Amidst the towering ramparts and veiled recesses of Lanka’s palaces, the son of Vayu coursed with the swiftness of the tempest, his form a fleeting flash among the somber clouds. No corner escaped his keen survey, yet his search yielded naught but the shrouds of uncertainty, casting his mind into a storm of doubt and despair.
For logic, when ensnared by the tendrils of gloom, weaves a tapestry of falsehood, a mirage of woes unfounded. Thus, Hanuman, the mighty son of the wind, found himself entangled in a web of sorrowful musings. How did Sita, the pure-hearted daughter of Janaka, fall into the clutches of the ten-headed tyrant?
Have I scoured every chamber of his palace, only to be misled by shadows? Across the expanse of Lanka, through ocean waves and placid lakes, through winding rivers and hidden wells, have I searched in vain? Sampati, the wise king of birds, had sworn upon the heavens that Sita yet lived in this accursed land—yet she remained unseen.
Could it be that, in the demon’s frantic flight, the gentle queen of Mithila had slipped from his chariot, her life snuffed out midair? Or had she, in her desperate struggle, plummeted into the ocean’s abyss? Perhaps the cruel hands of fate had delivered her to the wrath of Ravana’s jealous queens, who, envious of her divine radiance, had concealed her from sight.
O hapless lady, lost amidst the horde of demonesses! Have you swooned, exhausted by grief, calling upon Rama in vain? If she weeps, if her sorrowful cries rend the night air, how shall I hear them, drowned beneath the roar of the surging ocean, the howling tempest, and the groan of trees clashing in the restless wind?
Thus, his mind wove a chain of ill-fated possibilities, grief feeding upon grief. If Sita were lost, if she languished unseen in some obscure corner of this forsaken city—or worse, if some cruel fate had befallen her—such tidings should never reach Rama! For the prince of Ayodhya, bereft of hope, would not endure even a moment longer upon this mortal plane. And yet, if I withhold the truth, do I not betray my duty?
Caught between truth and disaster, the son of Vayu found himself at a fateful crossroads. If I return to Kishkindha without Sita’s whereabouts, my journey across the ocean, my perilous venture into the demon’s stronghold—all shall be rendered fruitless. My failure will cast a shadow upon Rama, Lakshmana, and Sugreeva, plunging them into a grief beyond measure. The spirits of the vanara host shall wane, and the very foundation of our alliance shall crumble.
A single word of failure could unravel the mighty saga of his deeds. Should he remain in Lanka, bound by a vow of ceaseless search, until Sita be found? There existed other paths, but none that upheld the ancient dharma. No course remained save one—to persist in his quest, to scour every inch of this land until the noble queen was found!
Amidst his brooding despair, his keen eyes fell upon an expanse of thick Asoka groves, veiled in mystery, a realm yet unexplored. Here! This place, overlooked, holds promise. Taking a steady breath, he closed his eyes, surrendering his spirit in solemn prayer. To the celestial Vasus, the fierce Rudras, the swift Aswins, the Maruts who command the storm—he entreated their blessings, invoking their might to guide his mission to triumph.
With unwavering resolve, he murmured to himself, My entry into this grove shall herald the doom of the demon race! Though wearied in body, his soul burned bright with purpose. He bowed in reverence, seeking the grace of Rama, Lakshmana, Sita, and the deities who governed the heavens—Shiva, Indra, Yama, Chandra, Surya, Vayu, and the myriad spirits of righteousness. Circling in devotion, he sought their benediction before venturing forth.
With measured steps and a steadfast heart, the son of Vayu entered the Asoka forest. An air of sacred stillness greeted him, as though nature itself whispered secrets yet unseen. Ferocious rakshasis, armed with tridents and cruel maces, loomed ahead, yet Hanuman’s spirit remained undeterred. The very breeze seemed to bow in reverence, its gentleness a sign that Vayu, his celestial father, restrained his force so as not to disturb the chaste daughter of Janaka.
Now, to fulfill Sugreeva’s command and bring Rama the tidings of his beloved, he must diminish his form, slipping unseen past the watchful eyes of the demoness horde. Let the sages, the rishis, and the spirits of dharma bless my endeavor! he prayed. Let Brahma grant me fulfillment, Yama guide me in duty, Agni lend me brilliance, Indra bestow wisdom, and Varuna sustain my strength! May the Sun and Moon illuminate my path, and the Maruts scatter the shadows of doubt. Let Mahadeva himself stand beside me, granting me unshaken resolve.
When shall my eyes be graced by the sight of the lotus-faced queen, the one of flawless radiance and celestial grace? That vile demon, a transgressor of all righteousness, has stolen her away without cause—does she languish in fear, her heart burdened with despair?
Yet even amidst the tempest of emotion, the blessings of the gods surged within him, fortifying his spirit. Step by step, he advanced, unknowing that he now stood upon the precipice of destiny, the threshold of triumph.
The cosmos itself stood witness to the unfolding of fate. A mission fraught with peril, a journey through the chasm of despair and the dawn of revelation—each moment charged with divine will. The will of the gods, the rhythms of nature, the tides of fortune, and the unshakable spirit of Hanuman converged in a grand design beyond mortal reckoning.
For only a heart as boundless as Hanuman’s could weather the storm of fate and rise triumphant—for the restoration of dharma, the fulfillment of a vow, and the balance of the cosmic order.
