Hearing the anguished cries of Rāhu, Indra, king of the gods, spoke with assurance, “Do not fear; I will strike him down.” At that moment, Maruti, the son of the wind-god, caught sight of the magnificent white elephant Airāvata and, considering it a prize worthy of his strength, rushed toward it with great eagerness. As Maruti sped forward, intent on seizing Airāvata, his form blazed forth for a moment with a fierce and radiant energy, shining with the brilliance of Indra and Agni themselves. But as he ran, the lord of Śacī—Indra—though not overcome by anger, hurled his thunderbolt at Maruti. The weapon, released from Indra’s hand, struck the child with tremendous force. Struck by the thunderbolt, Maruti fell from the sky onto a mountain. In his fall, his left jaw was broken, and he lay there, stunned and motionless. Witnessing his beloved son wounded by Indra’s thunderbolt, the wind-god Vāyu was seized by wrath against Indra for the harm done not only to his child but to all living creatures. In his fury, Vāyu gathered his immense powers and withdrew from the world, carrying the unconscious Maruti with him into a secluded cave. There, the wind-god blocked the passage of breath, urine, and excrement, causing great suffering among all beings. Just as Indra withholds the rains to discipline the world, so too did Vāyu restrain all life. Deprived of breath, all beings everywhere became listless and breathless; their limbs stiffened and broke apart, turning them into wooden forms devoid of life. The three worlds fell into silence—no recitations, no ritual exclamations, no activity, no righteousness—everything halted, as though the worlds themselves had descended into hell. In this state of great distress, all creatures—gods, Gandharvas, demons, and humans—gathered together and approached Prajāpati, the lord of creatures, seeking relief and happiness. With their bellies shrunken and their hands joined in supplication, the gods addressed the creator, saying, “O Lord, you have made the fourfold creatures and appointed the wind as the master of our life-force. Now, as lord of our breath, why does he afflict us so? He restrains us, causing suffering, confining us as a woman is kept within the inner chambers. Oppressed by the wind, we take refuge in you.” Hearing their pleas, Prajāpati, the lord of creatures, replied, “Listen well, all of you, to the reason for the wind’s anger and your suffering. Today, Indra, lord of the immortals, struck down the wind’s son because of Rāhu’s words. Thus, the wind, enraged, withdrew his presence.” He continued, “The wind, though bodiless, dwells within all bodies and sustains them. Without wind, bodies become as lifeless as wood. Air is life; air is comfort; air is everything in this world. Without air, there can be no happiness. Today, the breath of life has left the world, and you stand as lifeless as wooden walls.” “Let us go to where the wind resides, for his anger brings us pain. Let us not perish without making peace with Aditi’s sons.” So Prajāpati, accompanied by all beings—gods, Gandharvas, serpents, and Guhyakas—went to the cave where Vāyu sat with his stricken child. There they beheld Maruti, radiant as the sun, fire, and gold, lying in the lap of his ever-present father. Seeing this, Brahmā, the four-faced creator, was moved with compassion, as were the assembled gods, Gandharvas, sages, Yakṣas, and Rākṣasas. Moved by the suffering of the wind-god, Brahmā approached. Vāyu, his heart heavy with grief, rose up with his child in his arms and stood before the creator. Adorned with earrings, a garland, and water-jewels, the wind-god approached and bowed to Brahmā, touching his feet three times in reverence. Brahmā, knower of the Vedas, shining with ornaments, gently raised Vāyu with his hand and softly touched the child. At that touch, as if sprinkled with life-giving water, Maruti revived, just as a plant springs back to life when watered. Seeing his son restored, the wind-god, fragrant and joyful, once again moved freely among all beings, and the world was released from its suffering. The creatures, freed from the wind’s restraint, rejoiced as if blooming like lotuses released from the cold and heat. Then Brahmā, honored by the gods and radiant, spoke to Indra, the Lord of Waters, the Lord of People, and the Lord of Wealth, saying, “Though you know all, hear what is beneficial. You will have a great task to accomplish through this child. Therefore, grant him boons to please the wind.” Indra, the thousand-eyed, his face shining with joy, lifted a garland of lotuses and declared, “Because he was struck by my thunderbolt and his jaw was wounded, he shall be called Hanumān, foremost among monkeys. As a boon, my thunderbolt will never again harm him.” The blessed sun, dispeller of darkness, then said, “I will grant him a portion of my radiance. When he is able to study the scriptures, I will bestow upon him the knowledge to become supremely eloquent. None will match him in scriptural understanding.” Varuṇa, lord of waters, granted, “He shall not die, not even after a hundred thousand years, neither by my noose nor by water.” Yama, god of death, granted immunity from his staff, freedom from disease, and freedom from despair in battle. Kubera, the boon-giver with tawny eyes, declared, “My mace will not slay him in battle.” Thus, by the grace of the gods, Hanumān was restored to life, filled with wisdom, strength, and boons—destined to be the greatest among the monkeys, a hero for the ages.