As Hanumān gazed upon Sītā, his keen eyes noticed her upper garment—a yellow cloth bordered with gold—had slipped down and become entangled in the branches, where the monkeys could see it. Her principal ornaments, large and resounding, lay scattered on the ground, cast off by her in distress. Though her garment had been worn for a long time and was now more soiled, its color remained undiminished, still splendid as before. Hanumān recognized this golden-complexioned lady as none other than Rāma’s beloved queen. Though lost to him, she never departed from his heart. For her sake, Rāma suffered in four ways: with compassion, with kindness, with grief, and with love. He called her “lost woman” out of compassion, “one who has sought refuge” out of kindness, “lost wife” out of grief, and “beloved” out of love. The beauty and grace of Sītā’s limbs and features matched Rāma’s own form; she of dark eyes belonged to him. Her mind was fixed solely on Rāma, and his on her. Because of this unwavering bond, both continued to live, even for a moment, despite their separation. Rāma had accomplished what was difficult—though deprived of her, he sustained his body and did not sink under the weight of grief. Witnessing Sītā in this pitiable state, Hanumān, son of the wind, was delighted to have found her. He turned his thoughts to Rāma and praised that noble lord. Let the sixteenth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Sundara Kāṇḍa, now be heard. Having praised the praiseworthy Sītā, Hanumān, foremost among the monkeys, again became absorbed in thoughts of the virtuous Rāma. After meditating for a moment, his eyes filled with tears. The radiant Hanumān, thinking of Sītā, lamented her condition. He reflected that Sītā was honored, devoted to her elders, and dear to Lakṣmaṇa, who himself was respectful to his elders. If Sītā, afflicted by sorrow, were lost, truly time would prove insurmountable. Yet, knowing Rāma’s resolve and Lakṣmaṇa’s wisdom, Sītā was not overly disturbed, like the Gaṅgā at the onset of the rains. Rāghava deserved Vaidehī, who matched him in character, age, conduct, family, and marks; and this dark-eyed woman deserved him as well. Seeing her, shining like new gold, beautiful as Fortune beloved by the world, Hanumān again turned his mind to Rāma and spoke these words: “For the sake of this wide-eyed woman, the mighty Vāli—equal to Rāvaṇa in strength—was slain, and Kabandha too was brought down. Virādha, the fierce and powerful Rākṣasa, was also killed in battle by Rāma in the forest, just as Śambara was by mighty Indra. Fourteen thousand Rākṣasas, doers of terrible deeds, were slain at Janasthāna by Rāma’s arrows blazing like tongues of fire. Khara was killed in battle, Triśiras was struck down, and the mighty Dūṣaṇa too, all by Rāma, knower of his own self. The kingship of the Vānaras, hard to obtain and guarded by Vāli, was gained by the renowned Sugrīva for her sake. The glorious ocean, lord of rivers and streams, was crossed by me; and for the sake of this wide-eyed woman, this city of Laṅkā has been observed. If Rāma were to overturn the earth as far as the ocean for her sake—even the whole world—it would be fitting, such is my thought. The kingdom of the three worlds, or Sītā, daughter of Janaka—even the entire sovereignty of the universe does not equal a fraction of Sītā. This is Sītā, daughter of the great and righteous king Janaka, princess of Mithilā, steadfast in her vow to her husband. She is the eldest daughter-in-law of the illustrious king Daśaratha, wife of the valiant, noble, and unwavering hero in battle. She is the beloved wife of Rāma, knower of righteousness and gratitude, who understands himself—now fallen under the power of a Rākṣasī. Abandoning all enjoyments, compelled by her love for her husband, she entered the lonely forest, not considering the hardships. Content with fruits and roots, devoted to serving her husband, she found supreme joy in the forest as she would in a palace. This golden-limbed woman, ever smiling and gentle in speech, endures this suffering, though undeserving of misfortune. Rāghava longs to see this virtuous woman, tormented by Rāvaṇa, as a thirsty man longs for a wayside pool. Surely, upon regaining her, Rāghava will find joy again, as a king restored to his lost kingdom. She has renounced sensual pleasures and is deprived of her kin; she sustains her body only out of longing for reunion with him. She does not look at the rākṣasī women, nor at the trees with flowers and fruits around her; surely, her heart is fixed solely on Rāma. For a husband is, for a woman, the highest ornament, more splendid than any jewel; separated from him, though worthy of beauty, she does not shine. Rāma performs a difficult feat, for though deprived of her, the lord endures, sustaining his own body and not sinking under sorrow. Seeing her, with dark hair and eyes like lotus petals, deserving of happiness yet afflicted with grief, Hanumān’s own heart was troubled. She, patient as the earth, with eyes like blue lotuses, once protected by Rāghava and Lakṣmaṇa, was now guarded at the foot of a tree by rākṣasī women with distorted gazes. Like a lotus struck by frost, her beauty lost, crushed by a succession of misfortunes, like a cakravāka bird bereft of her mate, Janaka’s daughter had fallen into a pitiable state.