Hanumān, the mighty son of the wind, entered the palace of Rāvaṇa in search of Sītā, the cherished daughter of Janaka. As he moved through the splendid halls, he saw serpent maidens with graceful hips and faces radiant like the full moon, but nowhere did he find Janaka’s daughter. He noticed these maidens, seized by the king of demons through force, yet Sītā, whom he sought above all, was not among them. Despite seeing many noble women, Hanumān’s heart grew heavy, for Sītā was not to be found. The efforts of the monkey chiefs, the crossing of the vast ocean—so much had been accomplished, yet Hanumān saw these deeds as fruitless, and his mind was troubled. Descending from the mansion, overwhelmed by grief, he fell into deep reflection. Then, swift as lightning darting through a cloud, Hanumān leapt from the palace to the rampart. Having searched every corner of Rāvaṇa’s residences, he still had not found Sītā. Hanumān spoke sorrowfully: “I have searched all of Lankā for Rāma’s beloved, yet Vaidehī, adorned in every limb, is nowhere to be seen. I have scoured lakes, ponds, rivers, streams, marshy groves, and mountain strongholds. All the earth has been searched, but Jānakī is not found. Sampāti, king of vultures, told us Sītā was in Rāvaṇa’s residence—but she is not here. Why is that?” Hanumān’s mind raced with troubled thoughts. “Could it be that Sītā, the helpless daughter of Janaka, seized by force, has perished? Perhaps, as the demon carried her away, frightened by Rāma’s arrows, she fell to the ground. Or maybe, as she was borne along the path of the perfected beings, seeing the ocean, her heart failed and she fell. By Rāvaṇa’s great strength, crushed in his arms, perhaps the noble, wide-eyed lady gave up her life. Surely, as she was carried over the ocean, Janaka’s daughter, struggling, may have fallen into the sea. Or perhaps this vile creature, Rāvaṇa, devoured Sītā, the ascetic lady who protected her virtue, though she had no protector. Or maybe the dark-eyed wives of the rākṣasa lord, wicked in intent, devoured her, though she was innocent.” Hanumān imagined Sītā crying out, “O Rāma! O Lakṣmaṇa! O Ayodhyā!” in many ways, perhaps abandoning her body in her grief. Or maybe she was confined somewhere in Rāvaṇa’s residence, lamenting greatly like a young mynah bird in a cage. “Born in Janaka’s line, slender-waisted, with eyes like lotus petals—how could she fall under Rāvaṇa’s power?” Hanumān wondered. He agonized: “Whether lost, destroyed, or dead, it is not proper to report this about Sītā, beloved wife of Rāma. If I report it, it will be a fault; if I do not, that too will be a fault. What should be done? This dilemma stands before me.” Hanumān pondered carefully what would be timely and appropriate. “If I return to the city of the monkey king without having seen Sītā, what purpose will be fulfilled? My crossing of the ocean, my entry into Lankā, my sight of the rākṣasas—all will have been in vain. What will Sugriva say? What will the assembled monkeys think? What will the two sons of Dasaratha, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, do when I return to Kishkindha?” “If I go and speak harsh words to Kakutstha, saying ‘I have not seen Sītā,’ he will give up his life. Hearing such cruel, piercing, grievous words about Sītā, he will not survive. Seeing Rāma in such distress, his mind overcome by death, the devoted and wise Lakṣmaṇa too will not survive. Hearing both his brothers are lost, Bharata will die, and seeing Bharata dead, Shatrughna will not survive. Seeing their sons dead, the mothers—Kausalya, Sumitra, and Kaikeyi—will not survive, there is no doubt.” “Sugriva, the grateful and truthful lord of the monkeys, seeing Rāma in such a state, will give up his life. Rumā, afflicted by her husband’s grief, distressed, sorrowful, joyless, devoted to austerity, will give up her life. Tara, the queen, worn down by grief over Vali and consumed by sorrow, will also not survive. With the loss of his parents and Sugriva’s calamity, the prince Angada too will abandon his life.” “The forest-dwelling monkeys, overcome by grief for their lord, will strike their heads with their palms and fists. Cherished by Sugriva with kindness, gifts, and honor, they will give up their lives. The monkey chiefs, gathering together, will no longer enjoy play in the forests, on the mountains, or in their retreats. Distressed by their lord’s calamity, with their sons, wives, and ministers, they will throw themselves from mountain peaks, on level ground, and in rough places.” Thus, in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Sundara Kāṇḍa, Hanumān’s heart was weighed down with sorrow and doubt as he considered the fate of Sītā and the consequences of his quest.