Upon the lofty peak of Mount Lamba, where the restless ocean surges and the wandering mists weave veils within arm’s reach, stood Hanuman—the sagacious simian scholar. His heart, steadfast in devotion to Rama, burned with the fire of purpose, fortified by the blessings of his sovereign, Sugriva, the valiant son of Aditya. With resolve tempered by wisdom, he dared the perilous descent into Lanka, intent on achieving the impossible.
Mighty in form yet measured in thought, Hanuman, with meticulous deliberation, discerned the path to his goal. To traverse the demon city unnoticed, he assumed a minuscule guise, slipping past the watchful eyes of the fearsome sentinels who, under strict command, guarded Lanka with an impenetrable vigilance. No flaw, no laxity, no weakness marred their ranks—a fortress of unyielding discipline.
The ocean’s breath, a soothing whisper, renewed his strength with every passing moment. The city of Lanka, ensconced in the relentless symphony of the waves, pulsed with an aura of formidable vitality. The very air, steeped in sacred resonance, seemed to invigorate its denizens, rendering them formidable beyond measure. Towering warriors, wrought of sinew and steel, stood poised to annihilate any intruder in but an instant.
From afar, the edifices of Lanka resembled drifting autumn clouds. At its grand entrances, colossal elephants, adorned with royal embellishments, stood as living bastions of dominion. The gates, cast in gleaming silver, shimmered with celestial brilliance, while golden carvings graced their summits, guarded fiercely by serpent warriors—an opulence reminiscent of Bhogavati, the underworld kingdom of Vasuki himself.
Above, the heavens unfurled in soft glows, mingling their cool luminescence with the ocean breeze, enshrouding Lanka in a dreamlike splendour, akin to the divine Amaravati, the abode of Indra. The towering walls, adorned with golden inlays and adorned with strings of tinkling bells, sang melodies to the wind—a bewitching harmony to ensnare even the keenest of minds.
Yet, amid this dazzling grandeur, Hanuman pondered: How had such riches graced the hands of the wicked? How had nature bestowed such wealth upon those unworthy of its splendour? Surely, it was plundered, not earned. Ill-gotten fortune is but a fleeting shadow, bound to dissolve in the wake of divine justice. His arrival, under Rama’s grace, heralded the beginning of Lanka’s ruin.
Thus resolved, Hanuman moved towards the heart of the city, marvelling at the craftsmanship that adorned every dwelling. Gold and precious stones enshrined the thresholds, their steps carved from chrysoberyl—imbued with the power to bestow fortune and unyielding radiance. Corridors of crystal, encrusted with coral, gleamed in the moonlight, while courtyards, paved with diamonds and rubies, reflected the celestial glow of sun and moon alike. Golden elephants, astrologically aligned, stood in each palace’s embrace, their weighty forms a testament to Lanka’s celestial grandeur.
Within the city, vast ponds, teeming with swans, pelicans, and red-necked ducks, whispered melodies more profound than mortal speech. The ducks, in their endless chant, seemed to utter the sacred syllable—OM—an omen the demons held auspicious. To this, celestial minstrels, the Vidyadharas and Kimpurushas, lent their ethereal songs, singing the praises of Ravana, their devotion unwavering.
The splendor of Lanka, a masterpiece of Vishvakarma himself, filled Hanuman with awe. Its fortifications, bristling with arms, stood vigilant—unyielding, relentless. To storm this bastion by force would be folly, he mused. Only a handful among his kin—Angada, Kumuda, Sushena, Mainda, Dwivida—could stand with him in battle, yet even they would falter before Lanka’s might. Cunning, then, must be his weapon. He must decipher its secrets, find Sita, and deliver tidings to Rama. His duty lay clear before him.
As he pressed forward, Lanka unfolded before him like a celestial maiden, draped in silks of the finest weave, adorned with radiant ornaments—bangles, anklets, and diadems of gold and gems. Each house bore lamps, their light dancing upon jeweled walls, illuminating the city in an otherworldly radiance. A beauty beyond words—one to be beheld, not spoken of.
Yet, as he approached the inner sanctum, a sudden presence loomed—a monstrous force, a terrible warden of the night. Towering and fierce, her voice thundered:
“O wretched monkey! Who dares trespass upon Lanka’s hallowed ground? What madness drives you toward the seat of power? Speak now, before I crush the life from your feeble form! Know this—none breach these walls whilst I stand guard. I am Lankini, the unyielding sentinel. None pass me and live!”
Undeterred, Hanuman, with measured humility, replied, “O noble guardian, hear me. I come not as an enemy but as a traveler enraptured by the grandeur of this city. Its gardens, its ponds, its forests brimming with life—all call to me. I seek only to witness their splendor and depart as I came, through the path I entered.”
But Lankini’s wrath was unbending. “Foolish creature! No beast nor man sets foot within these walls save through battle. Defeat me, and the city is yours.”
Hanuman, ever mindful of strategy, sought not enmity but necessity. “O valiant one, I honour your duty. Yet, let me merely pass and gaze upon Lanka’s beauty.”
His words fell upon deaf ears. With a thunderous cry, Lankini struck him—a blow of immense force. But Hanuman, unshaken, in a mere flick of his strength, dealt her but a single strike upon her head. Like a tree felled by the storm, she collapsed, her power drained, her might undone.
Struck by awe and fear, Lankini rose, her arrogance tempered. “O noble warrior,” she murmured, “never before have I met such strength. Long ago, the divine Brahma foretold that when I fell to the hands of a vanara, the doom of Lanka would begin. And now, O mighty one, that hour has come. The ruin of the demon race is nigh, for the curse of the sacred bull Nandi lingers upon this land. Go forth, great Hanuman, with my blessing—seek the one you came for. The end of Ravana is sealed.”
With Lankini subdued, the gates of Lanka no longer barred his path. Nature itself seemed to yield before his presence. The demons, for all their might, could not halt fate’s decree. Hanuman, radiant in wisdom, strategy, and strength, walked forward—his mission poised upon the brink of destiny.
Thus, a new chapter unfolded in the grand design of the cosmos, where the balance of right and wrong stood on the cusp of restoration.
