Like clusters of fully bloomed lotuses unfolding upon tranquil waters, the moonlight tenderly graced the heavens. As a regal swan glides upon crystalline blue depths, so did the moon ascend the vast expanse of the night sky. The cool, silken glow spread across the land, as though offering solace to the son of Vayu in his arduous quest.
From his concealed vantage, Hanuman beheld Sita—her grief weighing upon her like a mighty ship sinking into fathomless depths. With unwavering focus, he extended his gaze, keenly observing the marks of her captivity and the perils that enshrouded her. Around her loomed ghastly forms—demonic creatures of fearsome aspect and unnatural shapes. One bore a single, unblinking eye upon its forehead, another had ears vast as umbrellas, attuned to the slightest rustling of leaves. A grotesque being with a nose stretching beyond its brow could trace the faintest scent, while another, with a head greater than an elephant’s, possessed an uncanny memory and sharp comprehension. A demoness, wild-haired and menacing, glared with fury, while others stood in startling contrast—some squat yet broad, others towering yet gaunt. Their eyes gleamed, some like emerald serpents, others like voracious maws gaping to consume all in their reach. A sight so dreadful, even a fleeting glance might haunt the mind as a nightmare.
Yet Hanuman did not waver. Before revealing himself to Janaka’s noble daughter, he resolved to survey every corner of the accursed place. His eyes fell upon monstrous warriors clad in hues of black, green, and brown, each exuding an air of defiance. They bore iron maces, tridents, bars, axes, and spiked clubs, ever ready to strike. Skilled in warfare, they remained ever watchful. Among them, some had the bodies of demonesses yet the faces of foxes, swine, elephants, camels, horses, buffaloes, or donkeys. Feet of varied forms—some like elephants, some like camels, some swift and agile despite having but a single limb—marked their unnatural gait. Fangs gleamed in the dim light, terrorizing all who beheld them. They indulged in feasts of flesh, drinking heady liquors that left them in a state of intoxicated revelry. Beneath the towering trunk of the ancient Arjuna tree, they pursued their pleasures, heedless of the sanctity of the one they guarded.
Hanuman, though unwavering in his might, could not help but be troubled by the sight of the noble Sita amid such horrors. The beacon of Mithila, the virtuous wife of Rama, seemed like a star fallen from the celestial sphere, bereft of its divine radiance. Stripped of her ornaments, she bore but one adornment—the name of Rama, whose brilliance outshone all jewels. Separated from her kin, she was as an elephant torn from its herd, as the crescent moon caught between storm and autumn’s clarity. Uncared for, her form seemed as a swan adrift in murky waters, a celestial harp with loosened strings.
The place of her imprisonment was unworthy of her grace. Only in Rama’s presence could her true splendor manifest. Enveloped by sorrow, she was as Rohini among cruel planets, her natural luster dimmed. Though her attire was worn and faded, though she had been stripped of finery, the innate brilliance of her purity could not be veiled. Grief had cast shadows upon her face, yet within her shone unwavering faith. She did not surrender to despair, for she knew the valor of her Rama. A chaste flame, her very essence repelled evil, her sanctity forming a shield unseen. Yet her heart trembled, her gaze darting like that of a frightened doe sensing unseen dangers.
Hanuman beheld her and was overcome with sacred emotion, his heart swelling with devotion and sorrow. Tears welled in his eyes, and in that moment of fervent ecstasy, he meditated upon Rama, praying for Sita’s deliverance. The first stage of his mission was fulfilled—Sita was found, alive and steadfast. Now, he sought the blessings of Rama and Lakshmana to complete his task with unfailing precision.
Concealed amidst the dense foliage, he bided his time, awaiting the perfect moment to present himself before Janaka’s noble daughter. Yet even as he hid, he observed with keen scrutiny the habits and temperaments of the demon horde that encircled her. His was a mission arduous and fated, yet destined for triumph. In the annals of the Ishvaku and Mithila dynasties, his name would be etched in glory—for none before him nor after could match his unwavering devotion, his boundless might, and the indomitable spirit that bound his fate with that of gods and mortals alike.
