As the season changed, the landscape transformed with it. The mouths of the rivers, veiled in kāśa grass as if draped in fine garments, teemed with chakravāka birds and water plants, resembling the faces of brides adorned with leafy ornaments. In the forests, arrow-wood trees blossomed, their flowers painting the trees, while bees hummed joyfully. It was as if the mighty god of love, his bow drawn and staff fierce, now ruled the woods. The clouds, having satisfied the world with abundant rain, filled rivers and lakes, and made the earth yield its crops, now departed, leaving the sky clear and empty. Autumn rivers, shyly revealing their sandbanks, seemed like bashful women showing their hips after a new union. The waters, now clear and resonant with the calls of curlews and crowded with chakravāka birds, shone beautifully as they rested in the lakes. “O gentle one,” said Rāma, “the time has come for kings to prepare, eager for victory over their rivals. This is the first campaign of the kings, yet I do not see Sugrīva making such preparations.” On the mountain slopes, the seven-leaved asana trees, blooming kovidāra trees, bandhujīva flowers, and dark-hued śyāmā plants were visible. “Look, Lakṣmaṇa,” Rāma continued, “the riverbanks are scattered everywhere with swans, cranes, chakravāka birds, and curlews.” Rāma’s grief weighed heavily upon him. “Four months of the rainy season, which seemed like a hundred years, have passed for me, tormented by sorrow and deprived of seeing Sītā. Like a female chakravāka following her mate into the forest, Sītā entered the harsh Daṇḍaka woods, as a woman enters a garden with her beloved. Yet Sugrīva shows me no compassion, Lakṣmaṇa, though I am bereft of my beloved, afflicted by sorrow, deprived of my kingdom, and exiled. I am without support, my kingdom taken, violated by Rāvaṇa, miserable, far from home, longing, and I have sought refuge in him. For these reasons, gentle one, I have been disregarded by the wicked-hearted Sugrīva, king of the monkeys, though I am a scorcher of foes.” Rāma’s frustration grew. “Having achieved his purpose and made a promise regarding the search for Sītā, that evil-minded one does not heed the appointed time. Go to Kiṣkindhā and tell the foremost of monkeys, Sugrīva—who is foolish and attached to vulgar pleasures—these words of mine: He who, having promised hope to those who seek and to former benefactors, breaks his word, is the lowest of men in the world. Whether the word spoken is good or evil, he who upholds it with truth is a hero, the best among men. Those who, having gained their purpose, do not remain friends to those who have not, are so ungrateful that even flesh-eating beasts do not consume them when dead.” Rāma’s anger was barely contained. “Surely you wish to see in battle the form of my golden-backed, drawn bow, shining like a cluster of lightning. You wish again to hear in combat the dreadful twang of my bowstring, like the thunder of a vajra, when I am enraged. Even so, O hero, if his strength is known and he is your ally, I would have no concern, prince, even in this situation. For the sake of which this undertaking was begun, O conqueror of enemy cities, the lord of monkeys, having achieved his aim, does not remember the agreement. Having promised the proper time to the lord of monkeys, four months of the rainy season have passed, yet he, enjoying himself, does not notice. Playing with his ministers and court, he indulges only in drinking; Sugrīva shows no compassion to us, who are afflicted by grief.” “Go, O mighty hero, and tell Sugrīva this: describe to him the nature of my anger, and speak these words to him. The path by which Vāli was slain is not closed; keep your promise, Sugrīva, do not follow the path of Vāli. Vāli alone was slain by me in battle with an arrow; but you, if you break your word, I will slay, along with your kin. Now that the matter stands thus, O best of men, speak whatever is proper and beneficial; hasten, for time is slipping away. O lord of the monkeys, fulfill your promise to me, keeping in mind the eternal law of righteousness. Do not let me see Vāli, who has gone to the realm of the dead, today, struck down by my arrows at your urging.” Lakṣmaṇa saw his elder brother, overcome with intense and growing anger, lamenting and looking dejected. The illustrious scion of Manu’s line, mighty in energy, made a firm resolve regarding the lord of the monkeys. Listen now to the thirty-first chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Kiṣkindhā section. Lakṣmaṇa, the son of the king and younger brother of Rāma, saw his elder brother, lovesick and dejected yet steadfast in spirit, overwhelmed by grief and rising anger. He spoke to him: “This monkey will not remain virtuous, nor does he consider the consequences of his actions. He will not enjoy the prosperity of the monkey kingdom, for such is not the inclination of his mind. Because of his lack of judgment, he is attached to base pleasures; but by your favor, he has gained the resolve to retaliate. Let him see his heroic elder brother, Vāli, slain. A kingdom should not be given to one so lacking in virtue. I will not harbor this surging anger; today I will slay Sugrīva for his falsehood. Let Vāli’s son, together with the foremost monkeys, decide with the king’s daughter what is to be done.” As Lakṣmaṇa leapt up, bow and arrows in hand, fierce in battle and intent on his purpose, Rāma, destroyer of enemy heroes, addressed him with words both considered and conciliatory. “Indeed, one such as you should not commit such a wrongful act in this world. The hero who, in anger, kills with restraint is the highest among men. This is not something you should accept, Lakṣmaṇa, you who are of virtuous conduct. Follow that earlier affection and the established course. With words tempered by conciliation, avoiding harshness, you ought to speak to Sugrīva, now that the proper time has passed.” Thus, Rāma guided Lakṣmaṇa to approach Sugrīva with restraint and wisdom, even as the urgency of their quest pressed upon them.