Chaupai 9–16

One verse, two completely opposite actions. To approach Sita in the Ashoka Vatika garden, Hanuman made himself tiny — so as not to frighten her, and so as not to be seen by Ravana's guards. Then, after being captured and having his tail set on fire, he expanded into a fearsome form and burned Lanka down. Control of his own form — shrinking or expanding at will — is one of Hanuman's great powers.

Taking a bheem — enormous and awe-inspiring — form, Hanuman slew the rakshasas who stood in the way. And by doing so, he fulfilled Shri Ramachandra's purpose. The verse names two things together: the act of destruction and the service it represents. Every battle Hanuman fought was not his own — it was Rama's work being accomplished through him.

Lakshmana lay mortally wounded on the battlefield. The only remedy was the Sanjeevani — a herb found in the Himalayas. Hanuman flew across the length of the land and returned in time. Lakshmana lived. When Shri Rama saw this, he did not simply thank Hanuman. Overcome with joy, he pulled Hanuman to his chest and held him there. That embrace is one of the most beloved moments in the Ramayana tradition.

After the embrace, Rama spoke. He praised Hanuman deeply — and then offered the highest comparison he could: you are as dear to me as Bharata, my own brother. For Rama, who loved his brothers above all else, this was the most personal, most tender declaration he could make. Hanuman received it not as a servant receiving a compliment but as a brother being recognised.

Even Shesha Nag — the great cosmic serpent with a thousand mouths, who supports all existence — sings Hanuman's glory. With a thousand mouths, he still cannot fully tell it. Having spoken these words, Rama embraced Hanuman once more. The verse captures the scale of Hanuman's glory through the grandest image available: a being with a thousand voices still finds the praise unfinished.

The roll-call continues. Sanaka and the mind-born sages. Brahma and the devas. Narada. Saraswati herself, goddess of speech and learning. And Shesha Nag again. All of them sing Hanuman's praise. The point Tulsidas is making is cumulative: no being in any realm — sage, deva, or serpent-king — is untouched by Hanuman's glory.

Yama, the lord of death. Kubera, the lord of wealth. The Dikpalas, the eight cosmic guardians — all of them acknowledge Hanuman. And then Tulsidas turns the question back on himself and on all poets and scholars: how far can we possibly describe him? The verse ends in a kind of awe-struck incompleteness — an acknowledgement that the glory exceeds the capacity of language.

Sugriva had lost his kingdom to his own brother Bali and was living in exile on the mountain Rishyamukha. It was Hanuman who recognised Rama and Lakshmana when they approached, and who made the introduction that changed everything. He brought Sugriva and Rama together. That alliance led to Bali's defeat, Sugriva's restoration as king of Kishkindha, and the great alliance that would eventually rescue Sita. Hanuman's role here was not as a warrior but as a wise intermediary.