For twelve years, I lived in Rama’s household, basking in the joys of human life, my every wish fulfilled. But when the thirteenth year arrived, King Dasharatha, supported by his priests, began preparations to install Rama, the scion of Ikshvaku, as the new king. As the arrangements for Rama’s consecration were underway, Queen Kaikeyi spoke to her husband in distress: “If Rama is anointed, I will neither eat nor drink each day; that will be the end of my life.” She reminded the king, “O best of kings, if the promise you made to me out of affection is not to be in vain, let Rama go to the forest.” The king, steadfast in truth, was struck with grief at Kaikeyi’s harsh demand, recalling the boon he had granted her. Overcome with sorrow, the aged monarch, his heart heavy, summoned his illustrious eldest son and asked him to relinquish the kingdom. Rama, ever glorious and devoted, had already accepted his father’s command in his heart, holding it dearer even than the kingship itself, and now accepted it in words as well. True to his nature, Rama would rather give than receive, would always speak truth and never falsehood, even at the cost of his own life. Resolute, Rama set aside his princely garments, renounced the kingdom in his heart, and entrusted me to his mother. I, unable to bear separation from him, set out before him as a dweller of the forest, for even the joys of heaven were empty without his presence. But even before me, the illustrious Saumitri—Lakshmana, delight of his friends—already clad in grass and bark, had departed to accompany his elder brother. Thus, honoring our husband’s command and steadfast in our vows, we entered the deep and awe-inspiring forest, a place unknown to us. While dwelling in the Dandaka forest with the mighty Rama, I was carried off by Ravana, the wicked rakshasa. He has given me a period of two months to preserve my life; once those two months pass, I will relinquish my life. Now, let the thirty-fourth chapter of the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, in the Sundara Kanda, be heard. Hearing my sorrowful words, Hanuman, foremost of the monkeys, spoke gentle words of comfort to me as I sat overwhelmed by grief. “O lady,” he said, “I have come to you as a messenger from Rama. Vaidehi, Rama is well, and he has enquired about your welfare.” He went on, “He who knows the Brahma weapon and the Vedas, Rama, the son of Dasharatha and the best among those learned in the Vedas, has asked after you, O lady. And Lakshmana, of great energy and your dear companion, bows his head to you, distressed by your sorrow.” Hearing of the well-being of those two lion-like men, I felt my limbs fill with delight, and I spoke to Hanuman. “Truly, the saying is auspicious: ‘The joy of seeing a loved one alive surpasses even a hundred years.’ In this meeting between us, there is a wonderful joy; trusting one another, we now converse.” But as Hanuman, son of the Wind, approached me in my grief, suspicion clouded my mind. I wondered if he was Ravana in disguise, for as Hanuman drew closer, my doubts grew. “Alas, shame on me for having spoken so!” I thought. “Perhaps this is indeed Ravana, having assumed another form.” Worn down by grief, I left the branch of the ashoka tree and sat down upon the ground. Then the mighty-armed Hanuman bowed to me, the daughter of Janaka, but I, terrified, did not look at him again. Seeing him bow, I spoke to the monkey in a gentle voice, after a deep sigh. “If you are Ravana himself, master of illusion, having entered a magical form to torment me further, it is not right. You, who once appeared as an ascetic in Janasthana, are surely that same Ravana I saw before. O night-wanderer, who can assume forms at will, you again distress me, though I am emaciated by fasting and misery; this is not proper.” Yet, I reconsidered. “Or perhaps it is not as I have suspected, for my heart has found joy upon seeing you. If you have truly come as Rama’s messenger, may good fortune be yours; I ask you, O best of monkeys, to tell me of Rama, for his story is dear to me. Speak to me of Rama’s virtues, gentle monkey, for he is dearer to me than life; you draw my heart as the current draws the riverbank. Ah, how sweet is the happiness of dreams, that I, long taken away, now see one said to be sent by Raghava among the forest-dwellers. Even if only in a dream I could see the hero Raghava with Lakshmana, I would not despair; even a dream would be my solace.” “But I do not think this is a dream, for seeing a monkey in a dream does not bring good fortune, yet good fortune has come to me. Could this be a delusion of the mind, or perhaps a vision carried by the wind, or a disorder born of madness, or a mirage? No, this is not madness, nor a delusion marked by madness; I am aware of myself, and of this forest-dweller as well.