The exiled king Sugreeva, burdened with sorrow, beheld the grief-stricken Rama and spoke with measured gravity, his words both a solace and an oath.
“O Rama, slayer of foes, do not let despair take root in your noble heart. Grief ill suits a man of your stature, a hero unparalleled in might. Of Ravana, the demon of cruel birth, I know not his dwelling nor the full measure of his strength. But I swear to you—wherever Sita is hidden, I shall aid you in her recovery. The abductor, be the demon, giant, ghost, fierce incubus, wizard, or even a divine being, shall not escape my wrath.
Awaken, O Rama! Cast aside sorrow, for it is unworthy of a warrior such as you. Your strength and valor are without equal, and the weight of mortal emotions must not bow your indomitable spirit. Have I not myself suffered injustice at the hands of my brother Vali? Yet, I do not wail; I stand resolute, certain that I shall undo the wrongs inflicted upon me.
You are no ordinary man, Rama. You are learned in sacred texts, a master of warcraft, a ruler by right, a warrior of unerring aim. Do not succumb to despondency. Restrain your sorrow, govern your thoughts, and let the wisdom of your noble mind prevail. He who is steadfast, even in the face of adversity, prevails, while he who surrenders to despair is like a ship foundering in the tempest, weighed down and lost.
I entreat you, with hands folded in reverence—do not yield to sorrow. For he who succumbs to grief finds no peace, his vigor drains like water from a shattered vessel, and suspicion clouds his vision of life’s course. Hold fast to your natural strength; let not inferior sentiments diminish you. My words are not a lesson but a token of goodwill. Heed them, not as commands but as counsel from a friend who holds your spirit in the highest regard.”
Hearing these words, Rama, discerning the wisdom within them, calmed the storm within his soul. He embraced Sugreeva, his voice steady and filled with renewed purpose.
“O Sugreeva, your friendship is rare indeed. In your words, I have found reason, and my spirit is restored. You must now commence the search for the demon who has stolen my beloved. I place my trust in your honesty, for in your sincerity lies my hope of reclaiming Sita. Tell me, my friend, what is your wish? Whatever you desire, know that it shall be fulfilled, as surely as seeds sown in season yield a bountiful harvest.
O King of the Vanaras, I swear upon my very soul—I have never spoken an untruth, nor shall I ever. By this vow, I pledge that your stolen kingdom and your beloved, held captive by your brother’s tyranny, shall be restored to you.”
Hearing Rama’s solemn vow, Sugreeva’s heart soared with newfound hope. In that secluded mountain grove, the two warriors sat apart from their companions, their conversation deep and earnest, exchanging their sorrows and forging an unbreakable bond. Sugreeva, the wise and burdened prince of the Vanaras, felt the protection of an ally mighty and just.
At last, Sugreeva spoke, his voice steady with conviction.
“O mighty Rama, scion of an illustrious lineage, a beacon of wisdom and foresight! Your kindness in accepting me as your friend is an honor beyond measure. With your strength beside me, even the heavens are within my grasp. What, then, is the mere return of my kingdom?
In the presence of the five elements, before the sacred fire, I pledge my allegiance to you. It is not for me to extol my virtues—you shall know me by my deeds. I vow to act in a manner befitting your greatness.
True friendship, Rama, is neither bound by wealth nor swayed by fate. Whether in joy or sorrow, it must remain steadfast. The wise do not measure bonds by fortune or misfortune, for such love is unshaken, like Indra’s grace upon the heavens.”
Rama, turning to Lakshmana, spoke in solemn assent.
“Sugreeva speaks with wisdom and honor. His words I accept wholly.”
Sugreeva then cast his gaze upon the forest, his keen eyes settling upon a towering Arjuna tree, its golden blossoms humming with bees. With reverence, he plucked two branches—one he spread upon the earth for Rama, the other for himself, as tradition dictated when matters of great import were to be discussed. Upon these leafy seats, they sat, Rama serene as the vast ocean, his spirit steady and unfaltering.
But Sugreeva, though grateful, trembled with the weight of his suffering. His words, though halting, carried the weight of years of torment.
“O Rama! My own brother, the one bound to protect me, has instead cast me into exile, seizing my throne and my wife, pursuing me like the god of death himself. Like a hunted beast, I have fled from his wrath, seeking refuge in these desolate mountains. Though I am free in body, my soul is fettered by the chains of anxiety.
O Rama, you are the world’s refuge—deliver me from this disgrace, restore my honor, and grant me the dignity of a rightful king once more!”
Rama, the upholder of dharma, answered with unwavering resolve.
“O noble Sugreeva, a true friend must right the wrongs suffered by his ally. Justice shall be served. Vali’s tyranny shall not go unpunished. My arrows, once loosed, never stray from their mark, for their flight is guided by divine will.”
Sugreeva, his faith unwavering, replied, “I know, O Rama, that you will bring justice to my cause. It is for this reason that I have placed my fate in your hands. Whatever you deem just, I shall abide by it.”
Though tears swelled within him, Sugreeva held his composure.
“My brother Vali is unmatched in strength. He has stripped me of my throne, dishonored me, and cast me into the wilderness. My wife he has stolen, my allies he has imprisoned. Many times, has he sent his warriors to hunt me down, but I have repelled them. At first, I feared you were one of his spies, and so I kept my distance. When danger lurks, one must tread cautiously. It is only through the loyalty of Hanuman and a few steadfast friends that I have survived.”
With these words, Sugreeva offered his sorrow in brief, deeming further lamentation unworthy.
“My own brother is my enemy. Though blood binds us, his actions have severed all ties. His downfall alone shall grant me and my kin relief. O Rama, my soul is burdened with grief—I seek your judgment, and I place my trust in your wisdom.”
Rama, ever righteous, listened intently. His eyes darkened like storm clouds, his anger rising like the torrents of the monsoon.
“Sugreeva, your suffering shall not go unanswered. But justice demands knowledge. Speak to me fully—tell me of the cause of your quarrel, so that I may discern the depths of this enmity. For when the root of discord is known, the course of action shall be laid with certainty, and justice shall be meted without fail.”
Thus, with faith in his friend and hope rekindled, Sugreeva began the tale of his strife, a saga of betrayal and consequence, the ripples of which would shape the fate of the world.