Hanuman, the wise and valiant, having slipped into the palace of the mighty demon king Ravana, beheld with keen eyes the grandeur that lay before him. Vast were the halls, resplendent with opulence, each chamber vying with the other in magnificence. As his gaze swept across the splendour, he mused—where lay the harem, the private chambers of the monarch? Surely, that would be the most fitting place to commence his search.
Lifting his eyes, he marvelled at the craftsmanship of the palace, where the very heavens seemed to unveil themselves above. The moon, radiant in its fullness, cast forth cool and silken beams, drenching the night in a serene glow. Encircled by stars, it resembled a mighty bull amidst a herd of gentle cows. Hanuman, pleased at the sight, silently entreated the moon to extend its comfort not merely to his body but to his spirit, granting him the clarity and resolve to fulfil his sacred mission.
The moon’s ethereal rays, imbued with celestial vigour, cleansed the mind and dispelled the weight of worldly sorrow. Every living being upon the vast earth felt its influence—the great ocean, at the mere sight of its luminescence, swayed in joyous tides, an echo of divine rhythm. All of nature, in some secret manner, revelled under its grace. And upon the peaks of snow-clad mountains, where the goddess Lakshmi took her serene abode, her presence danced upon the ocean waves, her birthplace. In subtle essence, she caressed the lotus, while in celestial kinship, she shared her radiance with her brother, the moon, who endowed her with beauty, grace, and the power to bestow fortune.
The moon itself seemed a silver swan caged within the night’s embrace, a lion resting in the sacred caves of Mount Mandara, a gallant warrior astride a majestic war elephant. It gleamed with an aura of faith, confidence, and unfaltering determination. In its complete fullness, it took the form of a mighty ox, its horns sharp and formidable. From another view, it was as if a royal elephant, clad in gold upon its limbs and head, stood in solemn majesty. And yet again, from a different angle, it loomed like a towering mountain of snow. As it ascended the heavens, free from the shrouds of mist, the moon’s reflected rays washed away darkness, preparing a celestial throne for Lakshmi. In her presence, the moon became the very emblem of prosperity, fertility, and fortune, bearing upon its surface the sacred hare, a universal symbol of abundance and auspicious growth.
This was a sight worthy of reverence, one that every being, mortal and divine, beheld in silent homage. And when the moon reached its zenith, it stood like a lion upon a proud mountain peak, like an elephant striding victorious across the battlefield, like a sovereign who had conquered vast dominions. In its unwavering duty, it took charge of the night, assuming its sacred post as the sun descended into the western realm.
Meanwhile, within the palace, the night unfolded its enchantments. In the wilderness, demons feasted to their fill, while within the halls, women adorned in the finest attire, draped in ornaments and sweet fragrances, indulged in revelry, their voices lilting with laughter, their senses swayed by wine. Those who had borne the harsh tempers and impatience of their men in daylight now cast away their woes, losing themselves in the sweet embrace of the night’s mirth. The soothing melodies of the veena rose in the air, and soon, men and women alike were swept into the rhythm of music, their spirits intoxicated, their feet eager to dance, to sing, to leap in ecstasy.
Even those known for their ferocity melted into gentler moods, lost in the rapture of song and wine. Yet, in their revels, they did not forsake propriety; they clasped hands and embraced within the bounds of honour. As Hanuman moved through the grand palace, he beheld mighty warriors in moments of leisure, their towering figures at ease. Countless steeds and war elephants roamed freely, while splendidly wrought chariots stood in perfect order, as if all the wealth of the earth had gathered in this resplendent kingdom.
Some demon warriors displayed their prowess, flexing their sinewy forms, while others twanged their bows in restful contests. Some engaged in acrobatics that defied mortal ability, while others, through the art of transformation, became lions, rabbits, eagles, and fishes, even assuming the guise of trees and mountains. Witnessing these extraordinary feats, Hanuman thought with measured resolve—should war be waged upon this formidable race, his brethren must prepare with wisdom, for the demons, endowed with fearsome power, were not foes to be taken lightly.
As he ventured further, the temple halls echoed with the trumpeting of elephants, their voices rising like the chants of ancient Vedic hymns. Among them stood revered scholars, engaged in sacred rites, guarded by sentinels whose breaths hissed like coiled serpents. Within the grand halls, he beheld demons of intellect and refinement, their demeanour akin to sages and learned disciples. Their names bore a fitting grace, mirroring their nature, and their presence exuded dignity and a glow of inner wisdom.
And then, among the palace’s myriad wonders, Hanuman’s eyes fell upon the women of Ravana’s court—creatures of surpassing beauty and enchantment. Their presence was captivating; their forms, delicate and graceful, shone like celestial bodies in the night sky. Some, coy and tender, nestled in the embrace of their companions, listening to the murmured words of intoxicated affection. Their bonds, built upon devotion, struck a chord within Hanuman’s heart, shifting his perception of the demon world. Indeed, virtue could thrive even in the most unexpected places, where the spirit of love and loyalty was upheld.
There were those of slender frame and fair complexion, half-clad in playful allure; others, dark-skinned and statuesque, exuded an irresistible charm. Beauty, he realized, was not confined to any singular form—it manifested in myriad ways, defying the rough nature of their kind. Their faces bore expressions of peace, contentment, and desire, sculpted by the unseen hand of nature’s design.
He pressed onward, entering a vast hall, where he saw women with moon-like faces, reclining in half-slumber. Among them were full-figured maidens, radiant in their splendour, adorned with little more than the essence of their allure. Yet, for all the pleasures of the night, Hanuman’s heart was burdened. Nowhere in this palace of opulence had he found the one he sought—the virtuous, tender, and noble daughter of Janaka, the radiant Sita. She, the embodiment of ancient virtues, steadfast in her purity, the very soul of Rama’s spirit and devotion, remained unseen.
In his mind’s eye, he envisioned her sorrow—her neck, once adorned with gems of immeasurable worth, now bare, weighed down by grief. Her eyes, brimming with tears, ever searched for her lord, her voice, even in silence, echoing his name. Like a peacock bereft of its dance, wandering forlorn in a desolate forest, she dwelled in sorrow, veiled in suffering. Sita was as the crescent moon, obscured by grief; a golden thread, tarnished by the dust of despair; a scattered cloud, battered by the winds of sorrow.
And yet, she remained unfound.
Hanuman, though momentarily disheartened, was not one to succumb to despair. The weight of his mission bore upon him, yet his resolve, shaped by courage and divine purpose, remained unshaken. His was the duty of one who carried the will of the cosmos, whose heart, fearless and devoted, would not rest until righteousness was restored. His search was far from over—his mission, boundless as the heavens, would not falter.
