Like the radiant jasmine and blue lotus, both are supremely strong, abodes of wisdom, resplendent and adorned, wielders of mighty bows, praised by the Vedas, beloved of cows and Brahmins. Though they wear the form of men by the power of illusion, these scions of Raghu are clad in the armor of righteousness, intent on the search for Sita, walking the path, bestowers of devotion—may these two grant us their grace.

Born from the ocean of Brahman, destroyer of the impurities of the age, imperishable, ever shining in the beautiful faces of Shiva and Parvati, always resplendent. The remedy for the disease of worldly existence, giver of happiness, the very life of Janaki—blessed are those fortunate souls who ever drink the nectar of Rama’s name.

Knowing that liberation is found on earth, the mine of wisdom, destroyer of sin—where Shiva and Bhavani dwell, why would one not serve that Kashi?

He who drank the dreadful poison that burned all the hosts of gods—if you, my slow-witted mind, do not worship such a gracious one as Shankara, who else will you worship?

Once more, Rama moved onward, drawing near to the mountain Rishyamuka. There, with his ministers, Sugriva dwelt. Seeing the two brothers approach, the mighty Hanuman, peerless in strength, became anxious.

Greatly afraid, he said to Sugriva, “Listen! These two men, radiant and strong, are coming. Take the form of a Brahmin boy, go and see who they are. Speak with them, and by their words, discern their purpose.”

“If they are sent by Bali, their hearts will be impure. I will flee at once and leave this mountain.”

So, taking the form of a Brahmin, Hanuman went there, bowed his head, and asked:

“Who are you, with dark and fair complexions, wandering in the forest in the guise of warriors? Your feet are soft, yet you walk this harsh ground—what brings you, O lords, to these woods?

Your forms are gentle, beautiful, and charming, yet you bear the heat and hardship of the forest. Are you among the three gods, or are you both Narayana incarnate?”

“Are you the cause of the world, its savior, destroyer of sorrow, bearer of the earth’s burden? Are you the all-wise lord of all realms, descended in human form?”

“We are the sons of Dasharatha, king of Kosala. Obeying our father’s word, we have come to the forest. Our names are Rama and Lakshmana, two brothers, accompanied by Sita, gentle and lovely.

Here, a demon has stolen Sita away. We wander, searching for her. We have told you our story—now, O Brahmin, tell us yours, so we may understand.”

Recognizing the Lord, Hanuman fell at his feet, overcome with joy—a bliss beyond words, even Uma could not describe it.

His body trembled with delight, his voice failed, as he gazed upon the beautiful forms before him. Regaining composure, he offered praise, his heart rejoicing, for he had found his Lord.

“O Lord, you ask