these fine mansions.”

Then Hanuman, his tail aflame, ranged over the roof-peaks of Lanka like a cloud charged with lightning. Fearless, he moved from mansion to mansion, past gardens and palaces. With tremendous speed he leapt onto Prahasta’s mansion and set it alight, then in turn the houses of Mahaparshva, Vajradamshtra, Shuka, Sarana, Indrajit, Jambumali, Sumali, Rashmiketu, Suryashatru, Hrasvakarna, Damshtra, Romasha, Yuddhonmatta, Matta, Dhvajagriva, Vidyujjihva, Ghora, Hastimukha, Karala, Vishala, Shonitaksha, Kumbhakarna, Makaraksha, Narantaka, Kumbha, the wicked Nikumbha, Yajnashatru, and Brahmashatru; he set them all ablaze one after another, sparing only the house of Vibhishana. Entering the costly mansions, the renowned Hanuman burned up the wealth of the rich, and at last, crossing over all their houses, he reached Ravana’s palace.

Into Ravana’s chief mansion, tall as Meru and Mandara, decked with many jewels and many auspicious things, Hanuman flung the fire of his burning tail and roared like a cloud at the hour of doom. Fanned by the wind, the mighty fire flared up like the fire of doom and grew. The wind spread the burning flame through the mansions; vast houses set with golden mesh and pearls and gems cracked and, story after story, broke and fell to earth like the sky-chariots of siddhas falling from heaven when their merit is spent. The demons ran to save their homes and cried out: “Alas, the fire-god himself has come in monkey shape!” Women caught in the fire fell with their children; some, wrapped in flame, their hair loosened, looked like lightning falling from the sky. From the mansions ran strange molten metals, diamond and coral and lapis and pearl and silver run together. As fire is never sated with wood and grass, so Hanuman was not sated with the slaughter of the demon lords, nor did the earth tire of receiving the demons who fell.

By the swift and great-souled Hanuman, the city of Lanka was burned as Rudra once burned the three cities of Tripura. That terrible fire, risen on the peak of Trikuta, spread its wreath of flame and touched the sky; fed by the demons’ bodies as if by clarified butter, smokeless, it blazed bright as a crore of suns, as if the fire of doom were splitting the universe open. The gathered demons said: “Is this Indra with his thunderbolt, or Yama, or Varuna, or the Wind, or the third-eye fire of Rudra, or the Sun, or Kubera, or the Moon? This is no monkey; this is Death himself. Or is it the wrath of the four-faced Brahma, the world’s maker, come in monkey shape, or the supreme fire of the unthinkable, unmanifest Vishnu, wearing a monkey’s shape by his maya to destroy the demons?” Seeing her city suddenly ablaze with its people, its houses, and its trees, the guardian goddess of Lanka wept aloud in a wild voice; and the demons wailed, “Alas my father, alas my son, alas my beloved, alas my friend, alas the lord of my life, our merit is spent.”

Ringed with flame, its foremost heroes dead and its warriors scattered, Lanka lay as if under a curse, and the great-souled Hanuman looked on it as on an earth laid waste by the wrath of the self-born Rudra. Having wrecked the Ashoka grove, killed great demons in battle, and burned the city set with its household jewels, the son of the Wind stood in the pose of one at rest. Then, having killed so many demons, broken the grove, and set the demons’ houses on fire, the great-souled Hanuman called Rama to mind. And all the gods, the sages, the gandharvas, vidyadharas, and nagas, all the great beings, praised the mighty Hanuman, swift as the wind, again and again, and were filled with supreme and matchless joy. Seated on the strange peak of a mansion’s roof, wreathed in the flame-garland of his burning tail, Hanuman, lion among monkey kings, shone like the sun ringed with rays. Having given all Lanka great pain, at the last Hanuman quenched the fire of his tail in the sea. Seeing Lanka burned, the gods with the gandharvas, siddhas, and supreme sages fell into utter wonder; and every being, taking the great monkey Hanuman for the fire of doom, was afraid.

A key to understanding (Vibhishana’s house spared): Burning the houses of all Lanka’s demon lords, Hanuman spared one alone, the house of Vibhishana, the same Vibhishana who had saved his life in the assembly. It is a fine sign of gratitude, and it also prepares the ground for Vibhishana’s later coming to Rama for refuge.

The gist: For his last task Hanuman burned the houses of every demon lord from Prahasta to Ravana, sparing only Vibhishana’s, and reduced all Lanka to ash as Rudra burned Tripura. Then, quenching his tail’s fire in the sea, he called Rama to mind, and the gods praised him and rejoiced.

Hanuman’s self-reproach at the sight of burning Lanka

Seeing all Lanka burning fiercely, and the crowd of demons, with demonesses and children and old folk, fleeing in terror, the monkey Hanuman suddenly fell into thought. A deep misgiving rose in his mind, and a loathing of himself woke in him. Let us tell you what he began to say within himself. He thought: “Alas, in burning Lanka to the ground like this, what a shameful thing I have done!”

Hanuman began to curse himself: “What sin does an angry man not commit? A man in anger will kill even his elders, and abuse even saints with harsh words. A man filled with anger loses all sense of what should and should not be said; for the angry there is no deed too vile, no word too wrong. Blessed are the great souls who check rising anger with their reason, as men put out a blazing fire with water. That man alone is truly a man who, by the strength of forgiveness, sheds the anger risen in his heart as a snake sheds its worn-out skin.”

He went on: “Shame on me, ill-witted, shameless, utterly sinful, who without a thought set fire to the very place where Sita is, and so worked harm to my master Rama. If the whole city has burned, then surely the noble Janaki has burned too; so I have unknowingly ruined my own master’s work. The very rescue of Sita for which this crossing of the sea and this burning of Lanka were undertaken, that root purpose, is destroyed by the fault of my anger, for in burning Lanka I did not protect Sita. Burning Lanka was a small deed, no doubt; but overcome by anger, I have cut through its very root.”

Hanuman’s grief deepened: “If, through the wrongheadedness of my mind, this task of winning Sita is spoiled, then it seems best to me to give up my life here and now. Shall I leap into the fire, or into the mare-mouthed fire of the sea, or give my body to the creatures of the ocean? If Janaki is destroyed, then those two best of men, Rama and Lakshmana, will also perish; and with them gone, Sugriva too will give up his life with his kin. How will the brother-loving, righteous Bharata, with his younger brother Shatrughna, go on living? And with the righteous house of Ikshvaku destroyed, all the people will be stricken with grief.”

A key to understanding (the idea): Here Valmiki gives Hanuman a whole meditation on anger, the mark of the rajas temper. This remorse, coming right after the moment of prowess, shows a hero who reasons and doubts, a thinking envoy. The all-knowing Hanuman of the later devotional tradition has not yet appeared; what we meet here is a character wrestling with misgiving.

Then, as Hanuman worried in this way, favorable omens showed themselves, omens whose good fruit he had known before by direct experience; and he began to think again. He reasoned: “Or perhaps that lovely, blessed lady is guarded by her own inner fire; she will not have perished, for fire does not burn fire. To the wife of the great-souled and righteous Rama, guarded on every side by her own pure conduct, the fire would not dare even to draw near. Surely by Rama’s power and Videha’s daughter’s merit, this all-consuming fire did not burn even me.”

Hanuman recalled in wonder: “The fire, whose very nature is to burn, which is everywhere able and undying, if even that could not burn my tail, how will it burn the noble lady? And I remember the marvel of Mount Hiranyanabha, that is Mainaka, rising up in the middle of the sea.” He said: “By the strength of her austerity, her true speech, and her unwavering devotion to her husband, the queen could herself burn fire to ash; the fire cannot burn her.”

Meditating so on the queen’s power of chastity, Hanuman heard there the voices of the great-souled charanas, the singers who travel the sky: “Ah, Hanuman has done a wondrous and hard deed, setting this sharp and dreadful fire in the houses of the demons! The demons, their women, their children and old folk, fled in terror; loud with the noise of its people, with its towers and ramparts and archways, Lanka seemed to cry out, and burned; yet the fire has not so much as touched Janaka’s daughter Janaki. This is to us a supreme and wondrous marvel.”

Hearing these words, sweet as nectar, the joy that rose in Hanuman’s heart at that moment filled his mind. Then, knowing the princess safe, and swift again as the speed of thought, he resolved to see her once more with his own eyes and then return to Rama.

The gist: After turning Lanka to ash, Hanuman is tormented by the fear that Sita too has burned, which would make the whole mission vain. Reassured by good omens, by his own reasoning, and by the charanas’ report of Sita’s safety, his mind is set at ease, and he sets out to see Sita once more before returning.

Farewell to Sita and the crossing of the sea

Reaching Janaki where she sat at the root of the shimshapa tree, Hanuman saluted her and said: “It is my good fortune that I see you safe at this hour.” Then Sita, full of love for her husband, looking again and again at Hanuman as he made ready to go, said: “Dear child, sinless one, if you think it right, stay here one day; rest in some well-hidden place and go tomorrow. Monkey, your nearness would, for a few moments at least, lessen this measureless grief of my poor luckless self.”

Sita opened her heart’s doubt: “Best of monkeys, once you have gone back, whether you will come again is in doubt, and whether my own life will hold is in doubt too. Not to see you, hero, will torment me the more, sunk as I am from sorrow into deeper sorrow, and wasted with grief. And this great doubt stands before me, hero: how will your mighty helpers, the monkeys and bears, or those two best of men, cross this ocean that is so hard to cross? Only three have the power to leap this sea: Garuda, son of Vinata; the Wind-god; and you.”

Sita praised Hanuman’s power: “Slayer of enemy heroes, though you are able by yourself to carry me free, still the glory of that success would be yours, and not Rama’s. If Rama, who destroys the strength of his foes, besieges Lanka with his army and takes me home, that would be worthy of him. So arrange things such that those war-brave, great-souled brothers may show the prowess that befits them.”

Hearing these words, full of meaning, humble and reasoned, the hero Hanuman answered: “Lady, Sugriva, lord of the armies of monkeys and bears, best of the leaping folk and full of courage, is firmly resolved for your sake. Ringed by tens of millions of monkeys, Videha’s daughter, he will soon reach here. And those two best of men, Rama and Lakshmana, will come together and destroy the demons with their arrows and lay Lanka low. Fair lady, Raghava will kill Ravana with his host, and soon take you and return to his city Ayodhya.”

Hanuman reassured her: “Be wholly at peace in mind; may all be well with you; wait for the time. Soon you will see Ravana killed in battle by Rama’s hand. With his sons, ministers, and kinsmen, the demon king slain, you will meet Rama as Rohini meets the Moon. Raghava, joined with the best chieftains of the monkeys and bears, who will conquer the enemy in battle and take away your grief, will appear soon.”

Having reassured Videha’s daughter thus, and resolved to go, Hanuman, son of the Wind, saluted her. Having killed the foremost demons, made his name known, thrown the city into turmoil, outwitted Ravana, shown his dreadful strength, and greeted Videha’s daughter, he made up his mind to return across the sea. Then, eager to see his master, that best of monkeys climbed the noble Mount Arishta, dark with black forests, adorned with tall padmaka trees, and wearing, as it were, an upper cloak of the clouds that hung among its peaks.

That mountain seemed to be lovingly wakened by the hands that were the sun’s bright rays; it seemed to open its many eyes in the minerals scattered here and there; it seemed to chant the Veda in the deep sound of its running streams; it seemed to sing aloud in the voices of its many waterfalls; it seemed to stand with arms upraised in its tall deodar trees. In the roar of its cataracts it seemed to cry out on every side; in its swaying black reeds it seemed to tremble; in its hollow bamboos shaken by the wind it seemed to play the flute; and in its dreadful, deadly serpents it seemed to hiss with rage. In its caves veiled in mist it seemed lost in meditation, and with its branches like rising clouds it seemed ready to walk off in every direction.

That mountain, ten yojanas (about eighty miles) wide and thirty yojanas high, served by sages, yakshas, gandharvas, kinnaras, and nagas, hard to climb for its vines and trees, and full of lions and tigers and the like, Hanuman climbed, driven by great joy and by his longing to see Rama. Under the pressure of his feet the rocks of its lovely peaks cracked with a loud sound. Wishing to leap from the southern shore toward the northern, the great monkey pressed on.

Pressed and pained by Hanuman, Mount Arishta cried out with all its many creatures, and with peaks trembling and trees falling began to sink into the earth. Under the force of his thighs, trees laden with flowers fell to the ground as if struck by Indra’s thunderbolt. The dreadful roar of the mighty lions in its caves seemed to split the sky. Their garments loose and their ornaments dropping in fear, vidyadhara women suddenly flew up from the mountain. Great serpents of deadly venom, tongues aflame, lay coiled with heads and necks pressed down. Kinnaras, nagas, gandharvas, yakshas, and vidyadharas left that sorely troubled king of mountains and stood in the sky, and, fierce with its trees and peaks, the mountain sank into the netherworld; so that mountain ten yojanas broad was leveled with the earth.

Then, wishing to leap in sport across that dreadful salt sea whose shores the waves were pounding, the monkey Hanuman sprang into the sky.

A key to understanding (place and number): Valmiki calls Mount Arishta ten yojanas (about eighty miles) wide and thirty yojanas (about two hundred and forty miles) high. A yojana is reckoned here at about eight miles. The long ornament of the mountain-description (as if it read the Veda, sang, hissed) is Valmiki’s style of the marvelous: the lifeless mountain seems to come alive.

The gist: Sita tries to keep Hanuman and to open her doubts to him, but Hanuman takes his leave, assuring her that Sugriva and Rama will come soon. Then he climbs the huge Mount Arishta, whose weight drives it into the earth, and from there he springs up over the sea for the return leap.

Hanuman crosses the sky-sea and roars upon Mount Mahendra

Leaping up with great speed, looking like a winged mountain and never tiring, Hanuman began to cross that sea of sky, which seemed a lovely ocean. The star Svati was as it were its swan; the nagas, yakshas, and gandharvas its open lotuses and water-lilies; the moon a white lily; the sun a water-bird; the stars Pushya and Shravana its swans; the clouds its moss and shore-grass; Punarvasu its great fish; Mars the great crocodile; Airavata its great island; the winds its waves; and the moon’s rays its cool water.

As if swallowing the sky, as if peeling the moon, as if carrying off the heavens with their stars and the disc of the sun, as if drawing along the masses of cloud, Hanuman crossed that boundless sea without tiring. In the sky appeared great clouds white, red, blue, madder-colored, green, and dark. Passing in and out of the cloud-masses again and again, Hanuman looked like the moon now hidden, now seen. Dressed in white, the hero, tearing through the ranks of cloud, shone like Garuda.

Roaring like a cloud, the mighty Hanuman came again to the middle of the sea, touched the lord of mountains Sunabha, that is Mainaka, and shot on with the speed of an arrow loosed from the string. Drawing a little nearer and seeing the great cloud-like Mount Mahendra, the great monkey roared like a storm-cloud and filled the ten directions with the sound. Eager to see his friends, Hanuman gave a great cry and lashed his tail. As he roared again and again along Garuda’s path, the sky with its disc of the sun seemed to split. On the northern shore of the sea, the mighty heroic monkeys already standing there and eager to see the son of the Wind began to hear the great cloud-like sound raised by the rush of his thighs and driven by the wind.

Downcast with worry, all those forest-dwellers, hearing Hanuman’s thunder-like roar, grew eager on every side and longed to see their comrade. Then Jambavan, best of monkeys, his heart thrilled with love, addressed all the monkeys: “This Hanuman has succeeded in every way, no doubt of it; for had he failed, he would not roar like this.” Hearing the noise and roar of the great one’s arms and thighs, the delighted monkeys leapt here and there. In their joy, eager to see Hanuman, they sprang from tree-top to tree-top, from peak to peak. Holding the branches of the trees, the monkeys waved their bright garments in delight.

Seeing the mighty son of the Wind, roaring like the wind pent in a cave, come on like a mass of cloud, all the monkeys stood with folded hands. Then the hero, swift as a mountain, came down on the tree-covered peak of Mahendra. Full of joy, they came down at the bank of a lovely mountain stream, as a winged mountain might fall from the sky. Then the great monkey chieftains, their hearts full of love, ringed the great-souled Hanuman about, came to him with faces bright with the highest joy, and honored that best of monkeys with offerings of roots and fruits. Some roared with joy, some shrilled, some brought tree-branches for him to sit on.

Then the great monkey Hanuman saluted his elders, Jambavan and the rest, and prince Angada. Honored by Jambavan and Angada and revered by the other monkeys, the honored Hanuman announced in brief that the queen had been seen. Then, taking Vali’s son Angada by the hand, he sat down in a lovely part of the forest on Mount Mahendra.

When asked, Hanuman told those best of monkeys that Janaka’s daughter Sita was in the Ashoka grove; that the blameless young woman was guarded by fearsome demonesses, wearing a single braid as the sign of her separation, longing for the sight of Rama, wasted with fasting, soiled, matted-haired, and thin. Hearing this news of the sight of Sita, sweet as nectar, all the monkeys rejoiced: some roared like lions, some bellowed like bulls, some shrilled, some roared in answer; some elephant-like monkeys waved their thick long tails in joy; some leapt from peaks to embrace the glorious Hanuman.

Then, among all the monkey heroes, Angada gave Hanuman this fine praise: “Hanuman, in courage and valor no monkey is your equal, for you have leapt this vast sea and returned. Best of monkeys, you alone are the giver of our lives. By your grace we shall meet Raghava, and our task is done. Ah, your devotion to your master! Ah, your valor! Ah, your steadiness! By good fortune you have seen the glorious queen, Rama’s wife, and by good fortune Rama will let go the grief of Sita’s loss.”

Then the joyful monkeys, ringing Angada, Hanuman, and Jambavan, sat down on great rocks. Eager to hear the tale of the sea-crossing, the sight of Lanka, and of Sita and Ravana, those best of monkeys sat with folded hands, their faces turned to Hanuman’s face. Ringed by many monkeys, the glorious Angada shone there like Indra, lord of the gods, served by the gods in heaven. Seated on that high great peak, the renowned Hanuman and the glorious Angada, wearing his armlet on his arm, blazed with a splendor bright with joy.

A key to understanding (the idea): Valmiki’s figure that turns the sky into a sea (the sky itself the ocean, the stars its water-creatures, the clouds its moss) is a long garland of metaphors. In the later tradition Hanuman’s sea-crossing is usually told as a pure miracle of devotion. The original Valmiki dresses it in the beauty of poetic description.

The gist: Hanuman crosses the sky-sea and reaches Mount Mahendra. From his roar Jambavan knows the task is done. The waiting monkeys ring him in joy, and Hanuman tells them in brief that Sita is alive in the Ashoka grove. Angada praises him.

Hanuman’s full account: Mainaka, Surasa, and Simhika

On the peak of Mahendra the mighty monkeys gathered around Hanuman came to the highest joy. Seated at ease among the great-souled monkeys, the delighted Jambavan asked the great monkey Hanuman for the tale of the deed: “How was the queen seen by you, and in what state is she there? How does the cruel-handed Ravana of the ten heads treat her? Tell us all this exactly and in full, great monkey. How was the queen found, and what did she answer? Knowing the truth, we shall decide our next step. Tell us what we should say and what we should keep back when we go to Rama.”

Urged by Jambavan, bowing his head to the queen Sita, the thrilled Hanuman answered: “Before you all, from the peak of Mahendra, with a fixed mind and a wish to reach the southern shore of the sea, I leapt into the sky. As I went along my way, a dreadful obstacle seemed to rise: a divine and most lovely golden peak stood barring my path. I resolved in my mind that I must break it. At the blow of my tail the sun-like peak of that great mountain scattered in a thousand pieces. Knowing my deed, the great mountain said in a sweet voice, as if gladdening my heart: ‘Child, know me for a friend of the Wind-god, and so your uncle; I dwell in the sea, and am famed by the name of Mainaka.’”

A sub-tale: Mainaka told his story: “Child, in ancient times the great mountains had wings; they flew over the earth at will and troubled everything on every side. Hearing of this conduct of the mountains, the lord Indra, the chastiser, cut off the wings of a thousand mountains with his thunderbolt. But your great-souled father the Wind saved me from that peril; he set me down in the sea, the dwelling of Varuna. Now I must help Rama, tamer of foes! Rama is the best of the righteous and mighty as Indra.”

“Hearing these words of the great-souled Mainaka, I told him my purpose, and my mind grew eager to press on. With the leave of the great-souled Mainaka I went; and that great mountain, vanishing in his lovely human form, sank into the sea with his mountain body. Gathering fine speed, I went on along the rest of my way, and for a long time I pressed on at a swift pace.”

“Then in the middle of the sea I saw the goddess Surasa, mother of the serpents. The goddess said: ‘Best of monkeys, the immortals have appointed you my food; so I shall eat you, for the gods have ordained you for me.’ So spoken to, I stood with folded hands, humble of face and gone pale, and said: ‘The glorious Rama, son of Dasharatha, came to the Dandaka forest with his wife Sita and his brother Lakshmana; there the wicked Ravana carried off his wife Sita; and at Rama’s command I go as an envoy to Sita. You dwell in Rama’s realm, so it is right for you to help him. Or else, when I have seen Maithili and told the untiring Rama, I will come into your mouth; this I promise in truth.’”

“Then Surasa, who could take any shape at will, said: ‘No one can slip past me; that is my boon.’ So spoken to, I who was ten yojanas broad grew larger by half in a moment; and she opened her mouth wider than my body. Seeing her mouth open, I at once shrank to the size of a thumb, darted into her mouth, and came out again on the instant. Then the goddess Surasa took her own form and said: ‘Gentle best of monkeys, go now in happiness for the success of your task, and bring Videha’s daughter together with the great-souled Raghava. Be happy, long-armed one; I am pleased with you.’ Then all beings praised me, crying, ‘Well done! Well done!’”

“Then I sprang up into the vast sky like Garuda. At that moment my shadow was caught, though I could see nothing. My speed was checked; I looked to the ten directions, but I could not see the thing that had stopped my flight. Then the thought came to me: ‘What is this obstacle risen in my path, whose form does not show itself here?’ Grieving so, my gaze fell downward, and there I saw a dreadful demoness lying in the water.”

“Seeing me hang still, the dreadful creature laughed aloud and said an evil thing to me: ‘Where will you go, huge one? Hungry, I have found you for the food I longed for; satisfy my body, so long without a meal.’ ‘Very well,’ I said, and agreed; and I made my body larger than her mouth. To swallow me her vast, dreadful mouth grew wider too; but she did not know me, nor mark the tiny form I set before her. Then in the blink of an eye I gathered up my huge shape, tore out her heart, and sprang into the sky. Her heart cut out, the mountain-like demoness, her arms falling slack, dropped into the salt water. At that moment I heard the gentle voices of the great souls who travel the sky: ‘The dreadful demoness Simhika has been quickly killed by Hanuman.’”

A key to understanding (number and place): Valmiki gives Hanuman’s natural size as ten yojanas (about eighty miles). The shrinking and swelling in the Surasa and Simhika episodes are more than miracle: Surasa is a test set by the gods (a test of wit), while Simhika is the shadow-catching demoness (a test of strength and cunning). Hanuman wins each in a different way, one by wit, the other by slaughter.

The gist: At Jambavan’s asking, Hanuman tells his whole journey in order: refusing Mainaka’s invitation to rest, satisfying Surasa by wit and escaping, and killing the shadow-catching Simhika by tearing out her heart.

Hanuman’s account: entering Lanka and finding Sita

“Having killed her, remembering my urgent task, I went on again, and after a long way saw the southern shore of the sea adorned with mountains, where the city of Lanka lay. After the sun had set, unseen by the fearsome and mighty demons, I slipped deep into that city, the dwelling of the demons. As I entered, a woman with the color of a cloud at the hour of doom stood laughing before me, her hair like blazing fire; she meant to kill me. With a blow of my left fist I overcame that most dreadful woman, and made my entry at the twilight hour. Afraid, she said: ‘Hero, I am the city of Lanka; I am conquered by your prowess. By the very cause that conquered me, you will wholly conquer all the demons.’”

“There I roamed the whole night searching for Janaka’s daughter; even entering Ravana’s harem I did not find the fair-waisted one. Not finding Sita in Ravana’s palace, I sank in an ocean of grief and could see no far shore of it. Grieving, I saw a fine garden-house ringed by a high wall, built of drawn gold. Crossing that wall, I saw a grove thick with trees; and in the middle of that Ashoka grove stood a great shimshapa tree.”

“Climbing it, I saw a golden grove of plantains; and a little way from the shimshapa tree I saw the lovely lady. Dark of hue, with eyes like lotus-petals, her face wasted with fasting, wrapped in a single garment, her hair grey with dust, her limbs wretched with grief and anguish, Sita sat fixed on her husband’s good. Misshapen, cruel demonesses who fed on flesh and blood ringed her like tigresses about a doe. That fawn-eyed queen, threatened again and again among the demonesses, wearing a single braid, wretched, lost in thought of her husband, lay on the ground, pale as a lotus-plant withered by the coming of winter, cut off from all she loved by Ravana, and resolved to die. Somehow I found her out quickly.”

“Seeing Rama’s glorious wife in the state the ten-necked one had described, I stayed sitting on that shimshapa tree and watched her. Then from Ravana’s palace I heard a deep tumult, a hala-hala mingled with the jingling of girdles and anklets. Deeply troubled, I gathered in my form, and hid like a bird among the thick leaves of the shimshapa.”

“Then Ravana’s queens and the mighty Ravana came to the place where Sita sat. Seeing that lord of demons, the fair lady Sita drew in her thighs and covered her breasts with her arms and sat. Trembling, in deepest sorrow, looking about for protection and finding no protector, the ascetic queen sat; and Ravana, his head bowed, fell at her feet and said: ‘Sita, honor me. If out of pride you will not show me favor, then in two months I shall drink your blood.’”

“Hearing these words of the wicked Ravana, Sita in great anger gave this fine answer: ‘Basest of demons! Speaking such unspeakable words to the wife of the boundlessly brilliant Rama and the daughter-in-law of Dasharatha, lord of the house of Ikshvaku, how did your tongue not fall out? Ignoble one, what a prowess is yours, who in my husband’s absence, slipping away from that great man, stole me and fled! Sinner, you are not Rama’s equal in any part; you are not fit even to be his servant. Raghava is unconquerable, true-worded, brave, and praised in war.’”

“At these harsh words of Janaki, the ten-headed one suddenly blazed with anger like a funeral fire. Rolling his cruel eyes, raising his right fist, he made ready to strike Maithili. Then a cry of grief broke out among the women. Mandodari, the chief wife of that wicked one, rose from among the women and ran and stopped him. To the desire-maddened Ravana she said in a sweet voice: ‘Lord, what have you, mighty as Indra, to do with Sita? Take your pleasure with me today; Janaki is no better than I. Lord, take your pleasure with the daughters of gods and gandharvas and yakshas; what have you to do with Sita?’”

“All those women lifted up the mighty night-ranger and led him at once to his palace. When the ten-necked one had gone, the misshapen demonesses began to threaten Sita with cruel and most harsh words. But Janaki counted their speech as no more than a blade of grass; their roaring, falling on Sita, came to nothing. Their roaring vain and themselves grown weary, those flesh-eating demonesses made ready to go and tell Ravana of Sita’s great resolve to die. Then, worn out, listless, and downcast, they all fell asleep together.”

“When they had gone to sleep, Sita, bent on her husband’s good, wept a piteous lament and grieved in deepest sorrow. Then, from among them, Trijata rose and said: ‘Demonesses! Rather than eat Sita, the daughter-in-law of Dasharatha, the virtuous daughter of Janaka, the dark-eyed one, quickly eat your own selves. Today I have seen a dreadful, hair-raising dream that foretells the ruin of the demons and the victory of her husband. She alone can save us, all the demonesses, from the wrath of Raghava. So let us beg the grace of Videha’s daughter; that is what pleases me. If such a dream shows itself plainly to one so sorrowful, she wins release from her many sorrows and the highest joy. By a mere salutation Janaka’s daughter Maithili will be pleased.’”

“Hearing the dream Trijata told, Sita, the shy girl, glowing with joy at her husband’s victory, said: ‘If this be true, I will give you all my shelter.’ Seeing Sita in that dreadful state, though I had rested a little, my mind found no peace; and I thought of a way to speak with Janaki. I began to praise the line of Ikshvaku, with words full of the praises of the royal sage Dasharatha. Hearing this speech of mine, the queen, her eyes full of tears, asked me: ‘Best of monkeys, who are you? Whose messenger, and how did you come here? What is your friendship with Rama? Tell me this.’”

“Hearing her words, I said: ‘Lady, your husband Rama has a helper of dreadful valor, the brave and mighty monkey lord named Sugriva. Know me for his servant Hanuman, come here; the untiring Rama has sent me to you. And see, the glorious son of Dasharatha, tiger among men, has himself given me this ring as a token for you.’ Now, lady, I ask your command, what I should do; if you bid me, I will carry you to Rama and Lakshmana; what is your answer?”

“Hearing this and knowing it true, Janaka’s daughter Sita said: ‘Let Raghava come and take me himself, after he has uprooted Ravana.’ Then I bowed my head to the blameless noble queen, and asked for some token to gladden Raghava’s heart. Sita said: ‘Take this fine jewel, by which the long-armed Rama will greatly honor you.’ So saying, the deeply troubled fair lady gave me the crest-jewel, the jewel of her head, and spoke in words one or two matters that only Rama knows.”

“Then, saluting that princess and minded to return, I walked around her in reverence. Fixing her resolve, she spoke again: ‘Hanuman, tell Raghava my tale; and see to it that, the moment they hear, the two heroes Rama and Lakshmana come quickly with Sugriva. If this does not happen, my life is but two months long; and if Rama does not come within that time, I shall die helpless, and Rama will not see me again.’”

“Hearing that piteous speech, anger came on me, and at once I saw what work remained to do. Then my body swelled mountain-tall, and with a wish for battle I began to wreck Ravana’s garden.”

A key to understanding (the idea): On Ravana’s threat of “two months,” a Gita Press commentator holds that, by the scriptural saying “a fortnight is a month” (pakshau vai masah), “month” here may mean two fortnights, that is one month. From this the term set for Sita is given in one place as two months and in another as one. This is a well-known point of variant reading in the Valmiki text.

The gist: Hanuman tells how he overcame the city-goddess of Lanka, searched all night for Sita, watched her from the shimshapa tree in the Ashoka grove, saw Ravana’s threat and Sita’s brave answer, heard the scenes with Mandodari and Trijata, spoke with Sita and gave her the ring, and received the crest-jewel and a secret token (the crow episode). Then in anger he began to wreck the grove.

Hanuman’s account: the slaughter of the demons, the binding, and Ravana’s court

“Waking from sleep, the misshapen demonesses saw the wrecked grove and its terrified, bewildered beasts and birds. Seeing me in the grove, they gathered from every side and quickly told Ravana: ‘King, mighty one! Some wicked monkey who does not know your strength has broken this grove of yours that none may enter. Surely this is his folly; order his death at once, before he escapes.’”

“Hearing this, the demon king sent the demons named Kinkaras, hard to conquer and obedient to Ravana’s mind. Eighty thousand of them, gripping pikes and maces, I killed in that grove with an iron crossbar. The few who survived fled and told Ravana of the destruction of his force. Then it came to me to break the chaitya-palace, the temple of the demons’ family deity; killing the hundred demons standing there, I brought down that temple, the very ornament of Lanka, in fury, with one of its own pillars.”

“Then Ravana sent Prahasta’s son Jambumali with many fearsome demons. That mighty demon, skilled in war, I killed with his followers by the terrible crossbar. Hearing this, Ravana sent his mighty ministers’ sons with a force of foot; all of them too I sent to the world of Yama with the crossbar. Hearing of the death of the ministers’ sons, who showed their prowess so swiftly in battle, Ravana sent five brave commanders; them too I struck down with their army.”

“Then the ten-necked one sent his mighty son Aksha with many demons into battle. Seeing that prince, Mandodari’s son, skilled in war, spring suddenly into the sky, I caught him by both feet, whirled him a hundred times, and dashed him down so that he was ground to pieces. Hearing of Aksha’s death, the enraged Ravana sent his other mighty son Indrajit with a great army. Taking the fire of that demon prince’s whole army in battle, I felt the highest joy. That mighty one, sent with heroes drunk on pride, knowing me unconquerable, bound me with the Brahmastra and handed me over to the demons. The very swift demons bound me there with ropes as well.”

“Taking me, they led me to Ravana. The wicked Ravana, seeing me, spoke with me, and asked the reason for my coming to Lanka and the killing of the demons. I said: ‘All this was done in battle for Sita’s sake. Lord, it was from a wish to see her that I came even to your palace; know me for the monkey Hanuman, born son of the Wind-god. Know me for Rama’s envoy and Sugriva’s counselor monkey; I come to you on Rama’s mission. Lord of demons, now hear my message; Sugriva, lord of monkeys, has spoken to you a word of warning.’”

“In the assembly Hanuman delivered Sugriva’s message: ‘The great Sugriva asks after your welfare and speaks this good and wholesome word, joined with righteousness, gain, and desire. Dwelling on Mount Rishyamuka, I, Sugriva, formed a friendship with the war-brave Raghava. King, he told me his wife had been carried off by a demon, and made me pledge my help. To me, Sugriva, whose kingdom Vali had seized, the lord Raghava with Lakshmana gave his friendship with fire as witness. With a single arrow he killed Vali and made me great king of the monkeys.’”

“Sugriva’s message went on: ‘So all of us must help Rama with our whole selves; for that I have righteously sent this envoy to you. Before the brave monkeys destroy your army, quickly bring Sita and give her back to Raghava. No one before has known this power of the monkeys, who go to help the gods only when invited. King, this is what Sugriva, lord of monkeys, has said to you.’”

“Then, enraged, Ravana looked at me as if to burn me with his eyes. That demon of fierce deeds, not knowing my power, ordered my death. Then his wise brother Vibhishana, who was there, began to plead with the demon king for me: ‘Tiger among demons, do not resolve on this; you are taking a road against the science of kings. In the codes of kingship the killing of an envoy is not allowed; an envoy has only to say what he was told to say. Even for an envoy’s great offense, brother of matchless valor, the scriptures prescribe the maiming of a limb, and not death.’”

“At Vibhishana’s words Ravana ordered the demons: ‘Burn only his tail, here and now.’ Hearing his command, my tail was wrapped all round with hemp bark and silk and cotton rags. Then the fierce, mighty demons, striking me with wood and fists, set my tail alight. Bound though I was with many ropes and rags, it gave me no pain, for I was eager to see the city by day.”

“Then those brave demons, leading me bound and ringed with fire to the city gate, showed me off along the highways to all.”

A key to understanding (the numbers): Valmiki gives the order of Hanuman’s slaughter in the garden-battle with great precision: first the eighty thousand Kinkaras, then the hundred demons who guarded the chaitya, then Jambumali, then the ministers’ sons, then the five commanders, then prince Aksha, and last Indrajit, who alone binds him, and only with the Brahmastra. Indrajit’s use of the Brahmastra is the sole reason Hanuman is bound; he stays bound on purpose so that he can see Ravana’s court.

The gist: Hanuman tells the order of the slaughter in the grove, from the Kinkaras to prince Aksha; at the last Indrajit binds him with the Brahmastra. In Ravana’s court he names himself Rama’s envoy, delivers Sugriva’s message about returning Sita; Ravana orders his death, but Vibhishana stops it by showing that killing an envoy is against the science of kings, and the punishment of burning the tail is settled.

Hanuman’s account: the burning of Lanka and the return

“Then I gathered in my huge form, snapped my bonds, and stood again in my natural shape. Taking up an iron crossbar, I killed those demons and sprang with speed to the city gate. Then with my burning tail I burned that city, with its towers and gate-houses, without a tremor, as the fire at the end of an age burns all creatures.”

“Then grief came on me again: surely Janaki has perished, for no part of Lanka shows unburned; the whole city is ash. In burning Lanka I have surely burned Sita too; and so I have made vain the great work of Rama. Filled with this grief, I fell into worry. Then I heard the auspicious words of the charanas, who told the wondrous news that Janaki had not burned. Hearing that wondrous speech, the thought came to me: Janaki has surely been saved from the fire; and good omens tell it too. First of all, though my tail burned, the fire did not burn me; my heart too is full of joy, and the winds are laden with fragrance.”

“By those good omens, by such strong causes as Rama’s power and Sita’s chastity, and by the words of the all-seeing charanas, my mind grew glad. Then I saw Videha’s daughter once more, and took my leave of her. Reaching Mount Arishta there in Lanka, longing to see you all, I began the return leap. Crossing the path served by the Wind, the moon, the sun, the siddhas, and the gandharvas, I found you all here. By Rama’s grace, by the fire of you all, and for Sugriva’s task, I accomplished everything. All this I did there as it should be done; whatever is left there, that you must now complete.”

The gist: Snapping his bonds, Hanuman kills the demons and burns Lanka to ash with his flaming tail. Then the old fear: that Sita too may have burned. Reassured by the charanas’ words and by the omens, he sees Sita once more, takes his leave, and returns, ending his whole account here on the peak of Mahendra.

The account of Sita’s plight and the call to war

Having told all this, Hanuman, son of the Wind, spoke on: “Raghava’s effort and Sugriva’s labor have borne fruit; seeing Sita’s virtue, my own heart was satisfied too. Best of the leaping folk, Sita’s conduct is worthy of that noble lady; by her austerity she could hold up all the worlds, and if angered could burn them to ash. That demon lord Ravana too is rich in austerity in every way, for even after touching Sita’s body his own body was not destroyed by her austerity. A flame of fire touched by the hand cannot do the harm that Janaka’s daughter could do, were she stained with anger.”

Hanuman recalled Sita’s plight: “It was I who wrecked Lanka, who burned the city to ash, and who proclaimed on all the highways: victory to the mighty Rama and Lakshmana, victory to King Sugriva whom Raghava shields. I am Hanuman, son of the Wind, servant of the lord of Kosala; so I proclaimed my name everywhere. In the middle of the wicked Ravana’s Ashoka grove, at the root of the shimshapa, the virtuous Sita sits in a piteous state; ringed by demonesses, wasted with grief, dimmed like the streak of the moon hidden by a line of cloud.”

Hanuman said: “Not troubling herself over the strength-proud Ravana, the chaste, fair-hipped Janaki holds fast to her vow. The blessed Videha’s daughter is devoted with her whole self to Rama; as Shachi is fixed on Indra, she has set her heart on Rama and on none other. Wrapped in a single garment, grey with dust, threatened again and again among the demonesses, seen among the misshapen demonesses in the garden, wearing a single braid, wretched, lost in thought of her husband, lying on the ground, pale as a lotus-plant in the coming of winter, cut off by Ravana from all she loves, and resolved to die. Somehow winning the trust of that fawn-eyed one, and then speaking with her, I told her everything. Hearing of the friendship of Rama and Sugriva, she was filled with love; her conduct is steadfast, and her devotion to her husband is of the finest.”

Hanuman said a subtle thing: “Sita does not kill the ten-necked one for this reason, that in his killing Rama may be the cause (that is, she leaves the glory of the killing to Rama); and by this too the great Ravana is spared, saved by the strength of her austerity. Slender by nature, Sita has grown thinner still from separation from her husband, as the learning of a student grows dim who studies only on the first day of the fortnight. So the greatly blessed Sita is sunk in grief; now consider all that is fit to be done here.”

Hearing all this, Vali’s son Angada spoke, and began to urge Jambavan and the other great monkeys to war. But first he boasted of his own and the other heroes’ strength: “Mainda and Dvivida, sons of the Ashvins, are unkillable by all through Brahma’s boon; they churned the army of the gods and drank of the very nectar. Angered, these two alone can destroy Lanka with its horses, chariots, and elephants, let alone the monkeys. I alone am able by force to kill Lanka with its demons and the mighty Ravana, let alone with the help of you heroes. And we have just heard that Lanka was burned by Hanuman’s strength alone.”

Then Angada gave his view: “To have seen the queen and not brought her, and to say so in Kishkindha, does not seem to me worthy of you glorious ones. In all the worlds, with their gods and demons, none is your equal in leaping or in valor. Let us conquer Lanka with its demons, kill Ravana in battle, take Sita, and return, our purpose achieved and glad. With the demon heroes slain by Hanuman’s hands, what is left to do? Let us take Janaki and go. Let us set Janaka’s daughter between Rama and Lakshmana. Let us go there ourselves, kill the demon lords, and see Rama, Sugriva, and Lakshmana.”

To Angada, who had resolved so, the wise Jambavan, best of monkeys and a knower of what is right, said with great pleasure: “Great-minded monkey, what you say is not wisdom. We were commanded only to search the southern quarter, not to bring Sita; neither the monkey king Sugriva nor the wise Rama said any such thing. Raghava, tiger among kings, taking his family name to heart, would not wish that Sita be won in any way by us; before all the monkey chiefs the king himself vowed that he would keep the winning of Sita for his own hand. How shall we make that vow of his false? Doing so would make even Hanuman’s deed fruitless, would leave him no satisfaction, and would waste the valor shown in winning sight of Sita. So let us all go where Rama is with Lakshmana and the brilliant Sugriva, and lay this matter before them. Your plan is not one we cannot carry out; but think of a way to accomplish the task in keeping with Rama’s own resolve.”

A key to understanding (the idea): Angada’s fire and Jambavan’s judgment stand face to face here. Angada wants the monkeys to rescue Sita themselves; Jambavan explains that the glory and the vow of Sita’s rescue belong to Rama, and so the decision must be left to him. This is Valmiki’s wisdom of statecraft: the envoy-band knows the limits of its charge.

The gist: Hanuman describes Sita’s piteous yet radiant state and urges them to war. Angada in his fervor proposes to conquer Lanka and bring Sita home themselves, but the seasoned Jambavan checks him: the decision and the vow are Rama’s, so it is right to return with the news to him.

The raid on the Madhuvana and Dadhimukha’s plea to Sugriva

Taking Jambavan’s word to heart, the heroic monkeys led by Angada, and the great monkey Hanuman, glad of heart, set Hanuman in front and leapt from the peak of Mahendra. Huge as Meru and Mandara, like rutting great elephants, those mighty giants, seeming to cover the sky and to hold Hanuman as it were with their eyes, sprang joyfully toward Kishkindha. Resolved to accomplish Raghava’s work and win him the highest glory, uplifted by their success, eager to bring the good news, hailing the coming war, they were high-spirited and set on helping Rama.

Leaping through the sky, the forest-dwellers came down into a wood full of hundreds of trees, like Nandana. That wood, called the Madhuvana, was Sugriva’s, guarded on every side and not to be entered by any creature; the great hero Dadhimukha, uncle of the great-souled Sugriva, always kept it. Seeing that vast Madhuvana, the monkeys, red-brown for love of honey, joyfully begged prince Angada’s leave to drink the honey. Then Angada, taking the counsel of Jambavan and the other old monkeys, gave them leave to drink.

With the leave of wise Angada, Vali’s son, the monkeys came to the trees full of bees. Eating fragrant roots and fruits, they all came to great joy and grew drunk with honey. Then, given leave, all the forest-dwellers joyfully began to dance about here and there: some sang, some laughed, some danced, some bowed; some fell, some ran, some leapt, some babbled. Some leaned on one another, some argued with one another, some ran from tree to tree, some jumped from peaks to the ground. One sang, and another came near laughing; one laughed, and another came weeping. In that host there was none unsteady with drink and none not proud with it.

Seeing the wood ruined and the trees stripped of leaf and flower, the forest-keeper Dadhimukha in anger tried to stop the monkeys. Rebuked by those insolent monkeys, the fierce old hero cast about for a way to protect the wood. To some he spoke harsh words, some he slapped, some he grappled with, some he tried to soothe. The monkeys, unstoppable in their drunken rush, thinking nothing of the offense of raising a hand against a royal servant, fearlessly dragged Dadhimukha, clawed him with their nails, bit him with their teeth, and beat the very life half out of him with slaps and kicks, and stripped that vast wood of all its fruit and honey and roots on every side.

Hanuman had said to the monkeys: “Drink the honey with easy hearts; whoever stops you, I will drive away.” Hearing this, Angada, best of monkeys, said with pleasure: “Let the monkeys drink the honey; even were Hanuman’s word one I ought not to carry out, I should carry it out, for he has done his task; how much more a word so fit to be done.” Hearing this, the best of monkeys, crying “Well done! Well done!” were pleased, and praising Angada, ran to the Madhuvana like the rush of a river. Overcoming the guards by force, they entered the Madhuvana; feeling themselves mightier by Angada’s leave and by Hanuman’s sight of Sita, they all drank the honey and ate the juicy fruits.

Then, beating off the guards, they gathered fruit in the Madhuvana by the hundred. Holding in their arms honeycombs full of a drona (about thirty kilos) of honey, some monkeys drank the honey together in bands; some broke the combs, some ate, some drank and threw the rest away. Some struck one another with balls of wax, some stood at the roots of trees holding branches. Utterly slack with drink, the leaping folk lay down on spread leaves. They shoved and stumbled against one another; some roared like lions, some cooed like birds.

Dadhimukha’s servants, the guards, when they tried to check those dreadful monkeys, were dragged along by the knees, caught by the feet, and flung into the sky; they fled to the four quarters and, deeply troubled, went and told Dadhimukha: “The monkeys, given their boon by Hanuman, have wrecked the Madhuvana by force, and dragged us too by the knees and flung us into the sky.” Hearing of the wrecking of the Madhuvana, the enraged forest-keeper Dadhimukha soothed them: “Come, let us go; let us go to those over-proud monkeys; I will stop them by force.”

Hearing this, the brave guards went again to the Madhuvana with Dadhimukha. Tearing up a great tree and holding it fast, Dadhimukha stood among them. The monkeys came in anger with rocks and trees and stones to where the elephant-like monkeys were. Stopping them by force, chewing their lips, threatening again and again, the guards came near. Then, seeing the angry Dadhimukha, the chief monkeys led by Hanuman fell on them with speed. The angry Angada seized the long-armed, mighty Dadhimukha, who came at speed holding a tree, in both his arms. Blind with drink, Angada, without a thought that “this is my elder,” showed no mercy, threw him down suddenly, and rubbed him hard against the ground. Smeared with blood, his arms and thighs and face broken, the great hero, the elephant-like monkey, fainted for a moment.

When the monkeys somehow let him go, that best of monkeys went aside and said to the servants who came to him: “Come, let us go where our master Sugriva is with Rama. We will tell the king all Angada’s offense; the wrathful Sugriva, hearing our complaint, will have the monkeys killed. This Madhuvana is dear to the great-souled Sugriva; it is a divine wood, ancestral and hard to enter even for the gods. These honey-greedy monkeys, their lives now short, will be killed by Sugriva’s punishment with their friends; for those who break a king’s command are wicked and deserve death.”

Saying this, the mighty Dadhimukha with the forest-guards suddenly sprang up and set off. In the blink of an eye the forest-dweller reached the place where wise Sugriva, born of the Sun, sat with the monkeys. Seeing Rama, Lakshmana, and Sugriva, he came down from the sky to the level ground. Ringed by all his guards, downcast of face, his hands folded on his head, that great hero, lord of the forest-keepers, quickly pressed Sugriva’s feet with his head.

A key to understanding (the idea): The merriment in the Madhuvana is a living picture of the monkey nature: the joy of a task done, the drunkenness of honey, and the scuffle with the keeper Dadhimukha. A drona is an old measure (about thirty kilos). The scene is full of comic flavor, yet its purpose in the story is serious: the Madhuvana is Sugriva’s cherished ancestral wood, and its very wrecking gives Sugriva the sign that Sita has been found.

The gist: On the way back the monkeys stop in Sugriva’s cherished Madhuvana, and with Angada’s leave they drink honey and grow drunk, and they beat the keeper Dadhimukha. Dadhimukha goes with his guards to Kishkindha and falls at Sugriva’s feet to complain.

Sugriva’s inference and the return of Angada’s band

Seeing that monkey fallen head first, the troubled Sugriva, best of monkeys, said: “Rise, rise! Why have you fallen at my feet? I give you my protection; speak the truth. For fear of whom have you come? Tell me all that touches our good; you may say whatever you wish. I hope all is well in the Madhuvana; monkey, I would hear everything from you.”

Reassured by the great-souled Sugriva, the wise Dadhimukha rose and said: “King, the Madhuvana that never took harm from Riksharajas your father, nor from you, nor from Vali, that wood the monkeys have wrecked. With these forest-guards I tried to stop them all, but they ignored me and kept eating and drinking in their joy; when stopped, they knit their brows at us. And when stopped, these chief monkeys beat us guards, struck us with hands and knees, and flung us into the sky at will. Lord, in your own kingdom those brave ones beat us, and ate and drank the whole Madhuvana at their pleasure.”

Hearing this, the wise Lakshmana, slayer of enemy heroes, asked Sugriva: “King, why has this forest-keeper monkey come to you? On what errand does he lay his sorrow before you?” Skilled in speech, Sugriva answered Lakshmana: “Noble Lakshmana, the brave monkey Dadhimukha says that the heroic monkeys led by Angada have drunk the honey of the Madhuvana. Such a transgression by those who have done their task is possible only when they have accomplished my work; for they have begun to wreck the wood, and so surely the task is done.”

Sugriva went on: “The queen Sita has been seen, no doubt of it, and by none other than Hanuman. There is no cause but Hanuman for the accomplishing of this work; in Hanuman alone are fixed success, judgment, resolve, valor, and learning. Where Jambavan and the mighty Angada are the leaders and Hanuman the master, there the course never goes awry. Angada and the heroes, having searched the southern quarter and returned, have on their way from Lanka wrecked the Madhuvana that none may enter.”

Hearing this happy word of Dadhimukha, Rama and the renowned Lakshmana were greatly pleased. Delighted, Sugriva said again to the forest-keeper: “I am pleased that the monkeys, their task done, have feasted on the wood. This transgression and daring of theirs, their task accomplished, is to be borne. Go back at once to the Madhuvana and guard it yourself; and quickly send Hanuman and all the monkeys here. I wish that those lion-proud monkeys led by Hanuman, who would not have wrecked the divine wood without seeing Videha’s daughter, should meet me soon with Rama and Lakshmana, so that I may hear of their effort to find Sita.”

Hearing Sugriva’s words, sweet to the ears, the righteous Lakshmana and Rama were greatly delighted. Seeing Rama and Lakshmana glad with joy, and feeling the success of the task as it were close to his own arms in his own thrilled limbs, the monkey king Sugriva came to the highest happiness.

So addressed by Sugriva, the glad Dadhimukha saluted Rama, Lakshmana, and Sugriva, and with the brave monkeys sprang up again into the sky toward the Madhuvana. Returning as swiftly as he had come, he came down from the sky and went deep into the wood. There he saw the monkey chieftains, their honey and juice now digested, sober and calm. With folded hands, glad, the hero came to Angada and said fine words: “Gentle one, the guards, in their ignorance, in anger stopped you; do not be angry at that. You have come from afar and are weary; eat your own honey; you are the crown prince and the lord of this wood, mighty one.”

Dadhimukha went on: “Forgive me the anger I showed before in my folly. As your father Vali was once lord of the monkey host, so now are you and Sugriva, best of monkeys. Sinless one, I went and told your uncle of the coming of you all; he was greatly gladdened by your coming, and hearing of the wrecking of the wood he was not angry, rather he was pleased and said, Send them all here quickly.”

Hearing these fine words of Dadhimukha, the eloquent Angada, best of monkeys, said to the monkeys: “I judge that Rama has heard the news of our coming, since Dadhimukha reports it with such joy. So now, our task done, it is not fitting for us to linger here. Forest-dwellers, you have drunk the honey to your heart’s content; what remains now is to go where the monkey king Sugriva is. As you all together shall say, so I will do; crown prince though I am, I have no right to command you, and it is not right to lord it by force over you who have done the work.”

Hearing this fine word of Angada, the glad monkeys said: “King, best of monkeys, who that is a master speaks so? Every man, drunk on lordship, thinks himself great. This word befits you alone, and none other; this humility foretells your future worthiness. We too are eager to go where Sugriva is, the undying lord of the monkey heroes. Best of monkeys, without your command we monkeys will not go one step forward; this we say in truth.”

At their words Angada said, “Very well, let us go,” and all the mighty ones sprang into the sky. Behind the leaping Angada all the monkey chiefs sprang up like stones loosed from an engine and filled the sky. Setting Angada and the monkey Hanuman in front, the swift leapers sprang suddenly into the sky, roaring greatly like clouds driven by the wind.

As Angada drew near, Sugriva, best of monkeys, said to the grief-stricken, lotus-eyed Rama: “Be reassured, and may all be well with you; the queen has been seen, no doubt of it. Had they failed, they could not have returned here, for my set term is long past; and I know it too from Angada’s joy, fair-faced one. Had the work been broken, the long-armed crown prince Angada would not come to me at all. Even if the failed could act so, they would be downcast, bewildered, and troubled of mind, which these are not. No one would wreck my ancestral Madhuvana without having seen Janaka’s daughter.”

Sugriva reassured Rama: “True-vowed Rama, in you Kausalya has a fine son; be at peace. The queen has been seen, no doubt of it, and by none other than Hanuman. There is no cause but Hanuman for this success; best of minds, in Hanuman alone are fixed success, judgment, resolve, courage, and learning. Where Jambavan and the monkey lord Angada are the leaders and Hanuman the master, the course does not go awry. Boundless in valor, worry no more now; the monkeys have come in pride, and the failed do not act so. From the wrecking of the wood and the drinking of the honey alone I know of their success.”

Just then Sugriva heard in the near sky the chattering cry, like a herald of success, of the monkeys coming toward Kishkindha, proud with Hanuman’s deed. Hearing the roar of those monkeys, Sugriva, best of monkeys, rejoiced and drew in and stretched out his tail for joy. Eager to see Rama, the monkeys too came on with Angada and the monkey Hanuman in front, and the glad heroes led by Angada came down near the monkey king Sugriva and Raghava.

Then the long-armed Hanuman, bowing his head in salute, reported to Raghava that the queen was fixed in devotion to Rama and safe in body. Hearing from Hanuman’s mouth the words, sweet as nectar, “The queen has been seen,” Rama with Lakshmana came to joy. The loving Lakshmana looked with great regard on the glad Sugriva, who was now sure of Hanuman’s success in seeing Sita. And Raghava, slayer of enemy heroes, full of the deepest love, looked on Hanuman too with great regard.

The gist: From Dadhimukha’s complaint alone, Sugriva guesses that Sita has been found, since failed monkeys would never dare wreck the Madhuvana. He reassures Rama, comforts Dadhimukha, and sends for Angada’s band. Dadhimukha returns and begs Angada’s pardon, and Angada and Hanuman with all the monkeys reach Rama and Sugriva and bring the news that Sita is safe.

Hanuman’s full report to Rama, and the crest-jewel

Then the monkeys went to Mount Prasravana with its picturesque woods, bowed their heads to Rama and the mighty Lakshmana, saluted Sugriva, and set prince Angada in front, and began to tell the news of Sita. Knowing Videha’s daughter alive, Rama asked: “Where is the queen Sita, and how does she feel toward me? Monkeys, tell me all this of Sita.”

Hearing Rama’s command, the monkeys urged Hanuman, who knew Sita’s tale, to answer, for he sat nearest Rama. At their word the eloquent Hanuman bowed his head to the southern quarter and so to the queen Sita, and began to tell the tale of the sight of Sita. Giving Rama that divine golden jewel, bright with its own light, Hanuman said with folded hands: “Leaping across a sea a hundred yojanas (about eight hundred miles) wide, I went on searching for Sita, wishing to see her. There, on the southern shore of the southern sea, lies the city of Lanka of the wicked Ravana; and there, in Ravana’s harem, I saw the virtuous Sita.”

Hanuman told Sita’s state: “Rama, alive with her mind fixed on you, I saw Sita among the demonesses, threatened again and again, guarded by misshapen demonesses in the garden. Hero, that queen, fit for comfort, is shut in Ravana’s harem, guarded by demonesses, sunk in sorrow; wearing a single braid, wretched, lost in thought of you, lying on the ground, pale as a lotus-plant in the coming of winter, cut off by Ravana from all she loves, resolved to die. Kakutstha, with her mind fixed on you, somehow I found that queen out.”

Hanuman went on: “Tiger among men, softly singing the fame of the house of Ikshvaku, I won her trust, then spoke with her and told her all; hearing of the friendship of Rama and Sugriva, she rejoiced. Her conduct is steadfast and her devotion to you unshaken. Greatly blessed one, joined thus with fierce austerity and devotion to you, Janaka’s daughter met me. Best of men, she gave me a token, the matter of the crow at Chitrakuta that once befell you. And Janaki said to me: ‘Son of the Wind, all that you have seen here, tell it in full to Rama.’”

Hanuman gave Sita’s words: “This carefully guarded jewel is to be given to Rama, in Sugriva’s hearing, with these words: This glorious crest-jewel I have kept with care; remember that mark you made on my brow with red arsenic. This glorious jewel, born of water, I send to you; in my misfortune, looking on it, I would be as glad as if I looked on you. Son of Dasharatha, I shall live but a month; after that, held in the demons’ power, I shall not live.”

Hanuman said to Rama: “Shut in Ravana’s harem, her eyes wide as a doe’s, her body wasted, the virtuous Sita said this to me. Raghava, all this I have told you as it was; now let a way be found by every means to cross the waters of the sea.” Knowing that the two princes Rama and Lakshmana were reassured, and giving that token to Rama, Hanuman, son of the Wind, told over in order all the words the queen had spoken.

A key to understanding (place and number): Hanuman calls the sea “a hundred yojanas” (about eight hundred miles) wide. Sita’s crest-jewel is the jewel of the brow that Janaka gave her at her wedding; it is said to be born of water and given by Indra at a sacrifice. To Rama it is direct proof that Sita is alive.

The gist: On Mount Prasravana, Hanuman gives Rama the full account of the sight of Sita: her piteous state, her unshaken devotion, the secret token of the crow at Chitrakuta, and he hands over the crest-jewel, with which comes Sita’s message and her term of one month.

Rama’s lament and his plea for Sita’s message

At these words of Hanuman, Rama, son of Dasharatha, pressed the jewel to his heart and wept with Lakshmana. Looking at that best of jewels, Raghava, wasted with grief, his eyes full of tears, said to Sugriva: “As a fond cow, seeing her calf, lets down her milk in love, so at the sight of this best of jewels my heart melts. This jewel-gem was given to Videha’s daughter by my father-in-law Janaka; bound on her brow as a bride, it shone most fair. This jewel, born of water, was honored by the great gods, and the wise Indra, greatly pleased, gave it to Janaka at a sacrifice.”

Rama said: “Gentle one, looking on this best of jewels, today it is as if I had seen my father, and Janaka lord of Videha, and Sita too. This jewel shone most fair on my beloved’s brow; seeing it today, I feel as if I had her herself. Gentle one, tell me again and again what Sita said to you; it is as if you sprinkle water on me who am fainting, with the water of your words. Son of Sumitra, what deeper sorrow is there than this, that I see this jewel born of water, and yet not Videha’s daughter?”

Turning to Hanuman, Rama said: “If Videha’s daughter will live even a month, she is long-lived; but hero, without that dark-eyed one I shall not live a moment. Take me to the country where you saw my beloved; having the news, I cannot stay a moment. How does my Sita, so timid and fair-limbed, live among the dreadful demons? Her face, once like the spotless autumn moon, now hidden by cloud, no longer shines so. Hanuman, what did my sweet-spoken, fair lady, parted from me, say to you? Sunk from sorrow into deeper sorrow, how does Janaki live?”

The gist: Pressing the crest-jewel to his heart, Rama laments: this jewel was Janaka’s gift, and by it he remembers his father, his father-in-law, and Sita all three. Again and again he asks Hanuman to tell over Sita’s message, as if those very words will keep him alive.

The crow at Chitrakuta, and Sita’s token

At these words of the great-souled Raghava, Hanuman told Rama all that Sita had said. He said: “Best of men, the queen Janaki told, as her token, a past event that happened at Chitrakuta, just as it was. Once, sleeping happily beside you, Janaki woke first, and a crow suddenly swooped and tore at her breast with its beak. Elder brother of Bharata, you were then sleeping in the queen’s lap; the bird then pained the queen. Coming again, it clawed her harshly; and you woke, smeared with her blood.”

Hanuman went on: “Scorcher of foes, the queen woke you as you slept happily, tormented by that crow. Long-armed one, seeing her breast torn, you, angry as a venomous serpent, asked: ‘Timid one, who has clawed your breast with his nails? Who plays with an angry five-hooded snake?’ Looking about, you suddenly saw the crow with its sharp, blood-stained claws sitting before Sita.”

Hanuman told the tale: “That crow was Jayanta, son of Indra, best of birds; swift as the wind, he dwelt in the netherworld. Long-armed one, best of the wise, then, rolling your eyes in anger, you formed a cruel intent against that crow. You took a blade of grass from your bed of kusha and set on it the Brahmastra; that blade, blazing like the fire of doom, turned toward the bird and flared up. You loosed that burning blade at the crow, and the blazing blade chased the crow. In fear of you all the gods forsook the crow; roaming the three worlds, it could find no protector.”

Hanuman said: “Tamer of foes, at last it came and fell before you again at Chitrakuta. Kakutstha, protector of those who seek refuge, you spared even that crow, fit to be killed, fallen to the ground and come for refuge; but the weapon could not be made vain, so you put out only the crow’s right eye. Rama, the crow saluted you and King Dasharatha, and, released by you, went back to its own place.”

Hanuman told Sita’s piteous lament, that Sita had said to him: “Being thus the best of masters of weapons, brave and of good conduct, why do you not loose your weapons against the demons? Raghava, neither danavas nor gandharvas nor asuras nor Maruts can stand before you in battle. Rama, if you have any regard for me, kill Ravana quickly in battle with your sharp arrows. Or why does Lakshmana, scorcher of foes, who knows his brother’s command, not free me? Those two tigers among men, brilliant as the wind and fire, hard for the gods themselves to bear, why do they neglect me? Surely some great sin of mine keeps those two scorchers of foes, able and near, from protecting me.”

Hanuman said: “Hearing Sita’s piteous, well-spoken words, I said to the noble lady: ‘Queen, I swear by the truth that Rama has turned wholly away from all else in the grief of your loss; and when Rama is overcome with sorrow, Lakshmana too suffers. You have somehow been found, so now is no time to grieve. Fair lady, this very hour you will see the end of your sorrows.’”

Hanuman told the reassurance he gave: “‘Those two tigers among men, the princes, roused to see you, will burn Lanka; killing the fierce Ravana with his kinsmen in battle, fair lady, Raghava will surely take you to his city. Blameless one, give some token that Rama will know at once and that will give him joy.’ Then, looking to the four quarters, she loosed this fine crest-jewel from the end of her garment and gave it to me, mighty one. Taking the jewel in my hand to give to you, dear one of Raghu, I bowed my head to her and made ready to return.”

Hanuman went on: “Seeing me ready to go and swelling my body, Janaka’s daughter Sita, her face full of tears, in a voice choked with weeping, troubled at the thought of my leap and struck by the rush of grief, said: ‘Great monkey, you are fortunate, who will see the long-armed, lotus-eyed Rama and my glorious brother-in-law, the long-armed Lakshmana.’ At her words I said to Maithili: ‘Queen, daughter of Janaka, climb quickly onto my back; this very day I will show you your husband Raghava with Sugriva and Lakshmana, dark-eyed and greatly blessed one.’”

“Then the queen said to me: ‘Great monkey, that I should climb your back while I am still my own mistress, this is not righteousness, best of monkeys. Hero, before, when the demon carried me off from Janasthana, he touched my limbs; then, pressed by fate, I was helpless, what could I do? Best of monkeys, go where those two princes are.’ So saying, Sita gave her message again: ‘Hanuman, ask after the welfare of those two lion-like ones, Rama and Lakshmana, and of Sugriva with his chiefs, and of all, on my behalf. And bring it about that the long-armed Raghava may take me across this binding flood of sorrow.’”

Hanuman said: “King, that noble Sita, her mind composed, spoke this word to you in sorrow, and told too of her being reviled by these demons. Best of monkey heroes, knowing this truly, go to Rama and say this to him; and may your journey be blessed. Take this my word, and know Sita, best of all virtuous women, to be safe.”

A key to understanding (the idea): The crow at Chitrakuta is not only a memory; it is a token of recognition, a private event that only Rama and Sita know. By it Rama is made certain that the message is truly Sita’s. It also shows both Rama’s mastery of the Brahmastra and his tenderness to those who seek refuge: a mere blade of grass can become the Brahmastra, and yet, for one come for refuge, he gives up only a single eye and spares the life.

The gist: Hanuman tells the crow episode at Chitrakuta in full, by which Rama is convinced of the truth of Sita’s message. Out of chastity Sita refused to climb Hanuman’s back and wished that Rama himself should come to free her. Hanuman assured her that Rama and Lakshmana would come soon.

Sita’s doubt, the sea-crossing, and Hanuman’s last reassurance

Hanuman said to Rama: “Then the queen, in her distress, said one more thing to me; tiger among men, honoring me for your love and goodwill, she spoke this further word: ‘Beg Rama in every way that he kill Ravana quickly in battle and win me back. Or, hero, tamer of foes, if you think it right, rest one day in some hidden place and go tomorrow. Monkey, your nearness would, for a few moments, free my poor luckless self from this ripening of sorrow.’”

Hanuman told Sita’s doubt again: “‘Bold one, once you have gone back, my very life is in doubt, no question of it. The grief of not seeing you will torment me the more, fallen as I am from one sorrow into another, wretched and heir to sorrow. And, hero, lord of monkeys, this great doubt stands before me: how will your helpers, the monkeys and bears, or those two best of men, cross this ocean so hard to cross? Only three have the power to leap this sea: Garuda son of Vinata, the Wind, or you, sinless one.’”

Sita said on: “‘Hero, if the accomplishing of this task is so hard to pass, what remedy do you see? Tell me, best of those who know their work. Though you alone are able to accomplish it, slayer of enemy heroes, this show of your strength will only increase your own glory. If victorious Rama, killing Ravana with his whole army, takes me to his city, that would bring him glory. As that brave demon carried me off from Janasthana by trickery, in Rama’s absence and for fear of him, so let Raghava not take me. If, throwing Lanka into turmoil by force, Kakutstha the destroyer of hostile strength takes me to Ayodhya, that will be worthy of him. So arrange things such that the prowess befitting that war-brave great soul may show itself.’”

Hanuman said to Rama: “Hearing this word of Sita, full of meaning, humble, and reasoned, I gave this last answer: ‘Queen, Sugriva, lord of the armies of monkeys and bears, best of the leaping folk and full of courage, is firmly resolved for your sake. Under his command stand monkeys mighty in valor, full of courage, swifter than the resolve of the mind, of boundless fire, whose course is checked nowhere above or below or across, and who do not fail in the hardest of hard tasks. Those mighty, greatly blessed monkeys, following the path of the wind, have circled the earth many times.’”

Hanuman told the word he had spoken to Sita: “‘In Kishkindha there are monkeys better than I and my equals; there is none in Sugriva’s following lower than I. I have come all this way; how much more easily then will those mighty ones come. The great are never sent as messengers; only the lesser are sent. So, queen, let your anguish cease now; let your grief depart. In a single leap the monkey chiefs will reach Lanka. Mounted on my back, those two lions among men, like the sun and moon risen in the sky, will come to you, greatly blessed one.’”

Hanuman gave the last of his reassurance: “‘You will soon see Raghava, lion-like slayer of foes, and the archer Lakshmana come to the gate of Lanka. You will see gathered monkeys armed with nail and tooth, mighty as lions and tigers, huge as lordly elephants. Soon you will hear on the peaks of Trikuta the roar of those monkey chiefs, like mountains and clouds. And with the exile over, you will soon see Raghava crowned with you in Ayodhya.’ Then with words of good omen I gladdened the undaunted Sita; and though sorely pained by great grief for you, Maithili found peace with me.”

A key to understanding (the idea): Sita’s one worry returns again and again: how will the monkey army and Rama and Lakshmana cross so vast a sea? She also says firmly that her rescue should come by Rama’s prowess, and not by fleeing on Hanuman’s back; for that would lessen Rama’s glory, and to carry her off by stealth would be a deed like Ravana’s. Hanuman’s last reassurance answers that doubt by naming the extraordinary powers of the monkey army.

The gist: Sita opens her deep doubt, how will the monkeys and Rama and Lakshmana leap so vast a sea, and wishes that her rescue come by Rama’s own prowess. Hanuman describes the wondrous strength of the monkey army and assures her that they will reach Lanka in a single leap and that Rama and Lakshmana will soon appear at Lanka’s gate; and Sita is comforted.

Source: Srimad Valmiki Ramayana, Sundarakanda, Cantos 41-68 (Gita Press, Gorakhpur).