The whole ocean lay between Hanuman and the task he had been given.

He stood on the southern cliffs of the mainland, the wind tugging at his fur, and looked out at the endless grey water. Somewhere far across it, on the island of Lanka, was Sita — stolen away, captive, waiting for word that Rama had not forgotten her. Someone had to cross that sea and find her. The other monkeys had measured the distance and gone quiet. It was too far. It could not be done.

Hanuman closed his eyes and remembered who he served.

He did not think about how famous he would become. He did not think about rewards, or thrones, or songs that might be sung of him. He thought only of Rama — of doing the thing Rama needed done. And as he thought of Rama, he felt the strength rising in him, not from his own pride but from his love.

He grew. He swelled until he stood like a mountain on the shore. Then he crouched, pressed his great feet against the rock until the very cliff cracked beneath him, and leapt.

The sea blurred below. The wind screamed past. A mountain in the ocean rose up offering him rest, but he only touched it lightly and flew on. A sea-monster opened jaws wide enough to swallow him; he shrank, darted through, and grew again without breaking his flight. Nothing could stop him, because he wanted nothing for himself — and a person who wants nothing for himself is very hard to stop.

He landed on the far shore lighter than a falling leaf.

Later, deep inside Lanka, Hanuman would lift boulders, shatter gates, and set the demon-city ablaze. His strength shook the whole island. Yet through all of it he never once used that power to grab anything for himself. He took no treasure. He claimed no glory. When at last he found Sita and gave her Rama's ring, his only joy was that he had served.

That was the secret of his strength. It was enormous precisely because no selfish craving weighed it down. A greedy heart is heavy; it cannot leap. Hanuman's heart wanted only to help, and so it could cross the sea.

"I am the strength of the strong," Krishna said, "free of craving and attachment." Hanuman never read those words. He simply lived them, one impossible leap at a time.