हनुमतो लङ्काप्रवेशः रावणान्तःपुरप्रवेशश्च

Having conquered by his valour Laṅkā, the finest of cities, who could take any form she pleased, the splendid Hanumān, best of monkeys, cleared his own way. The mighty hero did not go in by a gate but leapt over the rampart itself, and so by night the great elephant among monkeys entered Laṅkā. As he stepped into the city — he who was working for the good of Sugrīva, the monkey king — he set down his left foot first, as though on the very heads of his enemies. Having entered by night, the courageous son of the Wind took to the great royal highway, bright with scattered flowers. To enter by the gate is the way of a guest or a friend; an enemy's city one enters where there is no gate, and by following this rule he also escaped the eyes of the gatekeepers. To enter an enemy city left foot first is an evil omen for it, a first sign of its enemies' ruin. "On the heads of his enemies" is figurative: it is as if he had planted his foot on their heads and crushed their pride. It shows his confidence too — alone as he is, he enters as if able to conquer Laṅkā. In the last sarga he had resolved to enter by night; now he carries out that resolve.

Then the monkey went on into that lovely city of Laṅkā, which rang with loud bursts of laughter and the sound of music. Its houses were like clouds, marked with emblems like thunderbolts and goads and adorned with lattices of diamond, so that the lovely city shone like the sky with its clouds. Laṅkā seemed to blaze with the fine houses of the rākṣasa clans, white as clouds and many-coloured, built on the lotus and svastika plans, and everywhere adorned with houses of the vardhamāna plan — terms from the science of building for particular layouts of a house. That city, decked with bright garlands as with ornaments, the glorious Hanumān, who worked for the good of the monkey king and moved about on Rāghava's business, looked upon and rejoiced to see. He acknowledged fairly that even the enemy's city was beautiful; yet "moving about on Rāghava's business" shows that even his delight served his task. Going from house to house, the elephant among monkeys saw mansions of many shapes and forms on every side; first he saw the city as a whole, and then its houses one by one.

He heard lovely singing, adorned with notes drawn from the three registers of chest, throat and head; he heard women smitten with love, like the apsarases in heaven, and the jingle of their girdles and the tinkling of their anklets as they climbed the stairs in the houses of the great rākṣasas; and here and there he heard the slapping of arms and the war-cries of men. In the houses of the rākṣasas he heard mantras being murmured, and he saw yātudhānas intent on reciting the Veda. He saw rākṣasas roaring out the praises of Rāvaṇa, and a great troop of rākṣasas posted across the royal road. Notice the sequence of sounds — music, the chime of ornaments, the shouts of warriors, the muttering of mantras, the recitation of the Veda, the praise of the king. Laṅkā is not merely a place of pleasure: learning and prayer are pursued there too. This shows the double nature of Rāvaṇa's kingdom: it has learning and austerity, but mixed with wickedness. The singing drawn from the three registers shows the learned art of the music and the skill of the singers. By tradition Hanumān himself was a master of grammar and music, so he could tell these sounds apart finely. Three times the poet says "he heard": now Hanumān searches not with his eyes alone but with his ears too. The praise of Rāvaṇa sung in the very highway shows the rākṣasas' devotion to their master.

In the central guard-post, at the heart of the city, he saw many of Rāvaṇa's spies. Some were under religious vows, some had matted hair, some shaven heads; some wore cowhide and some went naked. Some carried fistfuls of darbha grass as weapons, some fire-pits, others hammers and clubs, and some staves. Some were one-eyed and some many-coloured; some had pendulous bellies and breasts; they were fearsome, with twisted faces, misshapen, dwarfish. Some carried bows and swords, śataghnīs and pestles, fine iron bars, and some shone in bright armour. Some were of middling build — neither too fat nor too thin, neither too tall nor too short, neither too fair nor too dark, neither hunched nor dwarfish. Some were ugly, some could change their shape, some were handsome and radiant; they carried standards and banners and every kind of weapon. The great monkey saw them wielding spears and trees, pattiśas and thunderbolts, slings and nooses. Many wore garlands and were smeared with sandal-paste, adorned with fine ornaments, dressed in every sort of garb, roaming at will; they carried sharp spears and thunderbolts and were immensely strong. So the monkey saw the central guard, a hundred thousand strong and ever watchful. Disguised as ascetics with vows, matted hair or shaven heads, spies move about unnoticed — a subtle glimpse of Rāvaṇa's secret service; the science of statecraft too says that spies go about disguised as ascetics, merchants and mendicants. So Rāvaṇa guards his kingdom not by force alone but by cunning. The strange weapons, darbha grass and fire-pits, suggest that even those in the garb of ascetics strike through sorcery. The long run of "neither too… nor too…" shows that ordinary men of middling build were there as well, and so the poet paints the whole of society — the ugly and the handsome, disguised ascetics and warriors. "A hundred thousand" conveys, even as an exaggeration, the size of the force. Hanumān passes by them all and no one notices him, thanks to his small form and the night. All this he observes, and later he will report it to Rāma.

He saw that this guard had been posted by Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, in front of the inner palace. Then the great monkey beheld Rāvaṇa's house, famous as the home of the rākṣasa king, with its gateways of fine gold, set on the summit of Mount Trikūṭa, girdled by moats adorned with white lotuses and closely surrounded by ramparts; heavenly, like paradise itself, resounding with celestial music, ringing with the neighing of horses and the tinkle of ornaments, and full of chariots, carriages and aerial cars, fine horses and elephants. Its lovely gateway was graced by four-tusked elephants like masses of white cloud, and by wild beasts and birds in the season of rut. Guarded by thousands of yātudhānas of immense might, that closely guarded house of the lord of the rākṣasas the monkey entered. He went into Rāvaṇa's inner palace, girdled by a ring-wall of gold, its interior adorned with precious pearls and gems and fragrant with costly black aloe and sandal. Closely guarded though it was, Hanumān entered without hindrance, thanks to his intelligence and skill. "Like paradise" suggests that Rāvaṇa had built a copy of heaven itself, and the four-tusked elephants, like Indra's Airāvata, recall again his Indra-like splendour. His house stood on the mountain-top, protected by moats and ramparts and guarded by thousands of yātudhānas — a threefold defence — and Hanumān's getting past it all shows his marvellous ability. The poet says twice that he entered, to make the entry sure. Here only the entry is told; in the next sarga, with the rising of the moon, his search within the palace is described at length.