हनूमतः सीताप्रशंसा शोकश्च

Having praised Sītā, so worthy of praise, and Rāma, delightful in his virtues, the bull among monkeys fell to thinking again. After a moment's reflection, his eyes brimming with tears, the mighty Hanumān lamented over Sītā: "If even Sītā — honoured by Lakṣmaṇa, who was trained by his elders, and beloved of his elder brother Rāma — is stricken with grief, then Time is hard indeed to overcome. Yet, knowing the resolve of Rāma and of wise Lakṣmaṇa, the queen is not greatly shaken, as the Gaṅgā is not shaken by the coming of the rains. Equal to him in character, age and conduct, equal in lineage and in the marks of the body, Vaidehī is worthy of Rāghava, and this dark-eyed lady of him." Seeing her, bright as new gold, like Śrī, the beloved of the world, he went to Rāma in his mind and spoke on. Here his joy turns to grief: he has found Sītā, but seeing her misery he weeps. "Time is hard to overcome": if even such a woman comes to grief, who can escape the power of Time? The Gaṅgā, being deep, is not greatly stirred even in the rains, and so Sītā, knowing the might of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, does not lose her composure. The two are matched in character, age, conduct, family and bodily marks; and calling her Śrī suggests that Rāma is like Viṣṇu. Lakṣmaṇa honoured her as a mother, as the wife of his elder brother. Hanumān's tears show his tender heart: he is not only a hero but a man of feeling.

"For the sake of this large-eyed lady mighty Vālin was killed, and Kabandha, Rāvaṇa's equal in valour, was struck down. For her Rāma, by his valour, killed the rākṣasa Virādha of terrible prowess in battle in the forest, as great Indra killed Śambara. Fourteen thousand rākṣasas of terrible deeds were slain in Janasthāna with arrows like flames of fire; Khara was slain in battle, Triśiras struck down, and mighty Dūṣaṇa too, by Rāma, whose greatness the world knows. Because of her, world-famous Sugrīva won the lordship of the monkeys, which Vālin had guarded and which was so hard to gain. For the sake of this large-eyed lady I crossed the glorious ocean, lord of rivers and streams, and searched this city. If for her sake Rāma were to turn over the whole earth bounded by the sea, and the whole world besides, it would be fitting — so I think. Weigh sovereignty over the three worlds against Sītā, Janaka's daughter: the kingdom of all three worlds would not equal a fraction of her." Here Hanumān sums up the whole story from the Araṇya Kāṇḍa to the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa — Virādha, Khara, Dūṣaṇa and Triśiras, Kabandha, Vālin, Sugrīva's kingdom and his own leap across the sea — not in the order of time but in the order of feeling, naming Vālin and Kabandha first because they are freshest in his memory. At the root of all these deeds is Sītā, so her worth is beyond measure. In Janasthāna Rāma alone killed fourteen thousand rākṣasas, as the Araṇya Kāṇḍa told. He mentions his own deed modestly among the rest, and he thinks even Rāma's imagined wrath would be just. He pictures a balance: sovereignty over the three worlds on one side and Sītā on the other, and still Sītā's side is heavier — the world would not match even a sixteenth part of her.

"This is Sītā, daughter of the righteous and great-souled Janaka, king of Mithilā, firm in her vows to her husband; who rose from the earth, splitting it open in a field furrowed by the plough, covered with the lovely dust of the field like lotus pollen. She is the eldest, glorious daughter-in-law of King Daśaratha — valiant, noble in character, never turning back in battle. This beloved wife of Rāma, who knows dharma, is grateful and knows his own self, has fallen into the power of rākṣasīs. Giving up every pleasure, moved by the strength of her love for her husband and heedless of hardship, she went into the lonely forest; content with fruit and roots, devoted to serving her husband, she found as much joy in the forest as in a palace. This lady with golden limbs, who always spoke with a smile, who never deserved misfortune, now endures this torment." Four relations of Sītā's life are recalled: daughter of Janaka, daughter-in-law of Daśaratha, wife of Rāma — and captive of Rāvaṇa. The first three are glorious, the fourth full of grief, and this contrast is the cause of Hanumān's sorrow. The story of her birth is told: not born of a womb, she rose from a field as it was ploughed, and the dust of the furrow on her body was like lotus pollen. The virtues of Daśaratha and of Rāma heighten the wrong: that the wife of such a man should be in the power of rākṣasīs is utterly unfitting. She went to the forest compelled by nothing but love, and was as happy there as at home; she does not deserve suffering, and yet she suffers. "Firm in her vows to her husband" is the heart of all his praise.

"Rāghava longs to see her, so rich in virtue, as a thirsty man longs for a watering-place that Rāvaṇa has wrecked — broken, but with water still in it. Surely, when he wins her back, Rāghava will rejoice like a king who, having lost his kingdom, wins back the earth — an image that touches Rāma's own state, for he too has lost his kingdom. Bereft of pleasures and comforts and parted from her kin, she keeps her body alive only in the hope of being reunited with him; that is the one purpose of her life. She does not look at the rākṣasīs, nor at these trees of flowers and fruit; her heart fixed on one alone, she surely sees only Rāma, her gaze turned inward on him. A husband is a woman's finest ornament, finer even than jewels; without him this lady, who deserves to shine, does not shine — she has all the fitness, but not the cause. And Rāma, the lord, does a hard thing indeed in keeping his body alive without her and not sinking beneath his sorrow." So Hanumān praises Rāma's endurance too, for to live without his beloved is a hard deed.

"Knowing that this lady, with her dark hair and eyes like a hundred-petalled lotus, who deserves happiness, is so unhappy, my own heart aches as well." The envoy feels his master's grief as his own. "She who is patient as the earth, her mother, with eyes like lotuses, who was once guarded by Rāghava and Lakṣmaṇa, is now guarded at the foot of a tree by rākṣasīs with hideous eyes — once guarded by love, now by captivity. Her beauty gone like a lotus struck by frost, crushed by one misfortune after another, like a cakravākī parted from her mate at night, Janaka's daughter has come to a pitiful state. The aśoka trees, their branch-tips bowed with blossom, only deepen her sorrow, and the cool-rayed moon, risen at winter's end, burns her like the sun with its thousands of rays" — the "sorrowless" trees bring sorrow and the cool moon brings heat. Having weighed the matter thus and become certain that this was Sītā, the mighty, swift bull among monkeys settled himself in that tree and sat down. There he stays hidden; in the next sarga Rāvaṇa will come.