हनुमता प्रमदावनविध्वंसः

Honoured by Sītā with words of praise, and about to go, the monkey withdrew from that spot and began to think: "This dark-eyed lady has been found; little of the task remains. Passing over the first three means, it is the fourth that is called for here." Statecraft knows four means: conciliation, gifts, dividing the enemy, and force. Hanumān weighed each in turn: "Conciliation does no good with rākṣasas; gifts are of no use among those swollen with wealth; people proud of their strength cannot be won by division. Only valour appeals to me here. Without valour nothing can be settled in this matter; but if their chief warriors are killed in battle, the rākṣasas may somehow grow more pliant today." The rākṣasas were rich, so money would not tempt them; proud of their strength, they could not be set against one another; soft words were wasted on them. Only when their foremost heroes had been slain might they soften. Then he recalled the mark of one skilled in affairs: "He who, once the main task is done, accomplishes many others as well without harming the first, is fit to carry out a task. For no single means achieves even a small undertaking; the one who understands a matter in its many aspects is able to bring it to success." The main task, finding Sītā, was done; other tasks could now be accomplished without harming it. "If I make sure of things here and go back today to the home of the lord of the monkeys knowing the true measure of the enemy's strength and ours in a clash, then my master's command will truly have been carried out." Before going, he had to know exactly what strength each side would bring to the conflict. "How then can a battle with the rākṣasas, fought out by force, come about happily for me today, and how can the Ten-faced one in battle weigh his own strength against mine? Then, meeting the Ten-faced one in battle with his ministers, his army and his followers, and easily learning his intentions and his strength, I shall go back from here." Here Hanumān's grasp of statecraft shines out: he would not simply carry a message like an envoy but, like a spy, learn the enemy's strength and counsels. "Little remains" implies that finding Sītā was the main work, and testing the enemy's strength secondary but necessary. The poet marks the gravity of his thinking by setting these verses in a weightier metre.

"This fine grove of that cruel creature is like Indra's Nandana, delightful to eye and mind, full of all kinds of trees and creepers. I will destroy it as fire destroys a dry forest, and when it is wrecked Rāvaṇa will fall into a rage. Then the king of the rākṣasas will bring up a great army with horses, great chariots and elephants, armed with tridents, iron clubs and spears, and there will be a great battle. And I, whose valour never breaks, will meet those fierce rākṣasas in combat, slay the army Rāvaṇa sends, and go back happily to the home of the lord of the monkeys." His plan was plain: the grove was dear to Rāvaṇa, and its destruction would surely enrage him and make him send his army; so the chance for battle would come of itself. Likening the grove to Nandana conveys its beauty, and the destruction of what was so beautiful would pierce Rāvaṇa's heart. Fire in a dry forest shows Hanumān's speed and his ruthlessness, and "whose valour never breaks" shows his self-confidence. Sītā's safety was part of his resolve too: he did not touch the śiṃśapā tree that sheltered her, as the rākṣasīs report in the next sarga.

Then, furious as the wind, the son of the Wind, terrible in valour, began to hurl down the trees with the great force of his thighs. The hero Hanumān wrecked the pleasure grove, loud with maddened birds and full of all kinds of trees and creepers. With its trees smashed, its pools broken open and its hilltops ground to powder, the grove became a sorry sight. With the cries of many kinds of birds, its pools burst, its copper-coloured shoots withered and its trees and creepers wilting, it no longer shone, but looked as if a forest fire had swept it, and the creepers, their coverings in disarray, looked like women in distress. With its bowers and painted pavilions laid low, with beasts of prey, deer and birds crying out in terror, with its stone houses and other buildings smashed, the great grove lost all its beauty. Through the monkey's might, that stretch of the Ten-faced one's pleasure grove, with its spreading aśoka creepers shattered, became a spreading creeper of sorrow. Then the great monkey, having dealt this grievous wound to the heart of the mighty lord of the earth, stood alone at the gateway, blazing with splendour, eager to fight many mighty foes. The description of the destruction mounts step by step: first the trees, then the pools, then the pleasure-hills, then the buildings. The creepers with their coverings in disarray are like frightened women whose clothes are dishevelled, a hint of the grove's link with the women for whose pleasure it was made. The play on words in "aśoka" and "sorrow" is that the grove of no-sorrow became a grove of sorrow. At the end Hanumān did not flee but stood at the gateway ready to fight, challenging Rāvaṇa's army. "Furious as the wind, the son of the Wind": the son was as violent as the father, uprooting trees as the wind does. "With the force of his thighs" shows he broke the trees not only with his hands but with his thighs too. "Loud with maddened birds" recalls the joy of the grove before its ruin, making the later "birds crying out in terror" all the sharper. And the final image, "blazing with splendour", shows Hanumān's radiance: the destruction did not dim his glory but increased it.