Having dispatched valiant bands of warriors in all directions to search for Janaka’s noble daughter, Rama found himself both content and intrigued by the profound knowledge of the land that kings and their people possessed. The intricate tapestry of rivers, lakes, mountains, and oceans, along with the complex structure of kingdoms, astonished him.
Turning to Sugreeva, he inquired, “O valiant king! How is it that you possess such intricate knowledge of every corner of the earth?”
With great humility, Sugreeva bent low, touching Rama’s feet in reverence. “O Rama,” he said, “I shall recount my own experience, which will dispel all doubts from your mind.
“In times past, a mighty demon named Dundubhi, the son of Maya, sought to challenge my powerful brother Vali. A warrior of unmatched prowess, Vali met him with unyielding might, driving him to desperation. Cunning and treacherous, the demon sought to ensnare my brother by fleeing into the deep recesses of Mount Malaya, hoping to ambush him upon entry. But Vali, ever perceptive, placed me at the cave’s entrance to stand guard. He forbade my assistance and sternly commanded me to remain there until his return.
“For a full year, I waited, yet no sign of him emerged. At last, I discerned ghastly remnants—traces of mortal remains—and, in my despair, I concluded that Vali had perished at the hands of the demon. With a heavy heart, I sealed the cave’s mouth with a massive boulder, believing that I had imprisoned the monstrous being within its own dark lair.
“Grief-stricken, I returned to Kishkindha and conveyed my sorrow to our people. The royal ministers, foreseeing the perils of an empty throne, urged me to take up the mantle of kingship, lest our enemies grow emboldened. Reluctantly, I accepted the burden, ruling with diligence and upholding the sacred duty of governance.
“But fate wove a cruel design. Vali returned, alive and wrathful, his fury beyond measure. He accused me of treachery, of locking him away with the foul intent of seizing his throne. I pleaded with him, recounting all that had transpired, yet my words were but dust before his storming rage. He struck me down without mercy, roaring that he would end my life for my supposed betrayal.
“Thus began my long exile. With only a handful of followers, I fled, pursued relentlessly across rivers and lakes, over mountains and through dense forests. No refuge was granted me, no sanctuary stood unviolated. To the north I fled, yet Vali’s wrathful warriors found me. To the west, and still, they pursued. To the east, where the paths grew narrow, their reach extended still. Finally, we journeyed to the Vindhya mountains, lush with greenery and fragrant with sandalwood groves.
“And yet, Vali came, ever unrelenting.
“It was then that the wise Hanuman, scholar and strategist, recalled the curse of Sage Matanga—Vali was forbidden from nearing the hermitage of Rushyamuka. ‘O King,’ Hanuman declared, ‘this mountain is sacred; Vali’s shadow itself shall not cross its threshold.’ Thus, after traversing every corner of the known world, I made this place my dwelling. Decades passed in restless wandering until, by your divine grace, I found both dignity and the comfort of regal repose.”
Meanwhile, the warrior bands sent forth in all directions scoured the land with unwavering resolve. In the east, north, and west, they searched through rivers and lakes, dense forests and hidden caves, deep valleys and towering cliffs. They left no stone unturned, examining palaces, hermitages, even the makeshift dwellings of wandering hunters. Bound by a singular purpose, they sought Sita tirelessly, convening each night at predetermined points to exchange their findings.
As the thirtieth day dawned, the search parties returned to Mount Prasravana. Mighty Vinata, fresh from his eastern quest, stood before Sugreeva and said, “O King, we searched without rest, yet no trace of Sita have we found.” Heavy-hearted, Sathabali arrived from the north with a similar report—nowhere did they uncover signs of Janaka’s daughter. In Rama’s presence, they solemnly declared, “We scoured every village, every settlement, every place where life might dwell. Even those fortresses most zealously guarded we searched once, twice, thrice, to be certain that nothing escaped our sight.”
“O King,” they continued, “one warrior alone has the strength, wisdom, and divine energy to succeed where we have faltered. Hanuman, son of the Wind, has ventured toward the realm of the demon king. In him, we place our hope, for his talent is beyond comprehension.”
Though Rama and Sugreeva felt a momentary pang of disappointment, they held firm in their conviction—soon, news would arrive from the south. Sita lived; of that, they had no doubt. Yet her rescue would not be without strife. A great battle loomed, inevitable as the tide. Already, the warriors of Kishkindha readied themselves for the coming storm, for fate’s wheel had begun to turn.
The balance of the cosmos trembled, poised for resolution. The time drew near when the burden of wickedness would be lifted, and the great discord of the age would be set to rights.