Hanuman flies to the mountainside and quickly gathers together rocks of a suitable size, which he attaches to the hairs of his body.  Up he shoots into the air and heads out over the strait.  "Catch this lot then, partner," he shouts down to Nilapat, who, startled to hear Hanuman's voice from overhead, looks up to see what appears to be a mountain flying directly above him.

"What? . . . One at a time, brother, one at a time," Nilapat quavers, but before he can utter another word, Hanuman shakes himself like a wet dog, and down come the rocks with a roar.  Like a lone pine before an avalanche, like an ant under a landslide, Nilapat is engulfed and disappears.  It is a full minute before he can pick himself off the bed of the sea and reemerge above the waves, wet, bruised and seething with rage.  Hanuman is helpless with laughter at the sight of him.

Nilapat is nearly beyond words.  He lurches up into the air, screaming as he does so, "That's just the kind of behavior I might have expected from a blackguard of your sort.  But now I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget."