हनूमते वरप्रदानं शापः अगस्त्यादीनां प्रस्थानं च

"Seeing the Grandfather, the Wind, stricken by the harm done to his son, took the child up and rose to stand before the Creator. With his earrings swinging, a garland on his head and golden ornaments on his body, he approached the Ordainer three times and fell at his feet." The Wind's humility is worth noticing: a moment before he had stopped the breath of the whole world, and now he bowed three times and fell at Brahmā's feet; his anger had come not from pride but from grief for his son, and when the grief ended the anger ended too. "Then Brahmā, knower of the Veda, adorned with hanging ornaments, raised the Wind up and stroked the child with his hand. At that playful touch of the lotus-born god the child came back to life, like a crop sprinkled with water" — as a withered crop turns green again when watered; the Creator's touch alone gives life. "Seeing his son alive, the Wind — the breath of all and bearer of fragrance — joyfully began to move again through all beings, as he had before he held himself back." With his movement restored, everyone's breath returned and the sacrifices and recitations began again. "Freed from the Wind's obstruction, the creatures rejoiced like lotus-pools freed from the cold wind" — lotuses that wilt in the winter blooming again in spring. "Then Brahmā — possessed of the three pairs, the three peaks, dwelling in the three abodes, worshipped by the gods — wishing to please the Wind, spoke." These epithets carry hidden meanings: the three pairs are lordship and valour, fame and fortune, knowledge and detachment; the three peaks are the threefold form of the godhead; the three abodes are the three worlds that are his home; and he is worshipped by the thirty gods. "'Great Indra, Agni, Varuṇa, Maheśvara and lord of wealth,' he said, 'you know it all already, yet I will tell you what is for your good; listen. This child will accomplish a great task of yours, so all of you grant him boons, to please the Wind.'" Brahmā did not command the gods but counselled them, for the child's help in the slaying of Rāvaṇa would be for their own good.

"Then thousand-eyed Indra, well pleased and with a gracious face, raised his garland of lotuses — a sign of his pleasure — and said, 'Since his jaw, hanu, was struck by the thunderbolt loosed from my hand, this tiger among monkeys shall be known by the name Hanumān. And I give him a supreme and wonderful boon: from this day on my thunderbolt shall never slay him.'" Indra gave the first boon, since he was the one at fault, and in naming the child he even kept the memory of his own offence. "Then the blessed Mārtaṇḍa, the Sun, dispeller of darkness, said, 'I give him a hundredth part of my own splendour. And when he is able to study the śāstras, I will give him learning, so that he will be eloquent; no one will equal him in understanding the śāstras.'" The Sun's boon was special, splendour and learning, and it will soon be told how Hanumān learned grammar from the Sun himself. "Varuṇa gave the boon that even in a hundred times ten thousand years he would not die by Varuṇa's noose or by water. Yama gave him freedom from death by his staff, and freedom from sickness, and said, 'I am pleased, and I grant him the boon of never losing heart in battle.'" Yama's gift was twofold — immunity from his staff and health — and never to despair in battle. "'This mace of mine shall never kill him in battle,' said the lord of wealth, Kubera, tawny in one eye" — for, the story goes, one of his eyes turned tawny when he looked upon Pārvatī. "'He shall not be slain by me or by my weapons' — this supreme boon Śaṅkara too bestowed. And Viśvakarman, best of craftsmen and great of mind, seeing the child shining like the young sun, gave him a boon: 'He shall be safe from every divine weapon I have made, and he shall live long.' And Brahmā said, 'He shall be long-lived and great-souled, and no Brahmā-staff shall slay him.'" Each god gave immunity from his own weapon, so that the child was protected on every side. The order of the boons is meaningful: first Indra, the offender; then the Sun, whom the child had flown to; then the world-guardians Varuṇa, Yama and Kubera; then Śaṅkara and Viśvakarman; and last Brahmā himself. So all the chief gods gave him boons, and he became the object of every god's favour.

"Seeing him adorned with the boons of the gods, four-faced Brahmā, teacher of the world, well pleased, said to the Wind, 'Your son, Māruta, the son of the Wind, will be a terror to his enemies, a giver of safety to his friends, and invincible. He will take any form he wishes, go wherever he wishes and move as he pleases, the best of leapers; his course will never be blocked, and he will be famous. For the destruction of Rāvaṇa and for Rāma's delight he will perform hair-raising deeds in battle.'" Brahmā's words sum up Hanumān's future — the destruction of Rāvaṇa and the delight of Rāma — and this prophecy is the heart of the Sundara and Yuddha Kāṇḍas. Every word came true: terror to his enemies in Laṅkā, safety to his friends in the monkey army, the power to change his form in the search for Sītā — when he took on a tiny form and a huge one — his unblocked course in the leap across the ocean, and fame in every world. "For Rāma's delight" deserves notice: all his deeds would be done to please Rāma. "Having said this and taken leave of the Wind, all of them, with the Grandfather at their head, went away with the immortals as they had come. The bearer of fragrance took his son home, told Añjanā of the boons he had been given, and went on his way" — returning the child to his mother and easing her worry, as a father of a household should.

"Having received these boons, Rāma, and strong with their power, he became like a full ocean with the speed that lay within him. Filled with that force, the bull among monkeys fearlessly made mischief in the hermitages of the great sages. He would break, tear and scatter the ladles and vessels, the implements of the sacred fire and the piles of bark garments of those tranquil sages. Such were the pranks the mighty child got up to. The sages all bore with him, knowing his power, for they knew Śambhu — here Brahmā, who had given that boon — had made him safe from every Brahmā-staff." It was a child's natural mischief: made fearless by the boons, he broke the sages' things in play, not out of malice. "Though Kesarin and the Wind forbade him, this son of Añjanā kept overstepping the bounds. Then the great sages born of the lines of Bhṛgu and Aṅgiras grew angry, best of the Raghus — yet not too angry, not too wrathful — and they cursed him: 'Since you trouble us, monkey, relying on your strength, you shall not know that strength for a long time, bewildered by our curse; but when your fame is recalled to you, your strength will grow.'" Even their curse was merciful: they did not take his strength away but made him forget it, and they gave him a remedy — the recalling of his fame. The curse was a strange one: it was the knowledge of his strength, not the strength itself, that was taken, and the sages' restraint shows that they forgave the child's fault and only curbed him for his own good. "Then, his force and vigour taken from him by the power of the great sages' words, he went about those same hermitages gently." With the curse his wildness left him and humility came, and that humility later became one of his great virtues. This curse is the answer to Rāma's question: Hanumān did not know his own strength during the feud between Vālin and Sugrīva. And later, in the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa, it was only when Jāmbavān reminded him of his fame that Hanumān was roused to leap the ocean — the working-out of this very curse.

"Now Ṛkṣarajas, the father of Vālin and Sugrīva, was king of all the monkeys, like the sun in splendour. After ruling the kingdom a long time as the great lord of the monkeys, he met his end. When he had set like the sun, ministers skilled in counsel made Vālin king in his father's place and Sugrīva heir after Vālin." So the history of the monkey kingdom is briefly told. "From childhood Hanumān had with Sugrīva a friendship without division or flaw, like that of the wind with fire" — as wind feeds fire and fire blazes with the wind, so Hanumān was Sugrīva's helper; there was no rift between them and no weakness, and that is why he lived with Sugrīva on Ṛṣyamūka. "Because of the curse, Rāma, he did not know his own strength when the feud arose between Vālin and Sugrīva. Neither did Sugrīva, lord, even as Vālin was chasing him about, know Hanumān's strength, nor did the son of the Wind know the strength within himself. With his strength taken from him by the sages' curse, the best of monkeys stood by Sugrīva in that struggle like a lion held back by an elephant." Here Rāma's question receives its full answer: Hanumān's strength had been forgotten through the curse, not destroyed. As a lion, however strong, can do nothing when an elephant blocks it, so Hanumān stayed with Sugrīva in the forest as if held back.

"In valour, energy, understanding, majesty, good conduct, sweetness, judgement of right and wrong policy, depth, cleverness, courage and fortitude — who in the world surpasses Hanumān?" The poet packs eleven virtues into a single breath. "Wishing to learn grammar, this lord of monkeys, immeasurable himself, went with his face turned to the Sun, eager to question him, carrying a great book, from the mountain of sunrise to the mountain of sunset." The story of his studies is wonderful: he stood facing the Sun and, travelling with him from dawn to dusk, asked his questions and learned grammar. "The lord of monkeys mastered grammar with its sūtras, commentary, meanings and words, its great import and its compendium" — every part of the science — "and no one equals him in learning, in scholarly skill or in the knowledge of metre. In all branches of knowledge and in the practice of austerity he rivals Bṛhaspati, the teacher of the gods; knowing the meaning of the nine grammars, he will even become Brahmā by your grace." The nine grammars, by tradition, include those of Indra, Candra, Kāśakṛtsna and Pāṇini; and Agastya matched Hanumān with Bṛhaspati and said he would one day attain the office of Brahmā. "Like the ocean when it longs to flood the land, like fire when it longs to burn the worlds, like Death at the destruction of the worlds — who could stand before Hanumān?" All three are irresistible, and so is Hanumān in battle. "He and the other great lords of monkeys — Sugrīva, Mainda and Dvivida, Nīla, Tāra, Tāreya" — that is, Aṅgada, son of Tārā — "Nala and Rambha; Gaja, Gavākṣa, Gavaya, Sudaṃṣṭra, Mainda, Prabha, Jyotimukha and Nala, and these bears together with the monkey lords — all were created by the gods for your sake, Rāma." The divine origin of the monkeys was told in the Bāla Kāṇḍa as well: the gods begot sons in monkey form to help Rāma. "So I have told you all that you asked me; I have told you what Hanumān did in his childhood."

Hearing what Agastya had told, Rāma and Saumitri, and the monkeys and the rākṣasas with them, were filled with the greatest wonder, and Rāma kept pondering Hanumān's marvellous story. Then Agastya said to Rāma, "You have heard all this, Rāma. We have seen you and spoken with you; now we will go." The purpose of their coming — to greet Rāma — had been fulfilled. Hearing these words of Agastya, of fierce energy, Rāghava joined his palms, bowed low and said to the great sage, "Today, by the mere sight of you all, the gods, my fathers and forefathers and all my kin are pleased for ever." The merit of seeing the sages reached even to his ancestors. "But there is a request I make with longing, and you must grant it out of kindness to me." Like a suppliant he humbly asked for the sages' help. "When I have set the citizens and the country-folk to their proper tasks, I will perform sacrifices through the power of you good men. You of great power must always sit in the assembly at my sacrifices, wishing me well. Relying on you, whose sins have been shaken off by austerity — for the company of such men itself purifies — I shall be blessed by my ancestors and wholly content. So you must always come here together." Here Rāma's kingly dharma shows: he invited the sages to his sacrifices and set the kingdom's work in order among his people, and he did not merely send them off but begged them to come again, making the bond between king and sages lasting. Hearing this, Agastya and the other sages of rigorous vows said, "So be it," and prepared to leave; and having spoken, they all went away as they had come. So ends the story of Agastya's visit: the sages had come to see Rāma after his coronation, told him everything from Rāvaṇa's origins to Hanumān's childhood, and now departed. Rāghava, full of wonder, kept turning the matter over in his mind. When the sun had set, he dismissed the kings and the monkeys, closing the assembly for the day, performed the evening worship according to rule — a king too does not neglect his daily rites, a reminder of Vālin's twilight worship — and when night had fallen that best of men went into the inner apartments. The next sarga begins with Rāma waking at dawn.