In every age, whether the present or the distant past, a communication gap has the power to wreak havoc.
When the mighty monkey king Sugreeva decreed with great earnestness that his forces be assembled for the mission to search for Sita within a set timeframe, he failed to inform the warrior duo of this resolution, expecting instead to present his plans at his own convenience. Assured that he had fulfilled his obligations to Rama, Sugreeva rested content. Meanwhile, the warrior princes, bound by the pact, waited through the designated four months, marking the change of season—the most opportune time to embark on the mission. As no summons came, they grew restless and, misled by appearances, concluded that Sugreeva had forsaken his pledge after reaping its advantages.
Thus arose tensions, weaving a web of uncertainty, fear, and indignation. The once-harmonious realm of Kishkindha fell into disquiet, and even the wise Lakshmana, known for his calm reason, was drawn into the storm of wrath, his anger kindling ominous forebodings. Yet, had but a single word of assurance been spoken, the tempest might have been averted.
Sugreeva, seated amidst his council, heard Angada’s report with concern. “I have done nothing to insult, harm, or wrong them,” he mused. “Why, then, has Rama’s brother come in such fury? Surely, envious foes have whispered baseless slander into his ears. Yet, in this moment of unrest, wisdom demands a response that is both temperate and sincere. Lakshmana is noble and just—he poses no threat to me. And Rama, the very embodiment of dharma, would never seek to harm me. But why, then, is my most steadfast ally angered? Friendship is easily forged, but its preservation is a trial of great vigilance. A single spark may consume an entire forest of goodwill, and a lifetime of trust may be undone in but a fleeting moment. This thought weighs heavily upon me, for should this bond falter, I shall stand forever indebted to Rama’s boundless grace.”
At this, Hanuman, wise in counsel and keen in perception, spoke: “O King of the Vanaras! Your resolve to honor your pact with Rama is commendable. Yet, recall the debt you owe. Rama, a force equal to Indra himself, vanquished the mighty Vali to place you upon this throne. He has upheld his sacred vow of friendship; in this, he has the right to wrath. It is not betrayal but grief that moves him—separation from Sita has enshrouded his heart in sorrow, and in his longing, he has sent forth his loyal brother. O King! You are no stranger to the weight of time, yet by a lapse, you have let it slip unmeasured, and thus, these tempestuous emotions have arisen. Your only path now is to seek Lakshmana’s pardon, whether the fault be known or unknown. A minister must counsel the king with bold truth, however unpalatable. And so, I advise you thus: delay not in seeking the favor of Rama and his formidable brother. They are the ocean of righteousness—turn to them in humility, and let amends be made.”
Meanwhile, Lakshmana, with his mighty bow and quiver full of arrows, strode toward Kishkindha’s gates. At his approach, the entire monkey kingdom trembled. Even the heavens would bow before Rama’s power; what then of mere mortals? The grand city, with its towering structures, golden palaces, and fragrant gardens, shimmered in opulent splendor. Magnificent warriors, born of celestial lineage, stood in awe as Lakshmana passed, their hearts gripped with reverence and fear.
At last, Angada, Sugreeva’s emissary, led him through the palace, past halls adorned with ivory and gold, past carvings gleaming like the full moon, past flowing streams and verdant groves teeming with fragrant blossoms. The royal courts, studded with dazzling gems, bore witness to the wealth and grandeur of the kingdom. But Lakshmana, though taking in the resplendence, remained unmoved, his heart ablaze with righteous indignation.
His sharp ears caught the delicate tinkling of anklets, the murmur of music, the scent of indulgence. His wrath surged, and with a thunderous twang of his bowstring, he sent forth a sound that shook the very walls, striking fear into the hearts of all who heard.
Within the harem, Sugreeva, roused from his revelry, turned pale. “This wrathful emissary of Rama,” he murmured to Tara, “is no common adversary. Lakshmana is wise and gentle by nature—what, then, has stirred his fury? O flawless one, discern for me the cause of this storm! Have we, in some way, erred against him? Go to him and seek his grace. A great warrior such as he would never raise his hand against a woman; your presence will soften his ire, and then I shall meet him.”
With her gaze heavy-lidded, adorned in gleaming jewels, Tara stepped forth, her movements graceful despite the remnants of indulgence in her veins. Approaching Lakshmana with measured reverence, she spoke in silken tones: “O noble prince, what grievance has befallen you? Who has dared defy your command? Tell me, what fire has set the forest of your patience alight?”
Lakshmana, unwavering in his righteous cause, declared: “O Tara, favored of the king! Why has your husband surrendered to pleasure, forsaking the solemn virtue of duty? Rama grants him four months to gather his forces and commence the search for Sita, yet he lingers in indulgence, unmindful of the promise made. To revel in worldly delights while turning away from sworn duty is a grave flaw. To cast aside an ally’s trust after receiving their aid is a wound deeper than the loss of wealth. O Tara, you are wise—tell me, what must be done?”
Moved by the noble prince’s words, Tara, her voice laced with both wisdom and remorse, replied: “O great-hearted Lakshmana, this is no time for wrath. One should not direct anger toward one’s own. Sugreeva, bound by duty, deserves pardon. You are a warrior of virtue; do not yield to the transient tempest of rage. Yes, he has tarried in indulgence, but he has not forgotten his word. Even now, legions of Vanara warriors have gathered, prepared to embark upon the mission. Mighty and swift, they stand ready to traverse the earth and sky in pursuit of Sita. O warrior prince, enter and behold for yourself. You, of all men, need not hesitate—yours is the right to command, for in loyalty and truth, you stand unmatched.”
Thus, with his fury tempered by wisdom, Lakshmana entered the grand hall. There, upon a resplendent throne, draped in the radiance of gold and gems, sat Sugreeva, his visage aglow like the morning sun. Yet behind his outward splendor, a shadow of unease lingered.
Thus, with words poised upon the edge of consequence, did their fates entwine once more. And from this moment, a lesson eternal takes root: however great an endeavor, however noble the cause, if the truth of one’s actions is not shared in time, discord shall rise, and trust, once shaken, may never again stand firm.