Steadfast and noble, the son of Dasaratha sat beside Lakshmana, his eyes fixed on the ornament brought by Hanuman—a head jewel sent by Sita as a sign of her safety and remembrance. Rama received it with trembling hands, placed it gently upon his chest, and slipped into the depths of memory.
“This jewel,” he murmured, “makes my heart throb like a cow reunited with its calf after a painful separation. At the time of our wedding, the King of Mithila—my father-in-law—bestowed this upon Sita. Born of sacred waters, this jewel was once venerated by the virtuous and the wise. It was given to Janaka as a divine gift by Indra himself, pleased with the yajna he had performed.”
Turning to Sugreeva, Rama spoke with soft reverence, “O noble king, this ornament brings me the solace of seeing my father and the great Janaka once more. It once adorned the head of my beloved, radiant like moonlight upon a serene lake. Holding it now, I feel her presence near me. It comforts me, as cool water does when thirst burns the soul.”
Rama turned to Lakshmana, his voice tightening with longing. “Though Sita herself has not come, this sacred jewel, born of purity, offers some solace. O gentle brother, even if she lives only for a moment longer, that moment is eternity to me. I cannot bear life without her—not even for the blink of an eye.”
His tone shifted to resolve. “Take me, Lakshmana, to the place where Sita is. Now that we know where she is held, there is no wisdom in delay. How long can she endure, surrounded by the nightmarish shadows of Rakshasas? Yet we shall bring her back—out from that darkness, like the moon rising radiant from behind stormy clouds.”
Turning to Hanuman, he asked, “Tell me her words. I survive on them, as the sick live on medicine. Her gentle voice, her soft speech, her poised demeanour… how does she survive such torment, so far from me?”
Hanuman, the embodiment of loyalty and grace, bowed low and began his narration at Rama’s request:
“O best among men, to awaken your memory, Sita spoke of an event from Chitrakuta. As she rested upon your lap, a crow attacked her, pecking at her flesh and drawing blood. Repeatedly, it troubled her until, enraged, you transformed a blade of grass into an astra through mantra and hurled it at the crow.”
“The crow fled, seeking sanctuary with Brahma, with Vishnu, and even with Indra—but none could help. Indra, however, granted the crow divine insight: ‘None in the three worlds can save you but Rama himself.’ Thus, the crow surrendered at your feet, repenting for its offense. In your mercy, you spared its life, but to honour your astra, it lost an eye. The crow left in gratitude, offering thanks to you and King Dasaratha.”
Hanuman continued, his voice rising with devotion, “Your mastery in archery is unrivalled. No Naga, Gandharva, Asura, or Deva could match you. Why then do you wait to strike at Ravana and his hordes of demons? You are the terror of evil, the crown of the Raghu race, the mighty warrior of dharma! Even Lakshmana, as bold as fire and wind, could have destroyed Lanka by your command.”
Hanuman’s eyes grew wet as he recounted Sita’s words. “Her voice, choked with emotion, still echoes within me. ‘O Hanuman,’ she said, ‘tell my Rama that he will defeat Ravana and all the demons, and take me back with dignity to Ayodhya.’”
“She looked around in desperation, then untied her hair and handed me this head ornament—her token of memory. Bowing low, I took it with reverence and rose swiftly to return. As I grew into my mighty form, she called out, ‘Hanuman, speak of Rama and Lakshmana—those twin lions—and ask of their welfare. Send my blessings to Sugreeva and the vanaras who serve with him.’”
Then Hanuman concluded with unwavering truth, “O King of Kings, I have spoken only what I heard. Sita, though in grief, is alive. She awaits you. She believes in you.”
His heartfelt words stirred the hearts of the vanara warriors, setting them aflame with purpose. They stood ready to obey every command of Rama. A momentous event was at hand—one that would shape the destiny of worlds.
