Chapter 75 — Hanuman's Promise

At last Rama spoke to Sugriva. The winter stay had been generous, but Kishkindha needed its king. Rama asked him to return to the vanara kingdom, now clear of the danger that had once driven Sugriva to the mountain refuge, and to rule it with his counselors.

He did not speak of a kingdom as though it were an object that could be handed back and forgotten. With affection he named those who had served beside Sugriva: Angada, Hanuman, Nala, the elder Sushena, Tara, Kumuda, Nila, Jambavan, Gandhamadana, and the others who had risked their lives for Rama's cause. Sugriva was to look upon them with care, Rama said, and do nothing that would wound them. Their service had made claims upon the king they were now returning with.

Rama then turned to Vibhishana. Lanka too had a ruler to send home, a city of rakshasas to govern, and a brother's ruined reign to succeed. Rama told him to rule Lanka by dharma: by the discipline of right conduct that measures the use of power. He was not to let his mind turn toward adharma. A thoughtful king, Rama said, attains and holds the earth securely.

The vanaras and rakshasas heard him with approval. They had seen the measure of his judgment in war and afterward: counsel where counsel was possible, force where force had become necessary, and no easy claim that victory had ended the duties of rule.

Then Hanuman came forward. He bowed at Rama's feet, and when he raised his head his request was simple enough to carry the weight of everything that had passed between them.

“My affection for you, my king, is fixed,” he said. “My devotion does not turn elsewhere. As long as Rama's story is heard upon the earth, let my life remain in this body.”

The request did not ask to escape the world, nor did it make Hanuman's service into possession. It bound his continued life to the continued telling of the story in which he had served Rama, sought Sita, crossed the sea, and carried help to those who needed it.

Rama rose from his seat and embraced him. “So it will be, best of the vanaras,” he said. “While the worlds endure, my story will endure. While that story moves among them, your life will remain.”

From his own neck Rama took a necklace bright as moonlight, its moving stones the color of beryl. He fastened it around Hanuman's neck with affection. The gift was royal, but the moment was not an award for a deed completed and set aside. It answered a devotion that had chosen to remain answerable to the tale itself.

The other vanaras rose again and again, bowed, and set out. Sugriva received Rama's embrace; Vibhishana received it too. Around them, bear heroes, vanaras, and rakshasas stood with tears in their throats and eyes. They left Rama as people leave one whose presence has become part of their inward life: unable to find ease in the parting, yet not released from the loyalty that made it hurt.