As the sun slipped below the horizon and night descended, Hanuman—the son of the wind—drew in his great form, shrinking himself down to the size of a cat. In this wondrous, subtle shape, he became almost unnoticeable, yet his vigor and resolve shone undiminished. At twilight, with the city of Lanka before him, Hanuman leapt swiftly and entered its splendid streets, which were broad and clearly marked. The city dazzled his eyes: rows of palaces rose up, their pillars gleaming like gold, and their latticed windows shone like the finest, refined gold. Lanka itself seemed like the city of the Gandharvas, resplendent and otherworldly. Hanuman gazed upon grand buildings—some seven, some eight stories high—with floors inlaid with crystal and decorated with gold. Everywhere, intricate patterns of beryl gems adorned the mansions, and strings of pearls hung in graceful loops, making the homes of the rakshasas shimmer in many hues. Magnificent golden gateways, marvelously adorned, illuminated Lanka from every side. Beholding this city of inconceivable beauty and form, Hanuman felt both awe and sorrow—his heart torn between the marvel of what he saw and his longing to find Vaidehi, Sita. The palaces, crowned with white towers and golden gateways, stood renowned and proud, fiercely guarded by Ravana’s own strength and the terrible might of night-roaming rakshasas. Above, the moon rose among the stars, its thousand rays spreading a gentle veil of light over the world. Hanuman watched it shine, radiant as a conch, white as milk or the soft fiber of a lotus, glowing in the night like a swan rising from a tranquil lake. At this point, the third chapter begins. Hanuman, wise and ever resourceful, assumed an even subtler form and stood atop a lofty peak, dark and towering like a hanging raincloud. From there, he entered Lanka by night—a city rich with lovely groves and sparkling waters, ruled by the mighty Ravana. He saw a city well-defended, flourishing in strength, adorned with leafy trees, beautiful gateways, and pale-white doors and arches. Lanka, guarded and splendid, rivaled the city of the serpents, its winding paths reminiscent of serpent trails, its skies covered with clouds flashing lightning, and its heights attended by a host of stars. The city resounded with the roar of fierce winds, and, like Amaravati itself, it was ringed by a great wall shining with gold. Banners fluttered, and the jingling of tiny bells filled the air as Hanuman, delighted, approached swiftly and leapt over the rampart. His heart brimmed with wonder as he gazed around at the city’s golden doors and platforms made of cat’s-eye gems. The floors sparkled with diamonds, crystal, and pearls; corridors of refined gold and pure, shining silver stretched before him. There were stairways fashioned from cat’s-eye gems, dusted with crystal between the steps, and beautiful, swift-moving walkways that seemed to rise toward the sky itself. Everywhere, the city echoed with the calls of cranes and peacocks, the grace of royal swans, and the sounds of music and ornaments. Beholding Lanka, rivaling the wealth of the gods, Hanuman rejoiced—truly, it seemed as if the city had risen into the sky itself. As he observed this splendid city of the rakshasa king, unrivaled and prosperous, Hanuman the valiant began to reflect. “No one could conquer this city by force,” he thought, “so well is it guarded by Ravana’s troops, all armed and ever watchful.” Only the greatest of the vanaras—Kumuda, Angada, Sushena, Mainda, Dvivida, Vivasvat’s son, Hari’s son Kushaparvana, Riksha, or perhaps Hanuman himself—could hope to make this land a path to glory. Thinking of Rama’s might and Lakshmana’s valor, Hanuman’s heart filled with joy. As he moved through the city, he saw her adorned in jeweled garments, marked with the sign of the cattle-house, her breasts anointed with fragrant unguents, embellished as if she were a beautifully decorated woman. Hanuman beheld the city of Ravana, its darkness dispelled by lamps and the brilliance of great planets. Then, as he entered in his subtle form, Lanka herself—ruler of the city, conscious and watchful—saw the mighty son of the wind, the tiger among monkeys, entering her domain. Lanka, assuming a terrifying form, rose up before Hanuman and blocked his path. She stood there, roaring fiercely, and addressed him in a thunderous voice: “Who are you, forest-dweller, and for what purpose have you come here? Speak the truth, while your breath still remains.” She continued, “O monkey, it is not possible for you to enter this Lanka, guarded on all sides and protected by Ravana’s forces.” Hanuman, heroic and composed, replied, “I will tell you the truth of what you ask me.” Then, looking upon her, he asked, “Who are you, with deformed eyes, standing at the city gate? And why do you, in your anger, speak so harshly to me?” Hearing Hanuman’s words, Lanka—who could assume any form at will—spoke again, her voice harsh and angry: “I am the invincible guardian of this city, awaiting the command of the great Ravana, king of the rakshasas. It is not possible to enter this city, disregarding me. Today, slain by me, you will lie here, your life abandoned.” “I myself am the city of Lanka, O monkey,” she declared. “I guard it on all sides—thus I have told you.” Thus Hanuman, the wise son of the wind, entered the wondrous city of Lanka, his heart full of purpose, even as the city itself rose up to challenge him.