The mighty Hanuman, having crossed the vast ocean, now stood upon the golden shores of Lanka — the city of demons, glittering with towers and palaces, rich beyond dreams, yet shadowed by evil.
With his heart steady and his mind sharp, Hanuman shrank his mighty form to that of a tiny monkey and crept into the city under the cover of night. The streets glowed with lamps, and Rakshasas roamed the lanes — fierce, cruel, and proud.
Hanuman moved unseen, leaping from roof to roof, peering into grand halls and guarded chambers. He searched every corner, every palace, his heart whispering only one name — Sita.
At last, his eyes fell upon the grand palace of Ravana — vast as the sky, adorned with gold and precious gems. Hanuman entered, his breath held tight, searching every chamber. But nowhere did he find the face he longed to see — the gentle, sorrowful face of Sita.
In one chamber, he beheld Ravana himself, resting upon a golden throne, surrounded by riches and beauty, yet Hanuman cared not for such sights. “Where is she?” he whispered. “Where is Sita, the soul of my lord’s heart?”
His search led him at last to the gardens of Ashoka Vatika — a place of great beauty, filled with blooming flowers and singing birds. But amidst that beauty sat a figure pale and frail, dressed in simple robes, her face turned to the earth, her eyes heavy with tears.
It was Sita.
Hanuman’s heart wept at the sight. She sat beneath a great Ashoka tree, surrounded by cruel Rakshasis who mocked and tormented her. Yet her face held a quiet strength, her lips whispered only one name — “Rama.”
From the shadows, Hanuman watched as Ravana approached Sita, his voice smooth, his eyes dark with desire. “O Sita,” he spoke, “forget Rama. Be my queen. All of Lanka shall bow before you.”
But Sita’s eyes blazed like fire. “Never! I am Rama’s wife — his alone. You may chain my body, but my soul shall forever belong to him.”
Ravana’s face darkened with rage. “You have one year, Sita. If Rama does not come, I shall make you mine by force.” With that, he stormed away, leaving Sita trembling but unbroken.
Once the garden grew silent, Hanuman descended from his hiding place. With gentle words, he spoke, “O noble Sita, fear not. I am Hanuman, Rama’s humble servant. I have crossed mountains and oceans to find you.”
Sita, startled, looked up, her eyes wide with wonder and hope. “Are you truly sent by my Rama?”
Hanuman smiled and placed Rama’s ring before her — a simple band of gold, shining with the light of love. “Behold, O Sita, the token of Rama’s love. He lives, he waits, and soon he shall come to take you home.”
Tears flowed down Sita’s cheeks, but her heart filled with new hope. “Tell Rama,” she whispered, “that I wait. I wait, counting every moment, dreaming only of the day I see him once more.”
Hanuman bowed low. “Fear not, Mother. None shall stop Rama. Lanka shall tremble, and soon, your sorrow shall end.”
And so, the meeting of Hanuman and Sita — a moment written in the stars — filled the dark garden of Lanka with the first light of hope.