In the bright stillness after Ravana’s fall, the skies echoed with the murmurs of the devas, rishis, gandharvas, danavas, and hosts beyond name. They did not gather in wonder to weigh Rama’s strength—for who could doubt that might which drew the bow of Shiva and walked the path of dharma with unswerving grace? Nay, their awe rested in the workings of destiny, in the unshakeable blessings of Brahma, the creator, whose hand wove together men and monkeys and gods for one great unraveling of evil.
Once oppressed and disturbed by the cruel hosts nurtured by Visravasu’s son, the beings of heaven now stood fearless in their realms, their hearts lifted with a hope that walked beside dignity. They spoke with reverence of Rama’s courage, of the vanaras who fought like lions, of Sugreeva whose mind cut through chaos, of Lakshmana’s loyalty that burned like a lamp in a storm, of Sita whose virtue stood taller than any tower, and of Hanuman, the fire-hearted one, whose devotion wrote legends in the air. They recalled how the vanara warriors upheld the sacred laws of war, blending wrath with restraint, fury with fairness, and thus paved the way for Rama a path not merely of conquest but of righteousness, burying Ravana not merely in the dust but in dishonor.
They whispered among themselves—had there ever been such a war? Could there ever be another where each moment on either side was a knot of fate, complex, fateful, and hard-earned? Their voices, a reflection of the three worlds, confirmed that balance had been restored. Then, with joy swelling to fullness, they departed to their celestial homes.
Rama, whose sinews bore the weight of the world’s hopes, turned to Matali, the divine charioteer, and with folded hands offered him words of gratitude—gratitude to the chariot, to the steeds, to the weapons that served well, to Indra who sent help in the hour of need. Matali, with gentle reverence, sought leave, and taking the blessings of Rama and the host of heroes, returned to the realm of the gods.
Then Rama, son of Dasaratha, the breath of virtue made flesh, drew near to Sugreeva and embraced him with warmth. Greeted by Lakshmana and the noble simians, he returned to the camp. There, turning to Lakshmana, he said, “O son of Sumitra, let the devoted and righteous Vibhishana be crowned king of Lanka. I desire to see this son of Lanka, who upheld dharma even among adharma, on the throne of his land.”
At Rama’s word, Lakshmana lifted the golden urn and instructed the vanaras to bring water of the ocean. With well-wishers and neutral souls, he placed Vibhishana upon the throne, performed the rites in sacred Vedic order, and anointed him before the demon legions, proclaiming Rama’s will. The winds carried the cry— “Hail Vibhishana! Victory to the king! Gratitude to Rama!” Four colossal demon guards stood by the new sovereign and offered their homage to Rama and Lakshmana.
Rama’s heart was at rest, seeing his vow fulfilled.
Vibhishana, now seated upon the throne, raised his voice in solemn joy and said, “Let there be peace. Let virtue replace cruelty. This shall be my offering to Rama, to whom I owe all. Let the five elements bear witness to my word.”
The citizens and learned ones of Lanka came bearing gifts of honey, turmeric rice, curd, sandalwood, and blossoms—tokens of their loyalty. Vibhishana accepted all and placed them at Rama’s feet, who received them with ancient reverence, as a true kshatriya would.
Then Rama turned his moon-bright gaze to Hanuman, the calm pillar of might, and said, “O gentle and wise one, go now with the king’s permission, and tell Sita of our well-being. Let her know of Sugreeva’s safety, Lakshmana’s health, and that Ravana now walks the halls of Yama. Tell her this joy, and bring her word to me.”
With grace and faith, Hanuman sought Vibhishana’s permission and entered Lanka, where the Ashoka grove lay still in silence. There, beneath a sorrow-withered tree, sat Sita, pale as the trembling Rohini, guarded by fierce demonesses. Hanuman approached with folded hands and bowed head. At first, she did not stir, but then her eyes caught the form she knew, and her face blossomed with a smile of recognition and hope.
Reading her heart, Hanuman began: “Devi, Rama lives. He is safe, with Sugreeva, Lakshmana, and Vibhishana by his side. The mighty Ravana has fallen. Lanka has passed to the hands of virtue. All this he bade me tell you. His vow was for you. His battle was for you. And by your grace, he has conquered. Let your sorrow now fall away. You are no longer in Ravana’s palace—you are in your own realm. The king Vibhishana himself awaits your word to come and honour you.”
Sita, filled with joy and struck speechless, remained still. Then Hanuman, in a voice soft and respectful, asked, “O Devi, why do you not speak?”
She replied with a voice choked in joy, “O Hanuman, your words bring a joy so deep, my speech abandoned me for a moment. What can I give you in return? No gem, no jewel, no treasure can match this service. Your words are more than gold, more than heaven.”
Hanuman, bowing deeply, said, “Devi, your words are an ocean of worth. You think of your husband’s safety and honour with a heart flawless. Your praise is treasure beyond measure, greater even than lordship of the heavens. I have seen Rama’s victory and his joy—that is reward enough.”
Sita, smiling, answered, “O noble son of Vayu, you are the true messenger—gentle in tone, skilled in speech, a listener with keen understanding. You remember well, speak plainly, separate truth from excess, and judge rightly. You hold strength and science, patience and courage, brilliance and humility. These dwell within you as stars in the sky.”
Then Hanuman, thoughtful, glanced at the demoness guard and said, “Devi, these beings tormented you. With your leave, I shall crush them. Their cruel forms and vicious hearts deserve no mercy. Let me punish them as they deserve.”
But Sita, true to her boundless grace, said gently, “No, O Hanuman. These women obeyed their king. They are not free. Anger towards them is misplaced. Does the wise man blame the servant for the master’s crime? It was my fate, my past karma, that placed me in this suffering. Let them go. The king who ordered their cruelty is no more. They, too, shall change.”
She paused and added, “Even to enemies, a noble soul must show mercy. None in this world is without fault. Even those sunk in sin deserve compassion. What is dharma if not kindness in the face of grief?”
Hanuman, awed, replied, “O Devi, you are Rama’s true mirror. You are both born of the same divine thread.” He bowed and asked, “Please, grant me your message to carry to your lord.”
Sita said, “Take me to him. Let my eyes find him again.” Hanuman, beaming like the morning sun, said, “Soon you shall see Rama, like Sachi meets Indra, surrounded by those who love him.”
Thus spoke the son of Vayu, and with Sita’s blessing, returned to Rama with her message, every word soaked in love, dharma, and hope. Between the words they spoke and the truths they upheld, the exchange of Hanuman and Sita became a scripture for all ages—a light to guide the soul in times of darkness and despair.
