Encircled by a pale mountain, difficult for any to approach, stood the splendid home of Sugrīva, the monkey king. Its beauty rivaled the mansion of Mahendra himself, and it was adorned with palace spires as white as the peaks of Kailāsa. Blossoming trees, able to grant every desire, flourished all around, their branches heavy with divine flowers and fruits. These glorious trees, gifts from Mahendra, were dark as rainclouds and offered cool shade and delight to all who rested beneath them. At the gates, strong monkeys stood guard, armed with weapons and adorned with divine garlands. The archways gleamed with refined gold, and the entire entrance shone with brilliance. Lakṣmaṇa, the mighty son of Sumitrā, entered this splendid house of Sugrīva unobstructed, just as the sun enters a great cloud. Within, the righteous Lakṣmaṇa saw seven enclosures filled with vehicles and seats, and inside he beheld the vast and well-guarded inner palace. Everywhere, golden and silver couches and excellent seats were arranged, each covered with precious spreads. As he walked through, Lakṣmaṇa continually heard sweet sounds—the music of strings perfectly tuned in melody and rhythm filled the air. He saw many women in Sugrīva’s palace, each of various forms, proud of their youthful beauty. Noble women adorned with garlands were intent on making the finest wreaths, decorated with the best ornaments. Lakṣmaṇa also noticed Sugrīva’s attendants, whose appearance was neither unsatisfied nor overly eager, and whose attire was never neglected. The jingling of anklets and the sound of girdles echoed around him, and the illustrious son of Sumitrā became embarrassed. Angered by the rush of wrath and the sound of ornaments, Lakṣmaṇa made his bow-string twang, filling the quarters with its sharp sound. Feeling dishonored in conduct and filled with Rāma’s anger, Lakṣmaṇa stood aside in solitude. The sound of his bow alerted Sugrīva, lord of the monkeys, who realized Lakṣmaṇa had arrived. Frightened, Sugrīva rose from his excellent seat, recalling Aṅgada’s earlier words that Sumitrā’s son, devoted to his brother, would come. Informed by both Aṅgada and the unmistakable sound, Sugrīva understood Lakṣmaṇa was there, and his face dried up with fear. Sugrīva, best of monkeys, his mind disturbed by fear and confusion, yet composed, spoke words of benefit to Tārā, who was pleasing to behold. “O beautiful one,” he said, “what could be the reason that this younger brother of Rāghava, whose nature is gentle, has come here appearing angry? If you perceive that we have done anything displeasing to him, then, after careful consideration, let it be quickly and clearly stated. Or, O lovely one, you yourself should go to see him and try to appease him with words full of gentleness. With your presence, his pure-hearted self will not become angry; for truly, great souls never act harshly towards women. When you approach him with soothing words, calming his senses and mind, then I shall see that lotus-eyed subduer of foes, his anger gone.” Tārā, her eyes unsteady from intoxication, her golden belt and ornaments hanging loose, her body adorned with auspicious marks, approached Lakṣmaṇa with bowed form. Seeing her, the wife of the lord of the monkeys, the great-souled son of the king stood there, reserved; Lakṣmaṇa turned his face downward, his anger subsiding in the presence of a woman. Freed from shyness by wine and by the gentle look of the prince, Tārā spoke to him, her words bold with affection, meaningful and full of gentle persuasion. “O prince, what is the root of your anger? Who does not obey your command? Who, without fear, would stand in the path of a forest fire, like a dry tree?” Hearing her gentle and untroubled words, Lakṣmaṇa replied again, speaking frankly and with affectionate intent. “Is this your way, driven by desire, neglecting the collection of righteousness and wealth? Do you not understand your husband's actions, though he is devoted to his own welfare? He does not consider the interests of the kingdom, nor us, who are consumed by grief; O Tārā, he attends only to pleasure, ignoring his ministers and assembly. The lord of the monkeys, intoxicated with pleasure, has let four months pass by in enjoyment, unaware of the time gone. Such drinking is not praised when the aim is to achieve righteousness and wealth; from drinking, both purpose, pleasure, and virtue are lost. There is great loss of righteousness when one fails to act; and when a virtuous friend is destroyed, the loss of wealth is also immense. A friend who is foremost in wealth and virtue, devoted to truth and righteousness, has been abandoned, and yet there is no steadfastness in righteousness. Thus, with this matter at hand, it is for us to act accordingly; you, who know the true nature of action, should declare what should be done.” Hearing his words, full of concern for righteousness and wealth, and naturally sweet, Tārā, understanding the matter concerning the prince, spoke again to him with trust. “This is not the time for anger, O prince, nor should anger be directed toward your own people; you ought, O hero, to endure even a fault from those who desire your welfare. How indeed could a noble-natured prince become angry at one whose spirit is diminished? Who like you, possessing self-control and born of ascetic power, would fall under the sway of anger? I know the anger of the heroic monkey-lord; I know also the proper time for action; I know what has been done for you, and I know as well what remains to be done here. I also know, O best of men, how unbearable is the power of bodily passion; I know in whom desire has now bound Sugrīva so that he is attached and heedless.