In the great forest, Rama, the conqueror of enemy cities, encountered a remarkable friend named Sugriva, a monkey of noble soul. Through Rama’s prowess, Vali was slain, and Sugriva’s kingdom was restored to him. At Sugriva’s command, countless monkeys, gifted with the power to assume any form, set out in all directions to search for the goddess Sita. Among them, I—Hanuman—guided by the words of Sampati, crossed the vast ocean, a hundred yojanas wide, for the sake of that wide-eyed lady. Swiftly I traversed the sea, and at last, I beheld Sita exactly as she had been described: in form, color, and beauty. Rama himself had told me that she would be found by me, and having spoken these words, I, Hanuman, the foremost among monkeys, fell silent. Upon hearing this account, Janaki—Sita—was filled with the utmost wonder. Her beautiful, curling hair framed her fearful face as she raised her gaze toward the shimshapa tree. Listening to the monkey’s words and searching the surroundings with anxious eyes, Sita’s heart soared with joy, for she remembered Rama with all her being. Looking in every direction, Sita beheld me, the minister of the tawny monkey king, son of the wind-god, whose mind is unfathomable, shining like the sun rising in the sky. Now begins the thirty-second chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Sundara Kāṇḍa. Seeing me hidden among the branches, Sita’s mind was disturbed. I was clothed in white bark garments, my tawny form blazing like a mass of lightning. She saw me, humble and speaking kindly, shining like a cluster of blossoming ashoka flowers, with eyes like molten gold. Observing the best of monkeys standing respectfully, Maithili was filled with wonder and began to ponder. “Ah, this monkey’s nature is fearsome, impossible to approach,” she thought, believing it impossible even to look at me, and again she fell into confusion. Greatly distressed, Sita lamented pitifully, overcome by fear and confusion, crying out in her sorrow, “Rama!” and also, “Lakshmana!” Suddenly, Sita wept in a soft, low voice. Then, seeing the best of monkeys approach respectfully, she wondered, “This must be a dream.” She gazed at the broad-jawed face of the king of monkeys, as described, and saw the foremost tawny monkey, the wind-god’s son, best among the wise. Seeing me, Sita was deeply shaken, as if her life had left her; after a long time, regaining her senses, the wide-eyed lady began to reflect. “Today I have seen this strange monkey in a dream, which is forbidden by the treatises on dreams. May Rama, with Lakshmana, be safe, and so too my father, King Janaka. Yet, this is not a dream, for I have no sleep—afflicted as I am by grief and sorrow. I have no happiness since I was separated from him whose face is like the full moon. Always, in thought and in speech, I utter only ‘Rama, Rama,’ and I reflect on him alone. I see and hear only those things that relate to him. Today I am tormented by love for him, my whole being absorbed in him. Constantly I think only of him, and thus I see and hear only him. I wonder, ‘Could this be a wish fulfilled?’ Yet I reason and question with my mind: What is the cause, for his form is not here—yet this one before me speaks to me with his clear appearance. Homage to Vācaspati, the lord of speech, to the wielder of the thunderbolt, to the self-born, and to the fire-god! May what has been spoken here before me by this forest-dweller come to pass—let it not be otherwise.” Now begins the thirty-third chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Sundara Kāṇḍa. Then, I descended from the tree, my face radiant like coral, humble in appearance and sorrowful, and approached Sita, bowing down. With hands joined in reverence upon my head, I spoke to her in sweet words: “O faultless one, who are you, with eyes like lotus petals, clad in soiled silk, standing on the branch of this tree? Why do tears born of sorrow flow from your eyes, like water scattered from lotus and palāśa leaves? Among the gods, asuras, nāgas, gandharvas, rākṣasas, yakṣas, and kinnaras—who are you, O beautiful one? Are you one among the Rudras, or the Maruts, O lovely-faced one? Or among the Vasus, O graceful lady? You appear to me as a goddess. Are you Rohiṇī, the best among stars and endowed with all virtues, fallen from the abode of the gods, separated from the moon? Or, O dark-eyed one, are you Arundhatī, the virtuous, who, out of anger or delusion, has left her husband Vasiṣṭha after offending him? O slender-waisted one, who is your son, father, brother, or husband, for whose sake you grieve, having passed from this world to the next? From your weeping, deep sighs, and even from touching the ground, I do not think you are a goddess, for you show the signs of a king’s wife. For I observe in you the marks and signs of royalty; I believe you are the queen of a king, or a royal princess. If you are Sītā, who was seized by Rāvaṇa by force from Janasthāna, may all be well with you—please tell me, for I ask. Surely, by your humility and your extraordinary appearance, and the ascetic garb you wear, you must indeed be Rama’s queen.” Hearing these words, delighted by the mention of Rama, Vaidehi spoke to me as I perched in the tree: “I am the daughter-in-law of Dasharatha, the destroyer of enemy armies, the foremost among lion-like kings on earth, and one who knows his own self. I am the daughter of Janaka, the great-souled king of Videha; I am called Sita by name, the wife of wise Rama.