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Rama came to the shore of the Pampa lake with Lakshmana, to a place where lotuses had opened, water lilies floated, and fish moved through the clear water. The scene was so lovely that it deepened the ache of his separation, and his mind gave way to lament. The moment his eyes fell on the lake his senses trembled with a rush of delight, and in the grip of longing he began to speak to Saumitri, the son of Sumitra. This is the beginning of the Kishkindhakanda, which tells of Rama’s grief, his meeting with Hanuman, his fire-witnessed friendship with Sugriva, and the recognition of the ornaments of the lost Sita.
Spring on the banks of Pampa and Rama’s lament
“Look, Lakshmana,” Rama said, “how radiant this Pampa is. Its water is clear as a cat’s-eye gem, its lotuses and lilies are in full bloom, and trees of every kind stand around it like ornaments. With their high branches they look like mountains crowned with peaks, and they spread their beauty on every side.”
Rama said that pains of many kinds were tormenting him. On the one side lay the thought of Bharata’s sorrow, on the other the abduction of Sita, daughter of Janaka, king of Videha. Even scorched by grief, he found Pampa bewitching. The turf along its banks, blue-green and yellow, looked like carpets woven from the flowers the trees had dropped. The breeze seemed to play everywhere at once among the petals that had fallen, the petals still falling, and the blossoms that clung to the branches. Slipping out of the mountain caves, the wind seemed to sing in the sweet voice of the cuckoo.
This was the month of Chaitra, Rama said, the first month of spring, when the breeze turns gentle, stirs deep longing, and the trees grow heavy with flower and fruit. He showed Lakshmana the splendor of the woods, which rained blossoms the way clouds pour rain. The karnikara trees, loaded with flowers, looked like men decked in gold ornaments and robed in yellow silk.
“This spring, ringing with the calls of so many birds,” Rama said, “wakes to the full my grief for Sita, parted from me forever. Weighed down by sorrow, I am tormented by longing, and the cuckoo seems to taunt me, as though picking a quarrel. In the old days, when my beloved heard its call at our hermitage, she would grow glad and call out to me. Now she is gone.” Watching a peacock dance, Rama said that no demon had carried off the peahen from this forest, and so the bird played with his mate. But for him, in this month brimming with flowers, life without his beloved was past bearing.
“See, Lakshmana,” Rama said, “how deep love runs even among the lower creatures, that this peahen goes to her mate out of longing. Had she not been carried off, the wide-eyed Janaki too would have come to me, faint with love.” Rama thought that if spring had reached the place where Sita now was, then Sita, helpless in another’s power, must be grieving exactly as he grieved. And if spring had not reached her, then how could she, whose eyes were dark as blue lotuses, live at all without him?
Rama said the conviction turned relentlessly in his mind that his faithful Sita could not survive their parting, because Vaidehi’s heart was fixed, in the truest sense, on him alone, and his own heart rested wholly on her. Even the cool wind carrying the scent of flowers felt like fire, since it brought her to memory. Rama named the trees blossoming on Pampa’s banks, the chirabilva and the madhuka, the vanjula and the bakula, the champaka, the tilaka, and the naga. On a peak to the south, a flowering stalk of karnikara struck him as the loveliest sight of all.
Rama praised Pampa for a beauty like that of the Mandakini, and said that if only his faithful Sita could be found and he could live on in this forest, he would neither envy Indra nor long for Ayodhya. The pleasant wind of Pampa’s woods, he said, which carried the fragrance of lotus and of the white saugandhika lily and drove sorrow away, was enjoyed only by the truly fortunate. Without Sita, his mind was going under.
The key to understanding (place): Pampa is a lovely lake, and Rishyamuka the mountain that stands near it. The hermitage of the sage Matanga, the Matanga wood, lies in this same region. These three places are the stage for the opening of the Kishkindhakanda. Kishkindha, the capital of Vali, lies some distance away.
Rama wondered what he would say if, on his return, his mother Kausalya or King Janaka were to ask after Sita’s welfare before a full assembly. Sita, who had taken her stand on dharma and followed him into the forest when he was cast from the throne and sunk in despair, where would she be now? At last Rama said, “Lakshmana, go and look after Bharata, who loves his brothers. Without the daughter of Janaka I cannot go on living.”
To the noble Rama, lamenting like a man with no one to turn to, his brother Lakshmana spoke words that were reasoned and without fault. “O best of men, gather your courage, do not grieve. The minds of the blameless, such as you, never go slack. Remember the pain of parting from one you love, and yet let go of this clinging, for the touch of too much attachment sets even a damp wick alight. Let Ravana flee to Patala or deeper still, he will not stay alive. Once we have traced that sinful demon, he will either give Sita back or meet his death. Should he take her and burrow into the very womb of Diti, I will kill him there.”
“O noble one, steady yourself,” Lakshmana said, “and put off this feeble spirit. Nothing is achieved without effort. There is no strength greater than zeal. Zealous men do not drown even in hard undertakings. By zeal alone we will win Janaki back. Leave grief behind and give up this conduct ruled by longing. It is a sad thing that you no longer recognize yourself for the great, self-mastered man you are.” Counseled in this way, Rama, whose awareness had gone dim with sorrow, let go of grief and confusion and came to steadiness.
Rama, whose might passed all reckoning, crossed the Pampa and pressed on. He walked with the gait of a rutting elephant, and Lakshmana guarded him in both dharma and strength. Just then Sugriva, the powerful lord of the monkeys, roaming near Rishyamuka, caught sight of the two princes of astonishing appearance, and grew so afraid that he forgot the food in his hands. Crushed under the weight of dread and anxiety, he sank into the deepest gloom. His monkeys too, taking the strangers for Vali’s men, bolted toward the hermitage of Matanga, ground barred to Vali by the sage’s curse and for that very reason a safe refuge to them.
The gist: The splendor of spring on Pampa’s banks deepened Rama’s grief at his separation from Sita. Lakshmana steadied him with a lesson in zeal and endurance. The two brothers pressed on, and on Rishyamuka the terrified Sugriva saw them come.
Sugriva’s suspicion and Hanuman’s counsel
At the sight of the two heroic brothers, the noble Rama and Lakshmana, bearing their splendid weapons, Sugriva was seized with suspicion. His heart in turmoil, he looked in every direction and could not hold still in one spot. The sight of these warriors made his courage fail, as the old tellings have it. Weighing his own strength against the strangers’, deeply shaken, Sugriva fell into distress along with the other monkeys.
“These two,” Sugriva told his ministers, “are without doubt sent by Vali. Dressed in bark like ascetics, by a trick, they have come to roam this hard forest.” Saying so, Sugriva and his ministers moved from that ridge to another fine peak. Then all the troop-leaders quickly ranged themselves around Sugriva, the best of the monkeys, and, snapping the trees on the summit and scattering deer and wildcats and tigers, they stood on guard with joined palms.
Then to Sugriva, scorched by fear and dreading some new stroke from Vali, the eloquent Hanuman spoke. “Let go of this whole cloud of worry about Vali. This finest of mountains is Malaya, which is to say Rishyamuka, and here there is nothing to fear from Vali. The cruel Vali, the one whose terror sent you running here in a panic, I do not see him anywhere near. Gentle one, that black-hearted Vali is not here. And how clearly the monkey shows in you, that out of a flighty mind you cannot settle on a single resolve. You who are full of intelligence and understanding, read these signs and act as the moment demands. A king who gives way to thoughtlessness cannot govern his people well.”
Hearing this wholesome counsel, Sugriva answered with words finer still. “Who would not be afraid at the sight of these two, long of arm and wide of eye, bearing bow and arrow and sword like sons of the gods? I suspect these splendid men are sent by Vali himself, for kings keep many friends, and it is unwise to trust them. Enemies move about in disguise, and the shrewd man reads them for what they are. Trusting no one themselves, they wait and strike at the soft places of those who trust.”
“Go to them, plavangama, as an ordinary man would,” Sugriva ordered Hanuman, “and from their gestures, their faces, and the way they speak to each other, learn their true purpose. If they seem glad at heart, then, praising me and reassuring them again and again by signs, keeping your face turned toward me, ask why they have entered this forest. And even if you judge them honest of soul, still weigh their words and their bearing for any trace of ill intent.”
Charged in this way by Sugriva, the monkey-king, Maruti, the son of the wind, resolved to go where Rama and Lakshmana stood. “So be it,” he said, honoring Sugriva’s command, and the high-souled Hanuman set out toward the place where the mighty Rama waited with Lakshmana.
The gist: Sugriva took Rama and Lakshmana for Vali’s spies and grew suspicious. Hanuman reminded him that Rishyamuka was safe ground and urged him to act with wisdom. In the end Sugriva sent Hanuman to learn the two princes’ true intent.
Hanuman’s meeting and Rama’s praise
Taking his master’s meaning to heart, Hanuman sprang down from Rishyamuka to where the two Raghavas stood. Since Sugriva was a man of suspicious temper, Hanuman laid aside his monkey shape and put on the form of a wandering mendicant. In soft and winning speech, drawing near in all humility and bowing low, he addressed the two heroes and praised them as was fitting.
“Who are you?” Hanuman asked. “Bearing a striking brilliance, an unfailing might, stern vows, and a noble beauty, you look like royal sages, or like gods. How have two ascetics such as you come into this forest, where your very presence sends the deer and the wild things fleeing in fear? You wear robes of bark, your arms are strong and shapely, you draw deep breaths, and you throw these creatures into unease. With the gaze of lions, carrying bows that gleam like the rainbow of Indra, destroyers of enemies, radiant with fortune, you flood this Rishyamuka with your light.
“With eyes like lotus petals and coils of matted hair, so like each other, you seem heroes stepped down from the realm of the gods. It is as if the moon and the sun had come down to the earth. You are worthy to guard the whole of this earth, with its oceans and its forests, crowned by the Vindhya and by Meru. And yet why do these arms, worthy of every ornament, go bare? I have praised you all this while, and still you will not speak a word to me.
“There is a monkey-lord named Sugriva, a soul devoted to dharma,” Hanuman went on, beginning to name himself, “who wanders the earth in grief, driven out by his own elder brother. It is that high-souled Sugriva who has sent me, a monkey named Hanuman, to you. He longs for the friendship of you both. Know me for his minister, a monkey and a son of the wind, who has come here from Rishyamuka in a mendicant’s guise to do Sugriva a service, and who can take any form and travel any road at will.” Having said this, Hanuman, so skilled in speech, fell silent.
Hearing Hanuman’s words, the glorious Rama, his face lit with pleasure, turned to his brother Lakshmana at his side. “The one who has come to me is the minister of that very Sugriva, the lord of monkeys, the very one I have been seeking. Saumitri, answer this monkey, Sugriva’s minister, in words sweet and warm. No one could speak as he has who had not studied the Rigveda for its meaning, committed the Yajurveda to memory, and mastered the Samaveda. Surely he has gone through the whole of grammar many times over, for in all this speaking he has not let slip a single wrong word. No flaw showed in his mouth, his eyes, his forehead, his brows, or any other part of him. His speech is brief, free of doubt, unhurried, and untroubled, pitched in a measured tone drawn from the three seats of utterance, the chest, the throat, and the head. Whose heart would not be won by speech so gracious and gladdening? How can a king whose service lacks such an envoy see his purposes carried through? When a king’s messengers are furnished with such gifts, all his aims are accomplished.”
The key to understanding (a concept): “Uttered from three places” means the voice issues from a proper balance of the three seats of sound, the chest, the throat, and the head. This is the mark of an excellent speaker. This passage in Valmiki establishes Hanuman as a master of the Vedas and of grammar.
At Rama’s bidding, Lakshmana, himself a knower of speech, said to Hanuman, Sugriva’s minister, “Learned one, we know the virtues of the noble Sugriva. It is that very lord of monkeys we are seeking. As you propose on Sugriva’s behalf, so shall we do.” Hearing Lakshmana’s able words, and setting his heart on Sugriva’s triumph, Hanuman, glad in form, resolved to bring about the alliance between the two.
The gist: In the guise of a mendicant, Hanuman met Rama and Lakshmana, asked who they were, and named himself and Sugriva. Rama praised Hanuman’s Veda-trained, grammar-perfect speech at length, and Lakshmana declared their wish for friendship with Sugriva.
The telling of the tale and Hanuman carrying Rama and Lakshmana on his shoulders
When Hanuman heard Rama’s words and the warmth in them toward Sugriva, and understood that Rama too had come with a purpose, he was overjoyed. He said to himself, “The kingdom is as good as won for the noble Sugriva, for Rama has come here in need, and the task of meeting that need has now fallen to Sugriva.” Then Hanuman asked Rama, “Rama, why have you come with your younger brother into this dread and difficult forest, full of snakes and wild beasts, for all that it is graced by the woods of Pampa?”
Prompted by Rama, Lakshmana told the tale of the noble Rama, son of Dasharatha. “There was a king named Dasharatha, a man of radiance and a lover of dharma, who guarded the four orders of society by his own steadfast duty. No one hated him, and he hated no one. To every living thing he was like a second grandfather, another Brahma. With sacrifices such as the Agnishtoma, in which the full priestly fees were paid, he offered worship. His firstborn is the man beside you, whom people know by the name of Rama. He is fit to shelter all beings, a flawless keeper of his father’s word, the eldest and worthiest of all Dasharatha’s sons.
“Marked with every sign of royalty, on the very threshold of the crown, he was cast from the kingdom without warning, and came to dwell in the forest with me and with his wife Sita, the way the sun goes down at the close of day with all its splendor. I am his younger brother, named Lakshmana, who out of his virtues became his servant. His wife, blessed, deserving of every comfort and honor, given wholly to the good of all beings, was carried off by some rakshasa able to change his shape at will, in a moment when none of us was near, and who that rakshasa is we do not know.
“A son of Diti named Danu, who by a curse had been thrust into a rakshasa’s body, the one called Kabandha, told us of the able monkey-lord Sugriva. He said the mighty Sugriva would hunt out the one who had seized my brother’s wife. Having spoken, Danu turned radiant and rose to heaven. So I have told you everything, and told it truly. Now Rama and I have both come to seek refuge with Sugriva. He who was himself a lord of the world, a giver of shelter to all and a lover of dharma, whose daughter-in-law was Sita, that same Rama now wishes to take Sugriva for his protector. When a Rama undone by grief comes seeking refuge, Sugriva, together with his troop-leaders, ought to show him grace.”
As Lakshmana spoke in a voice choked with tears, Hanuman answered him. “By great good fortune, men such as you have come before our eyes, men of sound judgment who have mastered anger and the senses, men worthy to stand before Sugriva, the monkey-king. Sugriva too has been driven from his kingdom, set at feud with Vali, robbed of his wife, and lives in the forest in fear. That son of the sun will join with all of us to help you in the search for Sita.”
Having said this in sweet words, Hanuman told Rama, “Come, let us go to Sugriva.” The righteous Lakshmana, honoring Hanuman as was proper, said to Rama, “Raghava, this son of the wind speaks truly and in gladness. Sugriva too has a purpose of his own. You have come at the right hour, and your end is as good as gained. This bright-faced hero Hanuman will not speak falsely.” Then the wise Hanuman took up the two heroic Raghavas and set out to meet the monkey-king Sugriva. Shedding his mendicant’s form and taking again his monkey shape, he seated the two heroes on his shoulders, and that lordly monkey started toward Rishyamuka. His task accomplished, delighted, of vast renown, the son of the wind bore Rama and Lakshmana toward Rishyamuka, the best of mountains.
A sub-tale: The hint of Kabandha (Danu). Lakshmana related that a son of Diti named Danu had been thrust by a curse into a rakshasa’s body, and that it was he who advised Rama and Lakshmana to make friends with Sugriva. This is the thread of Kabandha’s story, told in full at the close of the Aranyakanda; here Valmiki gives only a passing reminder of it.
The gist: Hanuman asked why Rama had come to the forest, and Lakshmana told Rama’s whole story. Hanuman pointed to Sugriva’s like misfortune and pledged help, then took his true form and carried the two brothers on his shoulders to Rishyamuka.
The fire-witnessed friendship and Sugriva’s grief
Going from Rishyamuka to the Malaya hill, Hanuman presented the two heroes to Sugriva, the monkey-king. “Most wise one, this Rama of steadfast valor has come with his brother Lakshmana. Born in the line of Ikshvaku, a son of Dasharatha, renowned for his dharma, he came to the forest at his father’s command. His father Dasharatha fed the sacred fire with the Rajasuya and the Ashvamedha, and gave away cows by the hundred thousand. By austerity and truth he upheld the earth, and for the sake of a promise made to his wife, Rama came to the forest. While he was living there, Ravana carried off his wife, and so he has come seeking your refuge. Take these two brothers, Rama and Lakshmana, who ask for your friendship, and do them honor.”
At Hanuman’s word, Sugriva took on a most comely form and came to Rama in affection. “You are humble in dharma, given to austerity, tender toward all,” he said. “The son of the wind has told me your virtues as they truly are. Lord, it is my own honor and my great fortune that you, of all men, should seek the friendship of a monkey. If my friendship is welcome to you, here is my arm held out. Take my hand in yours, and let a firm bond be tied between us.” Hearing these good words, Rama with a glad heart pressed Sugriva’s hand in his own and, in the warmth of fellowship, drew him into a close embrace.
Then Hanuman set aside his mendicant’s form and, in his own shape, kindled a fire from two sticks. He worshiped it with flowers and, having honored it, placed the blazing fire carefully between Rama and Sugriva. Rama and Sugriva then walked around the kindled flame, and in that circling they were bound in friendship. The two of them, Hari the monkey and Rama the Raghava, gazed at each other and could not look their fill. Overjoyed, Sugriva said to Rama, “Now you are the dear friend of my heart, and from this hour our grief and our gladness are one.”
Breaking off a branch of sal laden with flowers and leaves and spreading it out, Sugriva sat down on it beside Rama. The delighted Hanuman gave Lakshmana a flowering branch of sandalwood. Then Sugriva, his eyes unsteady with joy, spoke sweetly to Rama. “Rama, cast out from my home, I wander this forest tormented by fear. Since my wife was taken from me I have lived in terror, my mind unstrung, sheltering in this hard country. My brother Vali drove me out and turned his enmity on me. Blessed one, in my terror give me safety from Vali. Kakutstha, so order it that fear no longer dwells in me.”
Thus appealed to, Rama, radiant, a knower and lover of dharma, said to Sugriva as though with a smile, “Great monkey, I know that the fruit of friendship is the help one gives. Vali, who carried off your wife, him I will kill. These arrows of mine, bright as the sun, sharp and unerring, fletched with vulture feathers and flashing like the thunderbolt of Indra, like serpents in a rage, will fall on that wicked Vali. This very day you will see him laid low like a mountain broken apart, struck down by shafts keen as venomous snakes.” Hearing these heartening words, the overjoyed Sugriva said, “Lion among men, hero, by your grace may I win back both my wife and my kingdom. God among men, deal with that enemy so that he can never torment me again.”
At this loving compact between Sugriva and Rama, the left eyes of Sita, of Vali, and of Ravana, the one like a lotus, the second like gold, the third like fire, quivered all at once.
The key to understanding (a concept): In the lore of omens, the throbbing of the left-side limbs is held auspicious for women and inauspicious for men. So Sita’s left eye throbbing points to good fortune for her, her deliverance, and to ruin for Vali and Ravana. This is one of Valmiki’s fine foreshadowings.
The gist: Sugriva offered Rama the hand of friendship, and before the fire Hanuman kindled the two circled the flame as their witness. Sugriva told his grief, and Rama vowed to kill Vali. The omen marked the pact as fortunate and pointed to the ruin of Vali and Ravana.
The recognition of Sita’s ornaments
The glad Sugriva spoke to Rama once more. “Rama, this Hanuman, my chief minister, has already told me why you came into this desolate forest with Lakshmana. He told me how, while you were living in the forest, a rakshasa carried off Maithili, Sita, the daughter of Janaka, and how she wept, cut off from you and from the wise Lakshmana, and how that rakshasa, watching for his moment, killed the vulture Jatayu and left you with the grief of a wife torn away. You will soon be rid of this grief, for as the Lord recovered the lost scripture of the Vedas in his form as a fish, so shall I bring her back. Be she in Rasatala or in the sky, tamer of foes, I will find her and give her to you.
“Take my word for truth,” Sugriva said. “That wife of yours could no more be kept down by the gods and demons and Indra together than food laced with poison. Mighty-armed one, put grief aside, I will bring her back. By my own reckoning I know it was Maithili, of that there is no doubt. A rakshasa of savage deeds was carrying her off, and she, crying out ‘Rama! Rama!’ and ‘Lakshmana!’ in a broken voice, writhing in Ravana’s arms like the bride of the king of serpents, came into our sight. When she saw me on the mountainside with my five companions, she let fall her upper garment and her fair ornaments. We gathered them up and have kept them safe. I will bring them to you, and you shall know them.”
Rama said to the kindly Sugriva, “Friend, bring them at once. Why any delay?” At this Sugriva, eager to please Rama, went quickly into a rugged cave of the mountain. He took up the garment and those ornaments and, saying, “Look at these,” the monkey held them out to Rama. Taking the cloth and the fair ornaments into his hands, Rama clouded over with tears like the moon veiled in mist. Wet with the tears that love for Sita poured out of him, crying, “Alas, my beloved,” his composure gone, Rama sank to the ground. Pressing the precious ornament again and again to his heart, he drew hissing breaths like an angry serpent in its hole.
In the unceasing flood of tears, seeing Lakshmana standing near, Rama in his wretchedness lamented, “See, Lakshmana, at the moment she was seized Vaidehi let these ornaments and this upper garment fall from her body to the ground. Surely, as she was carried off, Sita dropped this ornament on the grassy earth, for it has just this look.” To this Lakshmana answered, “I do not know the armlet, nor the earring. The anklets alone I know, for it was at her feet that I bowed each day.”
The key to understanding (a concept): That Lakshmana knew only the anklets is a mark of his propriety. He never looked upon Sita’s higher ornaments, the armlets and the earrings; only when he touched her feet in reverence each day did his eyes fall on the anklets. This is Valmiki’s delicate portrait of Lakshmana’s character.
Then Rama the Raghava said to Sugriva, “Sugriva, tell me, in what direction did that terrible rakshasa carry off my beloved, as you saw it? Where does the rakshasa dwell, he who is my great ruin? For his sake I will wipe out the whole race of rakshasas, this creature who, by carrying off Maithili and rousing me to fury, has opened the door of death upon his own life. Lord of monkeys, name me this very day the enemy I will send to the house of Yama.”
The gist: Sugriva told of Sita’s abduction and the ornaments she let fall, and promised to find and bring her back. At the sight of the ornaments Rama fainted with grief; Lakshmana knew only the anklets. Then Rama, in his anguish, pressed to learn where Ravana lived and which way he had gone.
Sugriva’s words of comfort
At Rama’s grieving words Sugriva, his palms joined, spoke in a voice choked and brimming with tears. “Tamer of foes, I know nothing of that sinful rakshasa, not where he lives, not his strength, not his valor, not the base house he springs from. And yet I make you a true vow. Put grief aside, and I will strive so hard that you will win Maithili back. I will kill Ravana with all his hordes, and by my own manhood set your heart at rest. You will soon know gladness.
“Do not give way to a failing mind. Call back your steadiness,” Sugriva said. “Such faintness does not become men like you. I too have known the heavy affliction of a wife lost, and still I do not grieve like this or let my steadiness go. If I, a mere monkey, do not grieve for her, how much less should you, a man noble, self-mastered, and firm of soul. Hold back your tears by strength of will. Do not let slip the bounds and the resolve of men of courage. The steadfast man does not go under in hardship, in want, or in the fear of death, but takes counsel with his own mind. The fool who forever follows his weakness sinks in sorrow like a boat weighed down past its load.
“Here are my hands folded,” Sugriva said, “and in friendship I beg you. Take hold of your manhood, and give grief no entry. Those who follow grief find no joy, and their fire dies down. Lord of kings, let go of grief and lay hold of steadiness alone. I speak for your good as a friend, and do not preach. For the sake of my friendship, do not grieve.”
At this sweet comfort Rama wiped his tear-wet face with the end of his garment. Brought back to himself by Sugriva’s words, Lord Rama embraced him and said, “What a loving and well-meaning friend ought to do, what is worthy of you and right, that you have done, Sugriva. Counseled by you, I am myself again. Such a friend is hard to find, above all in an hour of trouble like this. But you must bend your effort to the search for Maithili and for the fierce, black-souled Ravana. Whatever I am to do, tell me plainly and without reserve. As in the rains every seed bears fruit in a good field, so shall your every wish come to pass. Tiger among monkeys, hold for truth the word I spoke in the heat of resolve, my vow to kill Vali. I have never spoken falsely before, nor ever shall. This I promise you, and I swear it by truth itself.”
Hearing Rama’s word, and above all that vow, Sugriva and his monkey ministers grew glad beyond measure. So joined together in private, the two of them, one a man and one a monkey, began to tell each other their joys and sorrows as equals. Hearing the word of the noble king Rama, the wise Sugriva, first among the monkey heroes, held his purpose in that moment already achieved.
The gist: Though Sugriva did not know where Ravana was, he vowed truly to find Sita and bring her back, and taught Rama a lesson in steadiness. Rama came back to himself and, swearing by truth, repeated his vow to kill Vali.
Sugriva’s account of himself and the beginning of the feud
Content with Rama’s word, Sugriva said to the brave Rama, elder brother of Lakshmana, “Surely I am one on whom the gods have looked with grace, for a man rich in every virtue has become my friend. Faultless Rama, with a helper such as you I could win even the realm of the gods, let alone my own kingdom. A man who has found, with the fire for witness, a friend of the line of Raghu, is one to be envied among his kin and well-wishers. I too am a friend worthy of you, as you will learn in time.”
“The love of the noble stands unshaken, and their steadiness has no end,” Sugriva said. “The good count their silver, their gold, and their ornaments as held in common with their friends. Rich or poor, in sorrow or in joy, blameless or at fault, a friend is a friend’s last refuge. For a friend a man will give up wealth, comfort, even his own country.” Rama said to the fair-faced Sugriva, “It is so.” Then, seeing Rama and the mighty Lakshmana standing there, Sugriva let his eyes range restlessly over the forest.
Then he saw a sal tree close by, graced with fair flowers, a few leaves, and humming bees. Breaking off one of its lovely leaf-laden branches and spreading it out, Sugriva sat down with Rama. Seeing this, Hanuman too broke off a branch of sal and seated the modest Lakshmana. When he saw Rama, calm as a contented ocean, at ease on that fine mountain strewn with sal blossoms, the delighted Sugriva spoke, in affection, in words half-lost with joy.
“Cast out by my brother, terrified, I wander this forest. Grieved by the loss of my wife, I take shelter on Rishyamuka, best of mountains. Raghava, set at feud with Vali, in terror, sunk in fear, my mind confused, I live in this forest. O giver of safety to every world, show grace to me in my helplessness.” At this Rama, radiant and knowing of dharma, said as though with a smile, “The fruit of friendship is the help one gives, and injury is the mark of an enemy. This very day I will kill that Vali who carried off your wife.
“Blessed one,” Rama said, showing his arrows, “these keen shafts of mine, sprung from the birthplace of Kartikeya, the forest of reeds, adorned with gold, sheathed in vulture feathers, like the thunderbolt of Indra, with fine joints and sharp heads, like serpents in a rage. See that enemy brother of yours, Vali, who has wronged you, laid low like a mountain broken apart by these arrows.” At this Sugriva, the commander, felt a joy without measure and said, “Well done, and well done again. Rama, I am overwhelmed by grief, and you are the refuge of the grieving. Knowing you for a friend, I lay my pain before you.”
Saying this, Sugriva could not raise his voice for the tears that clouded his eyes. But near Rama, with an effort, he held back the flood that surged in him like a river. Wiping his eyes and drawing a deep breath, he spoke on. “Rama, it was Vali who first threw me down from my own kingdom, who drove me out with cutting words because he was the stronger. He seized my wife, dearer to me than my own life, and threw my well-wishers into chains. That evil soul is bent on my destruction, Raghava. Many of the monkeys he has sent against me I have killed. It was out of that very fear, Raghava, that even when I saw you I would not come near, for fear puts every creature on its guard.
“Only Hanuman and a few others are my helpers, and it is by them that I, sunk in hardship, keep my life at all today. These loving monkeys guard me, walk with me, stay with me. This is the short of it, Rama; what need of more? That elder brother of mine, my enemy Vali, is famed for his valor. His destruction alone is the end of my sorrow. My happiness and my very life hang on his destruction. In sorrow or in joy, a friend is forever a friend’s recourse.”
Hearing this, Rama asked, “What was the root of this feud? I wish to know it truly. Monkey, once I have measured strength against weakness and heard the cause of the quarrel, I will do you this service. To hear of the dishonor done you, my anger, which shakes my heart, rises like the rush of waters in the rains. Until I string my bow, speak on freely and in good cheer. The moment my arrows fly, your enemy is a dead man.” Reassured in this way, Sugriva with his four monkeys felt a joy beyond measure, and with a bright face began to tell the true cause of the feud.
The gist: Sugriva praised the way of friendship, and, seated on a sal branch, told Rama of Vali’s outrages, the seizing of his kingdom, the seizing of his wife, and the chaining of his well-wishers. Rama wished to hear the true cause of the feud, and Sugriva made ready to tell the story.
The story of Mayavi and Vali entering the cave
“My elder brother Vali is a slayer of enemies,” Sugriva said. “Our father held us both dear all his days. When he gave up his body, the ministers, because Vali was the elder, made him king of Kishkindha. He ruled the great kingdom that had come down from father and grandfather, and I stood always at his side, bowed like a servant.
“There was a radiant asura named Mayavi, elder brother of Dundubhi and a son of the demon Maya. Over a woman he carried a bitter feud with Vali. One night, while everyone slept, he came to the gate of Kishkindha and roared, calling Vali out to battle. My brother, roused from sleep by that terrible roar, could not endure it and rushed out. As Vali went out in his fury to kill that chief of asuras, the women of the inner rooms and I, bowing before him, tried to hold him back. But the strong one shook us all off and went, and out of love I went out with him.
“Seeing my brother and me at a distance, the asura took fright and fled at speed. The risen moon lit the path. He slipped into a great cavern in the earth, hard to enter and hidden by grass, and the two of us drew up short there. Seeing the enemy in the cave, Vali, his senses churning with rage, said to me, ‘Sugriva, stand on guard at the mouth of this cave until I go in and kill this enemy.’ Though I heard him and begged to be taken along, that scorcher of foes bound me to wait outside, swearing me to it by his own life, and went into the cave.
A sub-tale: The sons of the demon Maya. Both Mayavi and Dundubhi were sons of a demon named Maya. Mayavi was the elder. Over a woman he held a feud with Vali. This is the backstory to the slaying of Dundubhi (Canto 11), which shows Vali’s astonishing strength.
“More than a year went by while he was in the cave, and I stood at its mouth, and the time dragged on. Taking him for destroyed, faint with love and unable to see my brother, my mind began to fear the worst. After a long while I saw blood mixed with foam come out of the cave, and grief overcame me. The roars of exulting asuras reached my ears, but not the roar of my brother in the fight. By these signs I judged in my mind that my brother was dead. Grief-stricken, I sealed the mouth of the cave with a rock as big as a hill, offered water to my brother’s spirit, and went back to Kishkindha, friend. Though I kept it hidden, the ministers, by their diligence, learned the whole of it.
“Then they anointed me king with one accord, Raghava. I was ruling justly when that monkey, my brother Vali, having killed his enemy the danava, came back. At the sight of me anointed, his eyes went red with rage. He bound my ministers and spoke cutting words to them. I had the power to hold that sinful one in check, but my mind, bound by reverence for my brother, would not turn to it. Having killed his enemy, my brother entered the city. Honoring that noble one, I greeted him as was proper, but he would not, with a glad heart, give me his blessing. I touched his feet with my crown, and still, in his anger, Vali was not appeased.”
The gist: Vali chased Mayavi into the cave and did not come out for more than a year. Seeing blood flow from the cave, Sugriva took him for dead, sealed the cave, and returned to Kishkindha, where the ministers pressed him to become king. But Vali came back, having killed the enemy, and turned his anger on Sugriva.
Vali’s expulsion
“Then, wishing him well, I tried to calm that angry, agitated brother,” Sugriva went on. “I said to him, ‘By great good fortune you have come back safe, and the enemy is dead. You are the protector of me who had none, O joy of the friendless. This many-ribbed parasol, bright as the risen full moon, and this whisk, which I have been holding, take them back. A full year I stood in grief at the mouth of the cave. When I saw the blood well up from its door, sick with sorrow I sealed the mouth with a crag of the hill and returned to Kishkindha. Seeing me sunk in dejection, the citizens and ministers anointed me, and not by any wish of mine. Forgive this fault, done in ignorance. You alone are the king worthy of honor, and I am your servant as before, always. Bowing my head, with folded hands, I beg you. It was for fear that an empty kingdom might be seized that the ministers and citizens made me king by force.’
“Even at these loving words of mine,” Sugriva said, “that monkey berated me, cried ‘Shame on you,’ and heaped bitter words on me. Then he called together the leading citizens and the honored ministers and, in front of my well-wishers, spoke of me with heavy reproach. He said, ‘You all know that on that night the great asura Mayavi challenged me to battle in his lust for a fight. Hearing him, I went out from the palace, and this most cruel younger brother came after me. Seeing me at night with a companion, that mighty asura took fright and fled, and plunged into a great cave.
“‘Knowing the enemy had entered that dreadful cave, I told this cruel-faced younger brother to wait at the door while I went in to kill him. Trusting him to keep his place, I went into the hard cave. There a year went by as I hunted the enemy. Then, without flinching, I killed that fearsome foe together with his kinsmen. The flood of blood from his mouth filled the cave, and with his roaring it grew impossible to cross. Having killed the enemy, at ease, I found the cave’s mouth closed and could not get out. Though I called “Sugriva, Sugriva” many times and got no answer, I was struck with grief. With many kicks I moved the rock, and by that way I came out and returned to the city. And here this base Sugriva, forgetting the love of a brother, wanting the kingdom for himself, had shut me in.’
“Saying this, that shameless monkey Vali,” Sugriva said, “gave me a single garment, stripped me of all I owned, and drove me out from there. Cast out by him and robbed of my wife, Raghava, in fear of him I wandered the whole earth with its forests and its seas. Grieved by the loss of my wife, I took shelter on Rishyamuka, best of mountains, ground hard for Vali to reach because of Matanga’s curse. All this great story of the feud I have now told you. Raghava, look at this affliction fallen on me who did no wrong. Hero, terror of all the worlds, show grace to me by curbing Vali, in fear of whom I live.”
Thus entreated, Rama, radiant and knowing of dharma, said, as though with a smile, words that kept faith with dharma. “These arrows of mine, bright as the sun, unfailing and sharp, will fall in wrath on that wicked Vali. As long as I have not set eyes on that sinful defiler of right conduct, Vali, the man who carried off your wife, only so long is he alive. By the measure of my own heart I can see that you are sunk in an ocean of grief. I will carry you across it, and you will surely regain all you have lost, your wife and your kingdom both.” Hearing these words that lifted his courage and joy, the delighted Sugriva made a weighty reply.
The gist: For all Sugriva’s pleading, Vali took him for a throne-grasping schemer and shamed him before the full assembly, then cast him out with a single garment. Robbed of his wife, Sugriva took refuge on Rishyamuka. Rama once more gave his firm word to kill Vali and deliver Sugriva.
Vali’s prowess and the story of the slaying of Dundubhi
Hearing Rama’s words that raised his courage and joy, Sugriva honored and praised the Raghava. “Beyond doubt, with your piercing, deadly arrows, wrathful as the sun at the end of an age, you could burn up the worlds. But hear with a single mind of Vali’s manhood, his valor, and his firmness, and then do what must be done. Before the sun is up, Vali crosses from the western ocean to the eastern, and from the southern to the northern, and never tires. Climbing the great peaks of mountains, he hurls them up with force and catches them again. Many a solid tree of the forests he has snapped in two, showing his strength.
“There was an asura named Dundubhi, in the shape of a buffalo,” Sugriva began, “like the peak of Kailasa, and he bore the strength of a thousand elephants. Drunk on the pride of a boon, his mind poisoned by pride of strength, that huge asura went to Ocean, the lord of rivers, and said, ‘Give me battle.’ Then the righteous and mighty Ocean rose up and said, ‘Master of war, I am not able to give you battle. Hear me, and I will name you the one who can. In the great forest stands the mountain-king Himavan, the supreme refuge of ascetics and the father-in-law of Shankara. With his great waterfalls and his many caves and springs he is able, and he can give you satisfaction in full.’
“Taking Ocean for a coward, that best of asuras came to the forest of Himavan like an arrow shot from a bow. He flung the mountain’s white, elephant-like rocks to the ground and roared. Then Himavan, like a white cloud, gentle and of pleasing form, standing on his own peak, said, ‘Dharma-loving Dundubhi, do not trouble me. I am unskilled in the works of war, a refuge of ascetics.’ Hearing this, Dundubhi, his eyes red with rage, said, ‘If you cannot fight, or if fear leaves you idle, then name me the one who will give me battle.’
“Then the eloquent, righteous Himavan, in his anger, gave that best of asuras the name he had held back before. ‘Most wise one, there is a glorious monkey named Vali, a valiant son of Shakra, of matchless splendor, who dwells in Kishkindha. That shrewd master of war can give you single combat, as Indra once gave it to Namuchi. If it is battle you want, go to him at once. He is hard to overcome, and forever brave in the works of war.’
“Hearing Himavan’s word, the enraged Dundubhi went to Kishkindha. In his buffalo form, with sharp horns, fearsome, like a great cloud swollen with rain, he reached the gate of Kishkindha. Bellowing like a war-drum, snapping the nearby trees, tearing the earth with his hooves, goring at the gate with his horn in his pride like an elephant, he roared on. Hearing that unbearable sound, Vali, who sat within the inner chambers, came out with his women, like the moon among the stars. That lord of all the forest creatures and monkeys spoke in clear words, few in number, ‘Dundubhi, why do you block this gate and roar? You know who I am, mighty one. Guard your own life.’
“At this Dundubhi, his eyes red with fury, said, ‘Hero, do not speak such words before your women. Give me battle today, and then I will know your strength. Or else I will hold my anger this one night, and you may take your pleasure freely. Embrace your monkeys and give them gifts, take leave of your well-wishers. Look your fill on Kishkindha, for you will not see it again; hand the burden of the city to your son, and sport with your women until sunrise, for I am the one who will humble your pride.’
“Vali laughed and said to that foolish lord of asuras, ‘Do not take me for drunk and deceive yourself, if you have no fear of the fight. Count this pride of mine the warrior’s draught of this battle.’ Casting off the golden garland his father Mahendra had given him, he made ready to fight. Seizing the mountain-like Dundubhi by the horns, that best of monkeys whirled him about with a roar, dashed him down with all his force, and bellowed aloud. As Dundubhi struck the ground, blood ran from his ears.
“A fierce battle broke out between them, each bent on winning. Vali, with a valor like Indra’s, struck with fists, with knees, with feet, with rocks and trees. The asura began to fail in the fight, and Vali, the son of Shakra, prevailed. Lifting Dundubhi up, Vali dashed him to the earth, and he was crushed in that life-taking battle. Blood poured from the wounds of his limbs, and the mighty asura fell dead to the ground. Vali flung that lifeless body a full yojana away with his arms.
“As the corpse was hurled with force, drops of its blood flew on the wind and fell on the hermitage of Matanga. Seeing those fallen drops, the sage grew angry, blessed one, and wondered who the ill-minded, foolish, ill-souled creature was who had spattered him with blood. Coming out, he saw the mountain-like buffalo lying dead on the ground. By his austerity he knew this was a monkey’s doing, and he laid a heavy curse on the monkey who had flung the corpse.
“‘The monkey who has fouled my grove of a hermitage with drops of blood shall not enter here; if he enters, he dies. The one who broke the trees and flung the asura’s body, if he comes within a full yojana of my hermitage, that fool will surely not live. Those ministers of his who have taken shelter in my forest, let them not stay either; let them hear this and go in peace. If they stay, I will curse them too, for they have laid waste the leaves and shoots and the fruits and roots of this forest that I have reared like a son. From this day their stay here is at an end. Any monkey seen here tomorrow will turn to stone, and so remain for thousands of years.’
“Hearing the sage’s word, those monkeys left the forest. Seeing them, Vali asked, ‘Why have all of you who dwell in Matanga’s wood come to me? Is all well with the forest-folk?’ Then those monkeys told Vali the whole cause and the sage’s curse. Hearing it, Vali went to the great sage and begged with folded hands. But the sage passed him by and went into his hermitage. Terrified by the curse, Vali was thrown into distress. From that day, in fear of the curse, far from entering the great mountain Rishyamuka, he will not so much as look at it, lord of men. Knowing that he does not come there, Rama, I roam this great forest with my ministers, free of dread.
“That great heap of Dundubhi’s bones, flung there in the pride of Vali’s strength, stands like a mountain-peak,” Sugriva showed him. “And here are seven great sal trees, any one of which Vali can strip bare of its leaves with a single shake of his might. This matchless strength of Vali I have shown you, Rama. How can you kill that Vali in battle, my king?”
To Sugriva speaking so, Lakshmana said with a smile, “By what deed done will you be satisfied that Vali can be killed by Rama?” Then Sugriva said, “Vali pierced these seven sal trees one by one, first once and many times after. If Rama too can split one of these trees with a single arrow, then, seeing his valor, I will hold Vali as good as dead. Lakshmana, if Rama can lift with one foot these bones of the buffalo Vali slew and hurl them two hundred bow-lengths, then too I will hold Vali already dead.”
Saying this, Sugriva dwelt on Rama for a moment and spoke again. “The mighty monkey Vali is brave, and knows himself brave, famed for strength and manhood, and never once beaten in battle. His deeds seem hard even for the gods, and it is the thought of them that has driven me in fear to Rishyamuka. Brooding on that unconquerable, unassailable, unyielding lord of monkeys, I will not leave this hill. Anxious and full of doubt, I roam this great forest with Hanuman and my other brave ministers. Lover of friends, having found a friend as fine and worthy as you, I have taken refuge in you as in Himavan itself, tiger among men.
“But I know the strength of my wicked, powerful brother,” Sugriva said, “while your valor in battle I have not seen with my own eyes. I do not weigh you, nor slight you, nor seek to frighten you; it is his terrible deeds that have bred this timidity in me. Raghava, and yet your speech, your steadiness, and your bearing tell of your supreme power, like a fire banked under ash.”
Hearing the noble Sugriva’s word, Rama smiled and said, “Monkey, if you have no faith in my valor, I will raise in you a faith worth having, there in battle.” So saying, to comfort Sugriva, the mighty-armed Rama lifted the corpse of Dundubhi with the toe of his foot, as though in play, and flung it ten yojanas away, and set Sugriva’s mind at ease.
Seeing the corpse hurled away, Sugriva, before Lakshmana and the monkeys, spoke these pointed words to the sun-bright hero Rama. “Friend, this corpse was first thrown while it was wet, with its flesh on it and fresh, when my tired and rut-maddened brother Vali had only just killed it. Now, Raghava, it is stripped of flesh, light as a wisp of grass, and you have flung it in gladness. So there is no telling whether your strength or his is the greater, for a wet corpse and a dry one differ by much. The same doubt hangs over your strength and his. Only by piercing a sal tree clean through will strength and weakness be settled. Draw this bow, spread wide as an elephant’s trunk, to your ear, and loose this great arrow. It will surely split the sal, of that there is no doubt. King, I swear it by you, set further thought aside and do me this kindness. As the sun is the best of the shining ones, Himavan the best of the great mountains, and the lion the best of four-footed beasts, so are you the best of men in valor.”
The key to understanding (numbers, in modern terms): A yojana is reckoned at roughly eight miles. Rama flung the dry corpse of Dundubhi ten yojanas, about eighty miles. The two hundred bow-lengths Sugriva had asked for come to about eight hundred cubits. These figures convey the sheer excess of Rama’s extraordinary strength.
The gist: Sugriva told the full story of Vali’s astonishing strength and the slaying of Dundubhi, in which the curse of the sage Matanga keeps Vali away from Rishyamuka. Rama flung Dundubhi’s dry corpse ten yojanas with his toe to show his strength, and still Sugriva asked him to pierce a sal tree for full assurance.
The piercing of the seven sal trees and the mark of the gajapushpi
Hearing Sugriva’s fine speech, the radiant Rama took up his bow to raise faith in him. He took that dreadful bow and a single arrow, aimed at the sal, and, filling the quarters with the twang of the string, let it fly. The gold-adorned arrow, loosed by the mighty Rama, pierced the seven sals, the mountain plateau, and the seven earths beneath, and drove into Patala, so the old tellings have it. In less than an hour that arrow of great speed, having pierced the sals, forced its way out and returned to the very quiver it had come from, so it is said.
Seeing the seven sals pierced by the force of Rama’s arrow, Sugriva, best of monkeys, was struck with wonder. Overjoyed, with joined palms and his head to the ground, he fell before Rama, his ornaments swinging loose as he bowed. Delighted by the feat, he said to Rama, knower of dharma, foremost of those skilled in every weapon, “Kakutstha, you could kill all the gods with Indra himself by your arrows, let alone Vali. Who will stand before you in battle, you who with a single arrow have pierced seven great sals, the mountain, and the earth? Today my grief is gone and joy fills me, for I have found friends like Mahendra and Varuna. This very day, for my sake, kill that enemy in the shape of a brother, Vali, Kakutstha. Here are my folded hands.”
Embracing the fair-faced Sugriva, the wise Rama spoke words to Lakshmana’s liking. “Let us go at once from this mountain to Kishkindha. Sugriva, go ahead, and when you reach it, call out to battle that Vali who bears the name of a brother.” Then they all reached Kishkindha, Vali’s city, in haste and, hiding among the trees, stood in the dense forest. Sugriva gave a fearsome roar to summon Vali. Girding his loins tight, he sent up such a challenge that the sky itself seemed about to split.
Hearing his brother’s roar, the enraged and mighty Vali rushed out at speed, like the sun slipping down the western mountain. Then between Vali and Sugriva broke a fierce and tumultuous battle, like the clash of Mercury and Mars in the sky. Blind with rage, the two brothers struck each other with palms and soles that fell like lightning and with fists that came down like thunderbolts. Bow in hand, Rama watched the two, heroes as alike as the twin Ashvins.
Rama could not tell Sugriva from Vali, so alike were they, and so could not bring himself to loose the deadly arrow, for fear it might strike Sugriva. Meanwhile Sugriva, worsted by Vali and seeing no protector in Rama, fled toward Rishyamuka. Weary, smeared with blood, battered by blows, chased in fury by Vali, he plunged into that great forest. Seeing him enter it, Vali said, “This time you have escaped me,” and turned back in fear of the curse. Rama too, with his brother Lakshmana and with Hanuman, returned to the forest where the monkey Sugriva was.
Seeing Rama come with Lakshmana, Sugriva, his eyes on the ground in shame, said in his wretchedness, “Raghava, after showing me your valor, after telling me to challenge Vali, what have you done, letting my enemy thrash me? You should have told me the truth then, that you would not kill Vali, and I would never have gone there at all.” To Sugriva speaking so piteously, Rama said again, “Sugriva, my friend, listen, and put your anger away. Hear why I did not loose the arrow. You and Vali are alike in ornaments, in dress, in size, and in gait. In voice, in bearing, in gaze, in valor, and in speech I could find no difference between you two. Best of monkeys, bewildered by the likeness of your forms, I did not loose that swift, enemy-slaying arrow. Doubtful because of that likeness, I feared I might kill you unawares and bring ruin on us both. Hero, if you had been killed through my folly or my carelessness, my foolishness and my childishness would have stood exposed, lord of monkeys.
“To kill one to whom safety has been promised is a great and monstrous sin,” Rama said. “And I, and Lakshmana, and the fair Sita, all of us lean on you; in this forest you are our only refuge. So fight again, and have no doubt, monkey. In this very hour, as you fight, I will see Vali struck down by a single arrow and writhing on the ground. Lord of monkeys, wear some mark on yourself, so that in the combat I may know you.” Then, turning to Lakshmana, he said, “Lakshmana, pull up this blossoming, auspicious gajapushpi creeper and tie it about the neck of the noble Sugriva.”
Then Lakshmana pulled up the flowering gajapushpi creeper that grew on the mountainside and hung it about Sugriva’s neck. With that creeper at his throat, the glorious Sugriva shone like a cloud graced by a line of cranes and the light of dusk. Bright of body, reassured by Rama’s word, Sugriva set out again with Rama for Kishkindha.
The gist: With one arrow Rama pierced all seven sals, the mountain, and the seven nether worlds, and the arrow returned to his quiver. In the first fight Rama could not tell Vali from Sugriva and held his shot; Sugriva was beaten and fled. Rama explained the reason and had a gajapushpi creeper tied about Sugriva’s neck as a mark of recognition.
The hermitage of the Saptajana rishis
The righteous Rama, with Sugriva, set out from Rishyamuka toward Kishkindha, the city guarded by Vali’s might. Ahead of the noble Rama went the thick-necked Sugriva and the mighty Lakshmana. Behind them came the heroes Hanuman, Nala, the valiant Nila, and Tara, the radiant chief among the monkey troop-leaders. They went on, gazing at trees bowed under their loads of blossom, at clear rivers running down to the sea, at caves and crags and hollows, at high peaks and pleasant plateaus. Along the way they saw pools clear as beryl, graced with lotuses closed to the bud, ringing with the cries of birds, the karandava and the sarasa, the swan, the vanjula, the water-fowl, and the chakravaka.
In the forest they saw deer feeding on the soft grass and shoots and roaming without fear, and stags standing in the open, and the white-tusked, fierce, rut-maddened wild elephants that tear at the banks of the pools, ripping up the mountainsides and looking like moving mountains as they went. They saw monkeys that looked like elephants, bathed in dust, and other forest creatures, and birds crossing the sky, and, obedient to Sugriva, they pressed on quickly.
As they went, Rama saw a stand of trees like a small forest and said to Sugriva, “Friend, this grove shines in the sky like a cloud, vast as a bank of clouds, ringed on every side by plantain trees. What is it? I am filled with wonder, and I would have you set my wonder at rest.” Hearing the noble Rama’s word, Sugriva, as he walked, told the story of that great grove.
“Raghava, this broad hermitage takes away the weariness of all who come, for it is rich in gardens and groves and holds sweet roots and fruits and water. Here dwelt seven sages called the Saptajana, men of stern vows, who while they did their austerities kept their heads bowed and slept, by rule, upon the water. Living on air once in seven nights, never stirring from their place, keepers of every vow, after seven hundred years they went to heaven in their bodies. By their power this hermitage, ringed by a wall of trees, is hard for even the gods and demons with Indra to storm.
The key to understanding (a concept): The Saptajana were seven sages of stern vows who took only air once in seven nights, did their austerities with their heads bowed, and after seven hundred years rose to heaven in their bodies. By the power of their austerity that hermitage became impassable even to the gods. This is one of Valmiki’s illustrations of the might of tapas.
“Birds and other forest creatures leave it alone,” Sugriva said, “and any who enter it in ignorance do not come out again. Raghava, here one hears sweet syllables mingled with the sound of ornaments, the sound of song and of instruments, and a divine fragrance drifts through it. The three fires stay kindled, and their smoke, the color of a dove’s wing, covers the treetops like a cloud. These trees, their crowns wrapped in smoke, shine like beryl mountains veiled in a net of cloud. Righteous Raghava, with your brother Lakshmana, bow to those sages with folded hands and a devout heart. Those who bow to those pure-souled sages carry no ill in their bodies.”
Then Rama, with his brother Lakshmana, folded his hands and bowed to the memory of those noble sages, and went on. Having made his salutation, the righteous Rama, his brother Lakshmana, Sugriva, and the monkeys went on with glad hearts. Leaving that hermitage of the Saptajana far behind, they came in sight of Kishkindha, guarded by Vali and hard to assail. Then, weapons raised and their fierce splendor breaking forth, Rama, Lakshmana, and the monkeys came again to the city of Kishkindha, to kill their enemy Vali, the city held safe by the might of Vali, the son of Indra.
The gist: On the way to Kishkindha, Rama saw a hermitage hard to approach. Sugriva told him it was the place of austerity of the Saptajana sages, closed even to gods and demons. Rama bowed to it in reverence, and all of them, resolved on Vali’s death, reached Kishkindha.
Sugriva’s challenge at the gate of Kishkindha
They all reached Kishkindha, Vali’s city, in haste and, hiding among the trees, stood in the dense forest. The thick-necked Sugriva, who loved the forest, cast his eyes about it and took on a mighty anger. Then, with a fearsome roar, ringed by his party, he challenged his brother to battle, as though tearing the sky apart.
Roaring like a great cloud driven before the wind, looking like the newly risen sun, moving with the gait of a proud lion, Sugriva turned to the ready Rama and said, “We have reached Kishkindha, Vali’s city, covered with its net of monkeys, decked with arches of burnished gold, rich in banners and engines of war. Hero, the vow you made before, to kill Vali, fulfill it now, as the season in its time makes the creeper bear fruit.”
Thus addressed, the righteous, enemy-slaying Rama said to Sugriva, “You now bear a mark, this gajapushpi creeper that Lakshmana pulled up and tied at your neck. Hero, with this creeper at your throat you shine the more, like the full moon in the night sky wearing a garland of stars. Monkey, in this battle I will loose a single arrow and today wipe out both the fear and the feud that Vali has bred in you. Sugriva, show me your enemy in the shape of a brother.
“By my stroke Vali will soon be rolling in the dust of the forest,” Rama said. “If he comes within the range of my eye and yet returns alive, then hold me to blame and reproach me. Before your eyes I pierced seven sals with a single arrow. By that same strength, count Vali as slain in battle today. I have never once spoken falsely, even through long hardship, out of love of dharma, and I never shall, in any way at all. I will make my vow come true, as Shatakratu makes the field of rice sprout and bear by his rains. So, Sugriva, raise such a cry that the monkey comes out.
The key to understanding (a concept): “Shatakratu” is a name of Indra, meaning one who performed a hundred horse-sacrifices in former lives; this is held to be the condition of gaining Indra’s station. Here Indra comes in as the god of rain, who makes the field bear fruit; Rama uses the comparison for the certain fulfillment of his vow.
“Famed for his victories, proud of his conquests, never once mastered by you, that battle-loving Vali will surely come out of the city, shaking off the softness of his women. A brave warrior does not bear the challenge of an enemy, above all before women, when he knows his own strength.” Hearing Rama’s word, the gold-tawny Sugriva roared with a fierce cry, as though rending the sky. At that sound the cows fled, their luster gone, like the wives of good houses undone by the ruin of a bad reign. The deer scattered swiftly like horses broken in battle, and the birds began to drop to the earth like planets whose merit is spent. Then Sugriva, son of the sun, his splendor grown with valor, roaring like a cloud, sent up a cry like the ocean, lord of rivers, when the wind stirs its waves.
The gist: Rama reassured Sugriva that a single arrow would fulfill the vow to kill Vali, and told him to give the challenge. Marked with the gajapushpi, Sugriva roared so terribly that even the cows, the deer, and the birds took fright.
Vali’s anger and Tara’s counsel
At that moment Vali, seated in the inner chambers, impatient by nature, heard the roar of the noble Sugriva. At the sound, which set every creature trembling, Vali’s pride vanished in an instant, and a heavy anger rose in him. The gold-bright Vali, his every limb gripped by rage, went pale as the sun in eclipse. Teeth bared, his eyes bright with the fire of anger, Vali looked like a lake from which the beauty of the lotuses is gone and only the fibers float. Hearing that unbearable sound, Vali rushed out of the palace at speed, seeming to tear the earth with the fall of his feet.
Then his wife Tara, showing her love, alarmed and shaken, embraced him in affection and spoke words meant for his good. “Hero, let go of this anger that has come on you like the rush of a river, as a man risen from his bed at dawn puts off the garland he has worn through the night. Monkey, wage this battle in the morning. Hero, it is not that your enemies are many or that your strength is wanting, and still this sudden rushing out does not please me. Hear me, and I will tell you why I hold you back.
“Earlier he came in anger and challenged you to battle, and the moment you came out he was beaten and fled, struck again and again,” Tara said. “That he, beaten and hurt as he was, should come back here to challenge you once more raises a doubt in me. The pride, the resolve, and the heat with which he roars are not without a cause, and not a small one. I do not believe this Sugriva has come here with no helper. Surely it is by leaning on some helper that he roars so.
“Sugriva is by nature clever, and shrewd as well,” Tara said. “He will not bind himself in friendship to anyone’s valor untested. Hero, now let me tell you the words of prince Angada, which I heard before. Angada had gone to the edge of the forest, and the news his spies gave him he brought to me.
“Two heroes, sons of the lord of Ayodhya, hard to conquer in battle, born in the line of Ikshvaku, the famed Rama and Lakshmana, have come to do Sugriva a kindness, and they are hard to withstand. Your brother’s helper in battle is that famed Rama, who grinds down the armies of his enemies like the blazing fire at the end of an age. He is the shelter-tree in which the good dwell, the last recourse of those in trouble, the refuge of the afflicted, the one vessel of glory. Monkey, he is by nature clever, wise, endowed with knowledge and discernment, and devoted to his father’s command. As the mountain-king Himavan is a great mine of metals, so is he a mine of virtues. It is not to your good to set yourself against that measureless Rama, the noble one, hard to conquer in the works of war.
“Hero, I will say something for your good, though I mean you no reproach,” Tara said. “Hear it and act on it. Anoint Sugriva at once, and properly, to the rank of crown-prince. King, do not quarrel with a younger brother. I hold that friendship with Rama and love toward Sugriva are best for you. Put enmity aside and make peace with Sugriva, for this younger monkey is one to be cherished. Whether on Rishyamuka or here at your side, he is in every way your kinsman. A kinsman like him I do not see anywhere on the earth.
“Draw him near with gifts and honors and every courtesy,” Tara said. “Let him lay down this enmity and live at your side. The thick-necked Sugriva is, to my eyes, a great kinsman of yours. Your good lies only in leaning on a brother’s love, and there is no other way. If you would please me and count me as one who wishes you well, then, entreated in love, heed my word. Be calm, hear my wholesome counsel, and do not follow your anger. To quarrel with the prince of Kosala, whose splendor is like Indra’s, is not to your good.”
In that hour Tara spoke these wholly good and wholesome words to Vali. But Vali, in the power of fate, come to the hour of his ruin, found no pleasure in them.
The gist: Hearing Sugriva’s challenge again, the enraged Vali made to go out. His wife Tara held him back, telling him that, by Angada’s report, Sugriva had the backing of a hero as great as Rama. She counseled Vali to make Sugriva crown-prince and not to feud with Rama, but, in the power of fate, Vali took no pleasure in her wise words.
Source: Srimad Valmiki Ramayana, Kishkindhakanda, Cantos 1-15 (Gita Press, Gorakhpur).
Basis: Valmiki Ramayana (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)