Hanuman, having reached the boundless ocean—the sacred domain of Varuna—leapt into the sky with the swiftness of Garuda himself. The heavens through which he soared were alive with water-laden clouds, flocks of birds, the celestial teachers of the Kaiśika dance, and even the mighty Airavata. All around, the sky was adorned with regal lions, majestic elephants, fierce tigers, colorful birds, and serpents serving as mounts. Brilliant, decorated flying chariots moved about, lending splendor to the scene. That sky glowed like fire struck by thunderbolts, inhabited by the blessed souls who had earned their place in heaven through merit. The sun traversed its expanse, it was worshipped by Chitrabhanu, and embellished with the planets, stars, the moon, and the sun itself. Great sages, Gandharvas, Nāgas, and Yakṣas mingled there, yet the sky remained pure and clear, attended by all the Viśvavasus. It was the path of the king of the gods’ elephant, the auspicious trail of the sun and moon, a vast canopy for all beings, spread out by Brahma’s own hand. Heroic Vidyādharas often journeyed along this celestial route. Hanuman, son of the wind, traveled it now, swift as Garuda, moving along the path of the wind. As he sped onward, Hanuman drew masses of clouds with him, just as the wind does—clouds black as aloe wood, and others tinged red, yellow, and white. The mighty clouds gleamed as Hanuman entered and emerged from their midst again and again. At times he was visible everywhere, shining like the autumn moon as he passed in and out of the shifting cloudbanks. Ascending higher, Hanuman reached the unsupported sky, soaring like a mountain with wings. As he floated there, he was spotted by a rakshasi named Simhika, gifted with the power to change her form. Seeing Hanuman, Simhika thought with delight, “Today, after so long, I shall have a meal. This great being has finally come under my sway.” With that, she seized hold of Hanuman’s shadow. Instantly, Hanuman felt himself ensnared, his strength suddenly rendered useless. Like a great ship in the sea driven against the current by the wind, he looked about—sideways, upward, and downward. Then he saw the formidable Simhika rising from the salty waters. Hanuman pondered: “This must be the wondrous, mighty shadow-catcher the monkey king described—there is no doubt.” Understanding her true nature, Hanuman, wise and resolute, began to expand his body, swelling like a rain cloud in autumn. Simhika, seeing the monkey’s form grow, opened her mouth wide—so vast it seemed to span sky and underworld. Roaring like thunderclouds, she rushed at Hanuman, her enormous mouth gaping hideously. The great monkey, observing her carefully, noted her body and vital points. As her mouth distorted to engulf him, Hanuman, strong as a thunderbolt, contracted himself repeatedly, then leapt and plunged straight into her mouth. The Siddhas and Charanas watched as he sank within, just as Rahu swallows the full moon at its zenith. But once inside, Hanuman tore at her vital points with his sharp nails. With speed and skill matched only by his resolve, he sprang upward, and by fate, courage, and prowess, struck her down. The heroic monkey, self-possessed, grew again with great swiftness. Having destroyed her heart, Hanuman fell into the troubled waters, fulfilling the destiny for which the Self-born had created him. Witnessing Simhika, slain and fallen by the swift vanara, the celestial beings of the sky addressed Hanuman, foremost among monkeys: “A terrible deed has been accomplished today—a mighty being vanquished by you. Fulfill now the purpose for which you set out, O best of leapers! One who possesses resolve, vision, intelligence, and skill, just as you do, does not falter in action.” Honored by these accomplished beings, Hanuman, venerable and determined, soared once more through the sky like Garuda, devourer of serpents. Nearing the far shore, he looked all around and saw a stretch of forest at the end of a hundred yojanas. As he descended, the greatest of the branch-leaping monkeys beheld an island adorned with many trees and the lush groves of Mount Malaya. He gazed upon the vast ocean, the coastal lands, the trees along the shore, and even glimpsed the faces of the ocean’s wives. Seeing his own form, vast as a great cloud, Hanuman, wise and thoughtful, realized he seemed to be blocking the very sky. He reflected, “If the rakshasas see my increased size and speed, they will become curious about me.” With this in mind, Hanuman contracted his mighty form, returning to his natural shape, composed and clear-sighted, as one freed from delusion. Now greatly reduced, Hanuman strode forward in three great steps, like Hari who once reclaimed the worlds from Bali. Assuming a charming and varied form, he reached the far shore of the ocean. Taking a shape impossible for others, self-aware and intent on his purpose, he surveyed the scene. Then, on the splendid, lofty peak of Lambā mountain, amidst ketaka, udālaka, and coconut trees, Hanuman—great-souled and resembling a mass of clouds—alighted. Having reached the ocean’s shore and gazed upon the golden city of Laṅkā atop the best of mountains, the monkey landed there, shedding his immense form and startling the deer and birds that dwelled upon the mountain.