As the night unfolded in Lanka, the city of the rākṣasas, a strange celebration arose among the night-dwellers. Women, children, and elders joined in the commotion, their hearts lifted by the spectacle. In their midst, the heroic Hanumān, though bound in cruel restraints, remained undaunted. Even as cords held his mighty limbs, his mind was resolute, swiftly considering the course of action best suited for the moment. Hanumān reflected within: “These rākṣasas, despite binding me, cannot truly restrain my strength. If I wished, I could break these bonds, leap up, and slay them all once again. Yet, though these wicked ones bind me—me, who acts only for my lord’s welfare and by his command—I have not yet fulfilled my purpose. I alone am sufficient to defeat all the rākṣasas in battle, but for Rāma’s sake, I will endure this situation.” His keen eyes surveyed his surroundings. “I must search through Lanka once more,” he thought, “for in the darkness of night, I could not clearly see the arrangements of its fortifications. Certainly, I must see Lanka at the end of the night. Let them bind my tail again and set it alight if they wish.” The rākṣasas caused him pain, but Hanumān’s spirit did not grow weary. Concealing his true form, the mighty monkey was led through the city by his captors, his resolve unbroken. Delighted by their apparent triumph, the rākṣasas seized Hanumān, the elephant among monkeys, and paraded him through the streets to the blare of conches and beating of drums. Cruel in their actions, they dragged him along, boasting of their deed. Yet Hanumān, unconquerable, moved at ease, surrounded by his enemies. As he was led through the great city of the rākṣasas, Hanumān gazed upon the wondrous palaces. He observed enclosed plots of land, well-divided squares, streets crowded with houses, and bustling market-places. He took note of the main roads and side streets, the interiors of homes, and the crossroads along the royal avenue. All the rākṣasas cried out, “This is the spy monkey!” and, drawn by curiosity, women, children, and elders gathered here and there to witness the spectacle. All were eager to see Hanumān, his tail ablaze, its tip burning brightly. Meanwhile, the rākṣasī women with misshapen eyes hurried to Queen Sītā, bearing news of the misfortune: “Sītā, the copper-faced monkey with whom you spoke—his tail has been set aflame, and he is being led around the city.” Hearing these cruel words, which threatened Hanumān’s very life, Vaidehī was scorched anew by grief. Turning toward the sacred fire, she sought auspiciousness for the great monkey. With wide, steadfast eyes and a pure heart, Sītā approached the fire-god in prayer: “If I have served my husband faithfully, if I have practiced virtue, if I am truly devoted to one man, let Hanumān be cool. If there is any compassion in that wise one for me, if any fortune remains for me, let Hanumān be cool. If that righteous one knows me to be virtuous and longing for reunion with him, let Hanumān be cool. If the noble Sugrīva, steadfast in truth, will rescue me from this sea of sorrow, let Hanumān be cool.” As she prayed, the fire, with sharp but unwavering flames, circled to the right and blazed around the doe-eyed lady, as if proclaiming good fortune for the monkey. At that moment, Hanumān and the wind, his father, together with the fire on his tail, sent forth a cool, health-giving, icy breeze for the goddess. Hanumān, feeling the fire on his tail, wondered: “This blazing fire does not burn me at all—why is that? The great flames are visible, yet they cause me no pain. At the tip of my tail, it feels as if a cool stream has settled. Perhaps this is truly that wonder I saw when I crossed the ocean—by Rāma’s power, even the mountain yielded to the lord of rivers. If the wise Maināka and the ocean were so eager to help for Rāma’s sake, why would fire not do the same? Because of Sītā’s compassion, Rāma’s energy, and my father’s friendship, the fire does not burn me.” The mighty monkey mused for a moment more: “How could one such as I be bound by these wicked rākṣasas? If I have strength, I should act accordingly.” Thus resolved, Hanumān, swift and powerful, broke his bonds. With a great leap and a thunderous roar, he sprang up, scattering the crowd of rākṣasas and making his way to the city’s gate, towering like a mountain peak. There he stood, the son of the wind, mountain-like and unshaken. In a moment, he returned to his own form, becoming extremely small to slip out of his bonds, then regaining his glorious, massive shape. Looking around, he spotted an iron bar at the gate. Seizing it, the mighty-armed Hanumān, adorned with black steel, struck down all the guards once more. Having slain them, fierce in battle, he gazed again upon Lanka, his blazing tail forming a garland of flames, shining like the sun encircled by rays. Now, listen to the next chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Sundara Kāṇḍa. With his wish fulfilled, Hanumān gazed upon Lanka, his enthusiasm growing as he pondered what task yet remained. “What, indeed, still remains for me to do here that would cause even greater distress to these rākṣasas?” he wondered. “The grove has been destroyed, many rākṣasas slain, a portion of their army wiped out; what remains is the destruction of the fortress. If the fortress is destroyed, the task will be accomplished with ease, and my effort in this matter will bear fruit with little exertion.