Sleep eluded Rāma that night as he lay down, his heart overwhelmed by grief and his eyes brimming with tears. Lakṣmaṇa, who shared in his brother’s sorrow, sought to console the ever-distressed Kākutstha with gentle and reassuring words. “Enough, noble one,” Lakṣmaṇa said softly, “let not your anguish consume you. You know well that grief thwarts all endeavors. You are steadfast in action, devoted to the gods, faithful, righteous, and resolute, O Rāghava. “Without unwavering resolve, no one can conquer an enemy—especially one as cunning as that Rākṣasa. But you possess the valor to defeat him in battle. Cast aside your sorrow and strengthen your determination; only then will you be able to destroy that Rākṣasa and his kin. O Kākutstha, you could even overturn the earth itself, with its oceans, forests, and mountains—what is Rāvaṇa before your might? “Wait for the autumn season, for now the rains have begun. When the time comes, you will slay Rāvaṇa, his kingdom, and his followers. I will rekindle your dormant strength, like a fire hidden under ashes brought to life with bright offerings at the right moment.” Hearing these wise and auspicious words, Rāghava replied affectionately to his dear brother, “Lakṣmaṇa, you have spoken as one should—devoted, loving, well-wishing, and endowed with truth and valor. Your words are fitting and true. This sorrow, which undermines all efforts, I now abandon. I will draw upon your unwavering energy and prepare for heroic deeds. “I will wait for the autumn season, as you have advised, and seek the support of Sugrīva and the sacred rivers. A hero must repay help received; ingratitude and failure to reciprocate destroy the noble-hearted.” Lakṣmaṇa, reflecting on Rāma’s words, joined his palms in reverence and spoke again, revealing his own pure intentions. “All that you desire will soon be accomplished, O king. The monkey king will act as you have said. Await the autumn, endure this rainfall, and remain steadfast in your resolve to conquer the enemy. Restrain your anger, preserve your strength, and spend these four months with me on this mountain, frequented by lions, preparing for the destruction of our foe.” Thus ended their exchange, and the narrative continued into the next chapter. After slaying Vāli and establishing Sugrīva on the throne, Rāma dwelled with Lakṣmaṇa on the slopes of Mālyavat. One day, Rāma spoke to his brother, “The time has come; the rains are here. Look, the sky is blanketed with clouds, towering like mountains. “The sky, having received the sun’s rays for nine months, now drinks the essence of the oceans and gives birth to the elixir of rain. The sun itself could ascend the heavens, adorned with cloud-steps and garlanded with kuṭaja and arjuna blossoms. “Red and pale streaks at the edges of the sky, born from the glow of twilight, and glossy rents in the cloud-veil make the heavens look as if bandaged with wounds. The sky, breathing gently and tinged with the sandalwood hue of dusk, shines pale with clouds, like a lovesick soul. “The earth, once scorched by heat and now drenched with fresh rain, seems to weep like a grief-stricken woman. The winds, cool as camphor petals and fragrant with ketaka, flow from the bellies of clouds and could be drunk with cupped hands. “See this mountain, its arjuna trees in full bloom, perfumed by ketaka and anointed by streams—like Sugrīva himself, pacified and crowned. The mountains, cloaked in black cloud-skins and garlanded with streaming waters like sacred threads, their caves filled with wind, seem like priests chanting Vedic hymns. “The sky, lashed by golden lightning like whips and echoing with thunder, appears to tremble in pain. The lightning flickering on dark clouds reminds me of Sītā, trembling in the lap of Rāvaṇa. “These directions, once beloved by lovers, are now blocked, veiled in clouds, with the moon and stars hidden from view. Look, Saumitri, on these mountain slopes the kuṭaja trees bloom. Some, choked by tears and longing for the rains, stand as if mirroring my own grief and yearning. “Today the dust has settled, the wind is gentle, and the oppressive heat has passed. The journeys of kings are suspended, and travelers return to their homes. The chakravāka birds, eager to reunite with their mates at the lakes, set out, while carriages avoid the roads, washed clean by frequent rains. “The sky is bright in some places, dark in others, sometimes hidden behind mountains—like the calm surface of a vast ocean. Mountain streams, mingled with sarja and kadamba blossoms and tinged red by minerals, rush swiftly, accompanied by the cries of peacocks. “The ripe jambu fruits, rich with juice and swarming with bees, are eagerly enjoyed, and wind-shaken, many-colored, fully ripened mangoes fall to the ground. Clouds, adorned with lightning banners and garlands of cranes, resemble the peaks of great mountains and roar like intoxicated elephants ready for battle. “The forests, their grasslands revived by rain and filled with peacocks beginning their joyful dances, shine even more beautifully in the afternoons when the clouds have passed. The clouds, heavy with water and echoing with the cries of cranes, rest again and again upon the lofty mountain summits before moving on.” Thus, Rāma described the onset of the rains and the world transformed, as he and Lakṣmaṇa waited in patience and resolve for the time to fulfill their quest.