Following the command of Sugrīva, we, along with many other monkeys, set out across the earth, eager to fulfill his words. Among us was Aṅgada, the illustrious and mighty son of Vāli—a true tiger among monkeys—who led a third of our army’s strength. As we searched, days and nights slipped by while we wandered the great Vindhya mountains, lost and weighed down by sorrow. Despair began to take hold of us. Time was running out, and out of fear of failing our king, we even contemplated ending our own lives. We scoured every mountain stronghold and river source, but, O queen, we found no trace of you. In our hopelessness, we resolved to give up our lives, and so, upon the summit of the mountain, we all sat down together, determined to fast unto death. Aṅgada, immersed in grief, mourned deeply—not only for your loss, O Vaidehī, but also for the death of his father, Vāli. We resolved to meet our end as Jaṭāyu had done before us, feeling that this was our only course and the will of our lord. But then, for the sake of our mission, a great and mighty bird appeared: Sampāti, the heroic king of vultures and brother to the noble Jaṭāyu. When Sampāti heard of his brother’s death, he was filled with anger and demanded to know who had killed Jaṭāyu and where he had fallen. He implored us, “Tell me, O best of monkeys.” Aṅgada then recounted the tale of the great battle at Janasthāna, explaining how Jaṭāyu had died at the hands of a fearsome demon, all for your sake, and exactly as it had happened. Hearing this, Sampāti, son of Aruṇa, was overcome with grief. Yet, Sampāti spoke of you, O lady of beautiful form, as you dwelt in Rāvaṇa’s abode. The news that you still lived brought joy to Sampāti, and under Aṅgada’s leadership, we were sent forth once more. Rising from the Vindhya mountains, we made our way to the excellent shore of the ocean. Longing for your sight, our hearts delighted and strengthened, all the monkeys led by Aṅgada arrived at the edge of the sea. But as we gazed across the vast waters, our anxiety returned, for we still had not found you. It was then that I, seeing the monkey army seated in despair by the ocean, cast aside all fear. With a mighty leap, I crossed a hundred yojanas and entered Laṅkā by night—a city crowded with rākṣasas. There, I saw Rāvaṇa and you, O faultless one, afflicted by sorrow. All that I have recounted to you has happened just as I have told it. Speak to me, O lady, for I am the messenger of Daśaratha’s son. It is for you that Rāma has made this great effort, and I have come here in his name. Know me, O lady, as Sugrīva’s minister and the son of the wind. Your husband, the best among all wielders of weapons, is safe. Lakṣmaṇa, marked by auspicious signs, is devoted to serving his elder brother and is always intent on Rāma’s welfare. I alone have come here, sent on Sugrīva’s command. I have wandered in whatever form I wished, unaided, across the southern direction in search of your path. By fortune, I found the monkey army—who were grieving for your loss. I have received the command to find you, and by good fortune, my crossing of the ocean has not been in vain. I will remove your distress, O lady, and for having seen you, I shall attain great fame. Rāghava, of immense might, will soon come to you. He will slay Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, along with his sons and kinsmen. O Vaidehī, there is a mountain named Mālyavān, the best of mountains. From there, my father, the monkey Kesari, journeyed to the mountain Gokarṇa. Guided by divine sages, he restored the holy abode of Śambhu at the sacred ford of the lord of rivers. In that place among the monkeys, I was born by the wind. In the world, I am known as Hanumān, by my own deeds. O Vaidehī, I have spoken of your husband’s virtues to inspire your trust. Soon, Rāghava will surely rescue you from here. Hearing these reasonable proofs, Sītā—worn by grief—was reassured and recognized me as Rāma’s messenger. Overwhelmed with incomparable joy, Janaki shed tears born of happiness from her eyes, whose curved lashes trembled. Her lovely face, with coppery and white wide eyes, shone radiantly—like the moon released from Rahu’s grasp. She clearly recognized me, Hanumān the monkey, and knew I could not be anyone else. Then I spoke to her, who was so pleasing to behold: “All this has been told to you, Maithili. Be comforted. What shall I do, or how would you wish me to return?” When the demon was slain in battle at Shambasadana by the foremost monkey, prompted by the great sage, then I, Maithili, was indeed born of the wind, and by his power, I am a monkey equal to him. Let the next chapter be heard. Again, I, Hanumān, son of the wind, spoke respectful words to convince Sītā. “For your assurance, this was brought and given by the great-souled one. Be comforted, may you be blessed, for the fruit of your suffering is now diminished.” Taking the token and gazing upon it, adorned with her husband’s mark, Janaki became joyful, as if her husband himself had arrived. Her lovely face, with coppery and white wide eyes, became radiant with intense joy, like the moon freed from Rahu’s grasp.