As the ascended Gandharva, once Kabandha, departed for the celestial realms, Rama, contemplating his profound discourse, turned to Lakshmana and spoke thus:
“O noble son of Sumitra! This Gandharva possessed a rare and profound knowledge of the earth. His divine insight granted him the ability to traverse the hidden and exotic corners of this vast world. His deep curiosity in the intricate affairs of mankind, sages, hermits, and even the tribes of monkeys endowed him with an intimate understanding of geography and human nature. His sixfold strategy, long accepted by ancient kings and revered sages, though rooted in wisdom, requires refinement—for our foremost duty is to uphold the sacred values of the Ikshvaku lineage.
We wander these forests in search of my beloved. In forging alliances, we must seek those whose hearts align with ours, not those who stand against us. Our enemy shall be met with decisive action once he is identified. Time is a relentless current; every moment wasted is an opportunity lost. Strategy must bend to virtue, and division of forces is no path to righteousness. To stray into devious means would taint our purpose—let us cast away such thoughts. Aligning with foes is no course for men of honor, for our forefathers never strayed from the path of righteousness. Dasaratha, my revered father, stood firm in the principles of war and honor. We must follow his example. By the grace of our father and our venerable teachers, patience and perseverance are our companions.”
Thus, with keen foresight, Rama redefined their course, preparing for an odyssey that would demand vigilance at every stage. Having settled their resolve, they set forth southward, guided by the wisdom imparted by Kabandha. Before long, they arrived at the banks of the sacred Pampa, its tranquil waters mirroring the splendor of the heavens. As foretold, they beheld the towering trees and the majestic elephants standing sentinel over the land—a sure sign that their path would soon lead them to Sugreeva and his loyal guards.
Slowly, with measured steps, they ascended the terrain, pausing for brief moments of rest until they reached the southern bounds of Pampa. There, nestled in the serene embrace of nature, they discovered the hermitage of the venerable ascetic, Sabari.
The aged sage, clad in simple garments of bark and deer skin, beheld the divine brothers with folded hands. With reverence, she touched their feet, offering them her humble obeisance. Having completed her sacred rituals, she stood before Rama, who addressed her with gentle inquiry:
“O noble ascetic, keeper of the sacred path! Have your austere rites met no hindrance? Have you mastered the tempest of anger? Do you remain steadfast in the simple sustenance of the hermits? Have you upheld the sacred code with unwavering discipline? And has your service to the great sage Matanga borne the fruit of your deepest desires?”
With eyes alight with fulfillment, Sabari replied with humility, “O Rama, scion of Raghu! By the divine fortune of beholding thee, my soul’s longing is fulfilled. The purpose of my existence is now complete. The blessings of my revered masters have bestowed upon me the rarest of gifts—to stand in thy sacred presence. For countless years have I awaited thy arrival, yearning for this moment. Let me now partake in the sacred act of worshipping thee, the privilege for which I have prayed across lifetimes. By thy grace alone, I am now prepared to ascend to the celestial realms. The sages whom I served, now dwelling in divine spheres, bid me await thee. Before departing, they entrusted me with a sacred duty—to receive thee and Lakshmana with honor, for in doing so, my soul shall find liberation.”
She then offered them the choicest fruits and honey, gathered from the blessed groves along the banks of Pampa. Pleased by her unwavering devotion and her quest for knowledge, Rama spoke, “I had heard of thy great penance from the Gandharva, Dhanu. Yet now, in thy presence, I see that his words scarcely did justice to thy sacred radiance.”
Thereafter, Sabari led them through the hermitage, revealing the wonders of the forest. “Behold, Rama! The trees here weave a canopy as dense as the clouds, veiling the land in perpetual shade. The creatures of this forest live in harmony, defying the natural order of enmity. Here, tiger and deer, lion and stag, serpent and peacock coexist as companions, untouched by primal instincts. Such is the power of the sages’ penance, their austere devotion shaping the very fabric of nature itself. The air here hums with sacred hymns, each stone, tree, and brook resonating with the eternal chants of the Vedas. This is the land where sages have kindled divine light through their austerities.”
Having imparted her wisdom, the venerable ascetic made her final plea: “O Rama, now grant me leave, that I may depart from this mortal realm and join my revered teachers in the celestial spheres.”
As the brothers looked on, Sabari, once frail and aged, was suddenly adorned in divine splendor—clad in silken robes, radiant with celestial ornaments, and imbued with the fragrance of paradise. With their blessings, she ascended a luminous chariot that carried her to the abode of the sages.
Moved by this sacred encounter, Rama turned to Lakshmana and mused, “Brother, is it not a marvel to witness a land where tigers and deer, lions and stags, live as kin? Such is the profound power of virtue and penance. We have paid homage to sages, bathed in the seven oceans as ordained by scripture, and offered our tributes to the departed. In fulfilling these sacred rites, we have dispelled the shadows of inauspicious fate. Now, my heart is light, for I sense that we are on the threshold of destiny. Let us make haste, for Sugreeva, son of Riksharajas, awaits us at the Rushyamuka mountain. He alone shall be the key to finding Janaka’s daughter, my beloved Sita.”
Thus, brimming with newfound resolve, the brothers departed the hermitage and pressed onward. As they approached the famed river Pampa, they beheld its divine splendor, each vista mirroring the enchanting descriptions of the transformed Gandharva. Taking a moment of repose, they immersed themselves in the sacred waters of the Mathanga Lake before advancing towards their destined mountain.
Nature, in all her grace, seemed to bid them a fond farewell. Flocks of peacocks danced in reverence while birds circled them in gentle homage. Fragrant breezes carried the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, offering an ethereal blessing upon their path. The boughs of mango, pomegranate, and banana trees bent low, heavy with golden fruit, as if celestial beings themselves had adorned them in festivity.
With each step, the warriors strode through flower-strewn meadows, soft dunes, and moss-laden paths until at last they stood beneath the towering heights of Rushyamuka. There, upon the sacred mount, dwelled the noble Sugreeva, heir of Riksharajas, accompanied by his four steadfast companions.
As Rama gazed upon the mountain, a shadow of sorrow crossed his countenance. “Lakshmana, I have lost my kingdom. My beloved has been stolen away. I wander these forests with a singular purpose, yet fate unfolds before me in unseen ways.”
Seeing his brother’s momentary despair, Lakshmana sought to uplift his spirit