लङ्कापुरीदर्शनं लङ्काविजयश्च

Resting on the lofty summit of Lamba, a peak of Trikūṭa that rose like a towering cloud, the wise Hanumān, son of the Wind, summoned all his courage and by night made for Laṅkā, the city Rāvaṇa guarded. It was rich in lovely woods and waters, graced with mansions white as the clouds of autumn, roaring like the sea and fanned by the sea breeze. Protected by well-fed, well-kept troops, it seemed like Kubera's city of Alakā; its gateways were beautiful, its turrets fine, its outer and inner gates gleaming white. He saw it as Bhogavatī, the guarded and lovely city of the serpents in the underworld, and as Indra's Amarāvatī, crowded with clouds and lightning, attended by hosts of stars and loud with fierce winds. Coming up to it — enclosed by a great golden rampart and adorned with banners that jingled with nets of little bells — he leapt at once in delight straight up onto the rampart. Three cities are named: Alakā, city of wealth; Bhogavatī, the well-guarded city of the serpents; and Amarāvatī, city of the gods' splendour — so Laṅkā is shown to hold the riches of all three worlds. "Summoning his courage" shows his strength of mind: to enter an enemy city alone, his heart had to be firm. The poet says here that he entered, but this looks ahead; the real entry comes only after he has overcome Laṅkā herself. Even in the dark of night the city's beauty is described, for it was lit by lamps and by the moon. Hanumān's gaze first takes in the whole city, then the rampart, then the gates, moving from far to near. His sudden delight shows his eagerness: after the long leap across the sea, the sight of his goal gladdens him, and climbing the rampart is his first daring act.

Standing on the rampart, his heart full of wonder, Hanumān looked all around over the city. Its gates were of gold with terraces of beryl; its floors were of jewels set with diamond, crystal and pearl; its turrets were of refined gold, its walls spotless and white as silver; its stairways were of beryl, its inner courts of clear crystal, and its lovely assembly-halls rose as if into the sky. The gates rang with the cries of curlews and peacocks and royal swans moved about them, and everywhere the city resounded with music and the tinkle of ornaments. Seeing Laṅkā shining like Vasvokasārā, Kubera's city, and seeming to rise into the sky, the monkey Hanumān rejoiced. His joy was not at the wealth of the enemy but a pure wonder at the city's beauty. The builders' skill, the profusion of jewels, the song of the birds and the sound of music all combine into a living picture of the city. Vasvokasārā is another name for Kubera's Alakā, so Laṅkā's tie to Kubera is recalled once more. The whole description runs as one long sentence, each feature of the gates following the next, imitating the unbroken flow of Hanumān's gaze as he takes in one thing after another.

Surveying Laṅkā, the fair and prosperous city of the lord of the rākṣasas, unrivalled anywhere, the valiant Hanumān reflected: "No one else could take this city by force, guarded as it is on every side by Rāvaṇa's troops with weapons raised in their hands. This land may be within reach of Kumuda and Aṅgada, of the great monkey Suṣeṇa, of Mainda and Dvivida; of Sugrīva, son of Vivasvān, of the monkey Kuśaparvan, of Jāmbavān, king of the bears and chief among the monkeys, and of myself." But then he remembered the valour of mighty-armed Rāghava and the prowess of Lakṣmaṇa, and the monkey grew glad. In the last sarga he had said only four could come here; now he names more, which suggests his hope has grown a little. Yet above all it is the might of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa that gives him comfort: the monkeys are only the means, the victory will be Rāma's. This shows his devotion to his master and his modesty — he does not overrate his own strength. His thinking here is not despair but planning: he is considering whose strength the coming war will need. So the passage that began in anxiety ends in gladness.

The great monkey looked on the city of the lord of the rākṣasas. Its jewelled ramparts clothed it like a garment; its cattle-pens and other houses adorned it like earrings; its engine-houses were like breasts; rich and adorned, it was like a young woman; and its darkness was dispelled by lamps and by the shining great planets. Here Laṅkā is pictured as a young woman, and in the verses that follow she will rise up before him in a woman's form, so the image foretells what is to come.

Then the city, in her own form, saw the great monkey, that tiger among monkeys, the son of the Wind, coming in. Laṅkā, whom Rāvaṇa guarded, seeing the best of monkeys, rose up of herself, hideous of face and form, and stood before the heroic son of the Wind. With a great roar she said to him: "Who are you, forest-dweller, and what business brings you here? Tell me the truth while you still have breath in you. You cannot enter this Laṅkā, monkey; Rāvaṇa's forces guard her on every side." The hero Hanumān answered her as she stood before him: "I will tell you the truth of what you ask. But who are you, with your misshapen eyes, standing at the city gate? And why do you rail at me in anger, cruel one?" Hearing this, Laṅkā, who could take any form she pleased, answered him harshly in her anger: "I wait upon the orders of Rāvaṇa, the great king of the rākṣasas; no one can overcome me, and I guard this city. No one may enter it in contempt of me. Today you will lie here, struck down by me, your life gone. For I myself am the city of Laṅkā, monkey, and I guard her on every side. That is what I have to tell you." It is an ancient idea that every city is protected by its own guardian deity, who may appear in a woman's form, and Laṅkā here names herself, so she is clearly the city's presiding goddess. Hanumān meets her question calmly with a question of his own; he does not reveal his purpose but first seeks to know who is opposing him — an envoy's policy. Her words are full of pride and anger, and of threats: "while you still have breath", "you will lie here struck down". She calls herself one who waits on Rāvaṇa's orders: even the city's goddess has become his servant, a sign of how far his power reaches. The exchange is dramatic — question, counter-question, threat — and the contrast between his calm and her rage is its main flavour. He bears patiently even the contemptuous "forest-dweller". A brave envoy first tries to succeed by words and only then uses force, and Hanumān follows this rule. Laṅkā's pride comes before her fall — a law of the story that will later hold for Rāvaṇa too.

Hearing Laṅkā's words, Hanumān, son of the Wind, best of monkeys, braced himself and stood firm like a second mountain. Looking at her in her hideous woman's form, the wise and courageous monkey said: "I have come here to see the city of Laṅkā, with its towers, ramparts and gateways; I am full of curiosity. I have come to see Laṅkā's woods and groves and forests, and its chief houses." Hearing this, Laṅkā, who could take any form she pleased, spoke harshly again: "You fool, you lowest of monkeys, unless you defeat me you will not see this city today, guarded as it is by the lord of the rākṣasas." The tiger among monkeys replied to the night-rover: "Good lady, when I have seen this city I will go back the way I came." At that Laṅkā gave a terrible roar and struck the best of monkeys hard with the flat of her hand. Struck so violently, the valiant son of the Wind let out a mighty roar of his own, answering hers. Then Hanumān, beside himself with anger, curled the fingers of his left hand into a fist and struck her. Yet because she was a woman he held back his fury; even so, at that light blow the night-rover's limbs gave way and she fell at once to the ground, hideous of face and form. Seeing her struck down, the splendid hero took pity on her, for she was a woman. His answer to her was clever: it was true, yet it kept his real purpose hidden, for he had indeed come "to see" — to see Sītā. By offering to leave as he had come, he even held out peace. Only when she struck him did he strike back, and then with his left hand and with his anger reined in, so that he defended himself while avoiding the sin of killing a woman. That he used his left hand, not his right, is itself a sign of disdain. Having shown himself harmless with his talk of curiosity, he was drawn into fighting only by her attack, so the fault was hers. The moral is plain: to kill a woman is against dharma, so Hanumān does not use his full strength; and yet even his light blow is enough to fell the city's goddess, which shows how matchless his strength is. His pity for a defeated enemy goddess shows his compassion. Such restraint is seen again and again in the Rāmāyaṇa — Rāma too was unwilling to kill a woman before he slew Tāṭakā.

Then Laṅkā, badly shaken, her pride gone, spoke to Hanumān in a faltering voice: "Be gracious, mighty-armed one; spare me, best of monkeys. The strong and mighty, gentle one, keep to the law and do not kill a woman. I myself am the city of Laṅkā, monkey, and you have conquered me by your valour, mighty hero. Hear the truth from me, lord of monkeys: the Self-born, Brahmā, once gave me a boon. He said: 'When some monkey brings you under his power by his valour, know that fear has come upon the rākṣasas.' Now that I have seen you, gentle one, that time has come. What the Self-born ordained is true; there is no escaping it. Because of Sītā, destruction has come upon the wicked King Rāvaṇa and upon all the rākṣasas. So enter the city Rāvaṇa guards, best of monkeys, and do whatever you wish to do here. Go into this fair city, guarded by the chief of the rākṣasas and struck by a curse, go where you please and at your ease, and search everywhere for Janaka's virtuous daughter." Laṅkā's defeat is the first sign of Laṅkā's destruction, and Brahmā's word makes it certain. "Because of Sītā" lays bare the root of the whole story: carrying off another man's wife is the cause of Rāvaṇa's ruin. The city's own goddess gives Hanumān leave to enter, so his entry is no theft but sanctioned by right. "Struck by a curse" suggests that Laṅkā has already been smitten by the curses of seers and women whom Rāvaṇa wronged. Her maxim that the strong keep to the law is praise of Hanumān's own restraint; she is grateful that he did not kill her. In many episodes of the Rāmāyaṇa a boon of Brahmā sets the hour of destruction; Hanumān's coming is therefore no accident but ordained, and the listener is reassured that his success is already assured. Note too her leave to do "whatever you wish" — as if permission had been given in advance for the wrecking of the Aśoka grove and the burning of Laṅkā that lie ahead. The final verse, in a longer metre, marks the end of the sarga.