Hanuman's Choice - Why He Refused to Save Lakshmana Himself

The mountain was ancient. It had watched the world form, watched gods dance, watched ages turn like pages.

Now a monkey stood on its peak, weeping.

Hanuman: "Which one? Which herb is Sanjeevani? There are thousands here. Millions. And I cannot identify it."

The mountain—for mountains have consciousness, in that world—spoke.

THE MOUNTAIN: "Why do you need this herb, little monkey?"

Hanuman: "Lakshmana is dying. Rama's brother. The arrow struck deep and only Sanjeevani can save him."

THE MOUNTAIN: "And if I told you that the herb you need doesn't exist? That this is a test you're meant to fail?"

Hanuman's tears stopped. His face hardened.

Hanuman: "Then I would find another way. There is always another way."

THE MOUNTAIN: "What if there isn't?"

Hanuman: "Then I would try anyway. Failure is acceptable. Not trying is not. I don't have time for philosophy, mountain. Tell me which one, or—"

THE MOUNTAIN: "Or what? You'll threaten me? I am stone and earth and ages. What can a monkey do to a mountain?"

Hanuman smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

Hanuman: "I can lift you."

The mountain was silent.

Hanuman: "I can carry you through the sky to Lanka. Let the physicians there search every inch of your surface. If the herb exists, they'll find it. If it doesn't, at least I'll know I did everything possible."

THE MOUNTAIN: "You would carry an entire mountain?"

Hanuman: "I would carry the world if it saved Lakshmana. He is Rama's brother. Rama is my lord. Nothing is too heavy, too far, too impossible."

THE MOUNTAIN: "You don't even know the way back."

Hanuman: "I'll follow the sun. I'll follow my heart. I'll follow the scent of desperation that calls me toward Lanka. Last chance, ancient one. Tell me which herb, or prepare for flight."

THE MOUNTAIN: "You truly believe you can lift me?"

Hanuman: "Belief is irrelevant. Need is absolute. My brother-in-devotion is dying. That is the only fact that matters."

The mountain felt Hanuman's hands—impossibly strong, divinely blessed.

THE MOUNTAIN: "Take me, then. I will not resist."

Hanuman: "Why not?"

THE MOUNTAIN: "Because I have watched devotion for ages. I have seen sacrifices, prayers, rituals without number. But I have never seen anyone offer to carry a mountain for love. This is the purest thing I have witnessed in ten thousand years. I want to see where it leads."

Hanuman lifted. The mountain rose—impossibly, gloriously, against every law of nature.

THE MOUNTAIN: "The herb is on my southern face, Blue flowers, golden leaves. You'll know it by its glow."

Hanuman: "Then why didn't you tell me before?"

THE MOUNTAIN: "Because I wanted to see if you would ask. Most would have. Most would have given up, negotiated, compromised. You simply decided to do the impossible. That's the rarest thing, little monkey. Rarer than any herb."

They flew through the night, a monkey and a mountain, crossing the world to save one life.

And when Lakshmana woke—healed, restored—he would never know how close he had come.

But Hanuman knew.

The mountain knew.

And somewhere, Rama smiled—knowing that his servant had just proven that devotion was stronger than gravity, stronger than impossibility, stronger than anything the universe could devise.