With a heart heavy with memories, Sita began to speak of a time long past, recalling a moment when Rama, her beloved, had once invoked the might of the Brahma weapon. In that tale, Rama had plucked a single blade of darbha grass from his mat, empowered it with the sacred force of the Brahma weapon, and it blazed forth with the fury of the world’s end, its fire directed toward a crow. Rama hurled that burning blade at the crow, and as it sped through the sky, the blade relentlessly pursued its target. The crow, desperate and terrified, darted along countless paths, wandering the expanse of the world in search of shelter. Yet, abandoned by his own father and even by the great sages, the crow found himself forsaken in all three worlds. With nowhere else to turn, he sought refuge with Rama himself. Though the crow’s offense warranted death, Rama, ever compassionate and the giver of refuge, protected him as he fell to the ground, seeking shelter at his feet. Rama spoke gently to the exhausted and pale crow, who trembled and could barely stand: “The Brahma weapon cannot be rendered fruitless. Tell me, where should it strike?” In answer, the weapon struck the crow’s right eye; thus, by sacrificing his eye, the crow’s life was spared. Grateful, the crow bowed low to Rama and to King Dasharatha, and with Rama’s blessing, returned to his own abode. Sita, her voice trembling with sorrow, continued, “For my sake, even for the offense of a crow, Rama invoked the Brahma weapon. Why then, O king, do you now forgive the one who has wronged me?” She recalled that Rama himself had taught her that compassion is the highest virtue, and she knew well his immense strength, energy, and might. He was as unfathomable and unshakable as the ocean, the true master of the earth, comparable to Indra himself. “Rama,” she lamented, “you are the best among warriors, powerful and steadfast. Why, O Raghava, do you not unleash your weapons against the demons? No serpent, Gandharva, god, nor even the hosts of Maruts could withstand your force in battle. If you care for me at all, why do you not destroy these rakshasas with your sharp arrows? And Lakshmana, your devoted brother—does he, for some reason, not come to rescue me, O mighty hero?” Her anguish deepened, “If those two tigers among men, whose brilliance equals that of the wind and Indra, who are difficult even for the gods to withstand, why do they neglect me? Surely, some great wrongdoing of mine must be the cause; otherwise, though both are capable and destroyers of enemies, they do not look upon me.” Hearing Vaidehi’s words, spoken through tears and filled with sorrow, Hanuman, the illustrious leader of the monkeys, was moved to speak. “O lady,” he assured her, “Rama is entirely absorbed in your grief—I swear to you by the truth itself. And when Rama is afflicted by sorrow, Lakshmana too is tormented. Now that you have been found, this is not the time for grief. O beautiful one, even now, you will soon see the end of your sorrows. Those two tigers among men, the royal sons of immense strength, longing to see you, will reduce the worlds to ashes if need be. After slaying Ravana, cruel in battle, and all his kin, Rama will bring you, wide-eyed one, back to his own city.” Hanuman then asked, “Tell me, what message should I carry to Rama, to mighty Lakshmana, to radiant Sugriva, or to the assembled monkeys?” Sita replied, her voice gentle but resolute: “Kausalya, the noble-minded one, gave birth to the lord of the world. For my sake, ask after his well-being and bow to him with your head, and to the beloved ladies adorned with garlands and jewels. Even the rarest sovereignty on this vast earth is nothing compared to the honor and favor owed to his father and mother.” She continued, “Sumitra’s virtuous son, who has accompanied Rama in exile, forsaking unsurpassed comfort out of loyalty—he follows Kakutstha, protecting his brother in the forest, broad-shouldered, mighty-armed, thoughtful, and pleasing to behold. He acts towards Rama as a son would to a father, and towards me as a mother would; yet when I was being carried away, the hero Lakshmana did not know. Lakshmana, who serves elders, is fortunate, capable, not given to much speech, the best among those dear to the royal prince, and resembles my father-in-law. Lakshmana, always dearer to Rama than myself, is assigned to whatever task, and he carries it out with valor. He, whom seeing, Raghava even forgets the conduct of the noble—he must be told, for my sake, words of well-being from me. Gentle always, pure, capable, dear to Rama is Lakshmana; O best of monkeys, let him become the remover of sorrow.” Looking to Hanuman, she said, “You are the authority in the accomplishment of this task, O leader of monkeys; let Raghava, through your efforts, be diligent concerning me. And say this again and again to my lord, the heroic Rama: ‘I will hold on to life for a month, O son of Dasharatha.’ Beyond a month I will not live—this I tell you truly; seized by Ravana through deceit and evil deeds, you must save me, O hero, as Kaushiki was saved from the netherworld.” Then, removing the splendid divine crest-jewel from her garment, Sita gave it to Hanuman, saying, “This is to be given to Raghava.” Hanuman, the heroic monkey, received that unsurpassed gem and placed it upon his finger, for his arm was not fit for it. Taking the jewel, the best of monkeys bowed to Sita, circumambulated her with reverence, and stood respectfully at her side. Filled with great joy from beholding Sita, Hanuman’s heart soared to Rama and Lakshmana, whose auspicious marks and noble character filled his thoughts with hope and happiness.