Through the resplendent glow of faith and the radiance of his unwavering devotion, Hanuman soared towards the sacred groves of Aśoka. His heart swelled with divine fervor, certain that within the heart of this celestial garden, he would behold the august presence of Sita.
Bound by a force beyond mortal reckoning, he leaped from the towering wall into the sacred enclosure, where every leaf whispered secrets of the heavens. A boundless joy coursed through him, for the very air trembled with the unseen touch of divinity. Spring, the eternal harbinger of splendor, had adorned the lofty trees with clusters of vivid blossoms, their hues a banquet to the eye. The emerald foliage murmured a gentle melody, harmonizing with the zephyr that drifted like an unbidden song.
The rustling leaves, embracing each other in the embrace of the wind, bore the hushed murmurs of children confiding beneath a silken canopy. The Arjuna trees, bedecked in full bloom, stood as kinsmen in joyous welcome, while the golden-canopied Ponna trees, their fragrance reigning over the grove, seemed sentinels of caution, whispering of unseen perils lurking in the verdant depths. Mango trees, garlanded with buds, blossoms, and tender pods, stood enraptured, their fragrant bounty humming with the symphony of swarming bees. The music of their wings mingled with the far-off cadence of waves breaking upon the distant shore—a melody beyond the grasp of the crude, watchful rakshasas.
Creepers, draped in emerald raiment and crowned with fragrant blooms, wove themselves into the verdant tapestry of the grove. Swift as an arrow loosed from a celestial bow, the son of Vāyu coursed through the thickening woods, where the dense canopy of mango trees unfurled above him like the divine parasol of the gods.
Spring, the season of rejoicing, had cast its enchantment upon all beings. The birds, resplendent in their plumage, soared with unbridled joy, their songs reverberating through the garden in a chorus of celestial rapture. Amongst this living paradise, trees of gold and silver gleamed with an ethereal glow, their vines entwined with gemstones that glittered like the stars above. Deer and hares, leaping in untamed merriment, bore testament to the sanctity of this place—a realm consecrated by the presence of Janaka’s peerless daughter.
The trees, a living mosaic of myriad hues, cast an iridescent aura like a celestial rainbow. The land itself shimmered, as though bathed in the tender rays of dawn. The koels, their voices piercing the air, called in exultation, their song echoed by countless winged minstrels in harmonious reply. Life pulsed through every branch, every leaf, and every bloom, as though the grove itself breathed with a sentient vibrance.
Hanuman’s keen gaze swept across the myriad groves, the myriad alcoves, the myriad shadows. Everywhere, peacocks danced in a flurry of color, their resplendent tails unfurling in jubilant display, while peahens darted between the foliage in restless movement. His mind, ever faithful to Rāma’s command, retraced the descriptions of Sita as given by the prince of Ayodhya, his heart yearning to behold her within these sacred boughs.
Perched upon their branches, the birds, startled by the presence of an unfamiliar form, fluttered in chaotic bursts, their wings shaking loose a cascade of blossoms. In their descent, the petals adorned Hanuman like a living garland, as though the very grove had crowned him with celestial homage. Moving through the trees, his swift passage left in its wake a trembling hush, as if Vasanta himself had graced the garden to revel in its divine beauty.
A riot of blossoms, hues mingling in harmonious contrast, adorned the ground as though an ethereal maiden had draped herself in the finery of nature. Though he had assumed a smaller form, his sheer vigor sent tremors through the trees, causing showers of fruits and flowers to fall in bounteous surrender. Tender leaves, torn from their lofty perches, drifted down in homage to the son of Vayu, while some trees, stripped of their glory, stood bereft—like gamblers who had wagered all and lost, staring into the abyss of fortune’s caprice. Even the mighty trees, unshaken by storm or time, yielded their riches at his swiftness, their boughs bending in reverence, their fruits offered as though to a celestial guest.
The birds, their instincts attuned to the natural order, fled from their perches, sensing the presence of one unknown—a tempest in mortal guise. Some trees, crushed beneath his passage, lay broken, their fallen branches telling a tale of a maiden long traveled, wearied from her journey across rivers and seas, now resting, spent and awaiting solace.
As Hanuman moved forward, parting the dense weave of flowering creepers, the scene before him unfolded like a vista revealed by the dispersing clouds atop the Vindhya mountains. Here, the path was laid with gemstones, bordered with gold, gleaming with the hand of celestial artistry. Wells of varying shapes and sizes adorned the landscape, their waters shimmering like liquid crystal beneath the caress of the gentle breeze. Steps of silver, studded with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, descended into these sacred waters, while dunes of pearls and corals gleamed under the watchful sky.
Golden trees lined the banks, their argent creepers sparkling like strands of woven moonlight. The boughs, bathed in gentle radiance, seemed as tender as the first rays of dawn, as serene as the full moon’s embrace. In the crystal waters of the lotus-laden ponds, swans, ruddy shelducks, and sarus cranes reveled in joyous abandon, their melodies weaving a spellbinding symphony that resonated through leaf, branch, blossom, and fruit alike.
Beyond the shimmering expanse, Hanuman beheld an ethereal mount, a peak crowned with beauty unparalleled, surrounded by verdant knolls ablaze with the hues of spring. Caves, wreathed in flowering vines, stood in secretive invitation, their interiors concealed by cascading tendrils heavy with ripened fruit. Hanuman, his keen insight piercing through the natural allure, discerned the hand of Ravana in this creation—this mount, this garden, this illusion of paradise wrought by demonic cunning and the fruits of dark austerities.
A rivulet, descending from the heights, wound its way through the grove, only to curve back towards its source, like a forsaken maiden, spurned by her beloved, retreating in sorrow, only to be coaxed back by the pleas of her kin.
Surveying further, the mighty son of Vayu espied a vast lake, its surface aglow with rippling light, where birds gathered in ceaseless murmur and song. A well, its waters cool and clear, stood encircled by golden parapets, its steps adorned with pearls and fortifications of gold.
The garden flourished in all its celestial splendor—palaces adorned with the craftsmanship of Viśvakarmā, golden thrones resting beneath grand trees, jeweled paths winding through the verdant maze. A grove of rosewood, crowned by a singular golden tree, rose in majestic repose, its canopy entwined with vines heavy with blossoms and gems.
In this sacred space, Hanuman beheld the soft splendor of dawn upon the horizon. Climbing an Arjuna tree, its branches weighed with crimson blooms and tender leaves, he settled upon a bough, his mind resolute in purpose.
Here, surely, Sita must be.
Would she not seek solace in nature’s embrace, as she had done in the forests of Daṇḍakāraṇya? Would she not tread these paths, her heart yearning for news of her beloved Rāma?
Janaka’s daughter, a beacon of purity, had tamed the creatures of the wild in her time beside her lord. Surely, she would be drawn to this grove of peace, to these sacred waters where offerings might be made in silent prayer.
Here, in the heart of this divine haven, Hanuman, the steadfast warrior, waited. His spirit, unshaken, pulsed with unwavering faith.
For where life and light abound, there too must reside the presence of Sita.
