As Lakṣmaṇa’s anger simmered over Sugrīva’s neglect, it was advised that with Tārā’s presence, his pure-hearted nature would not give way to wrath—for truly, great souls never act harshly toward women. If Tārā approached Lakṣmaṇa with gentle and calming words, soothing his senses and mind, it was hoped that his anger would dissolve, and that lotus-eyed subduer of foes would be seen at peace. Tārā, her eyes unsteady from the effects of wine, her golden belt and ornaments loosely adorning her, her body marked with auspicious signs, approached Lakṣmaṇa in a humble, bowed manner. Upon seeing her—the wife of the monkey king—the noble Lakṣmaṇa stood reserved, lowering his gaze, his anger ebbing away in the presence of a woman. Freed from shyness by both wine and the gentle look of the prince, Tārā spoke boldly, her words affectionate and full of gentle persuasion: “O prince, what is the root of your anger? Who dares disobey your command? Who, without fear, would stand in the path of a forest fire, like a dry tree?” Hearing her gentle, untroubled words, Lakṣmaṇa replied frankly, his intent affectionate: “Is this your way, driven by desire, neglecting the pursuit of righteousness and wealth? Do you not understand your husband’s actions, though he seeks 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 enjoyment, has let four months pass in pleasure, 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.” Tārā listened to his words, full of concern for righteousness and wealth, and naturally sweet. Understanding the matter concerning the prince, she spoke again to Lakṣmaṇa 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 faults 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. Your mind is not governed by desire, for you have not fallen under the sway of anger; a man who delights in desire does not consider place, time, or true righteousness. Forgive, then, your brother, the lord of the monkey race, who is close to me, whose conduct is driven by desire, and who, overcome by passion, has lost his sense of shame, O slayer of enemy heroes. Even great sages, devoted to righteousness and austerity, become bound by delusion through desire; this monkey king is by nature fickle—how could a king like him not become attached to pleasures?” Having spoken these weighty words, Tārā, her eyes unsteady with emotion, again addressed Lakṣmaṇa, whose might was immeasurable, speaking words for her husband’s good, though weary: “O best of men, Sugrīva has long since ordered preparations, and even while subject to desire, he is intent on fulfilling your purpose. Now, mighty monkeys of great strength, able to assume any form, have arrived—hundreds of thousands of crores, dwelling in various mountains. Therefore come, O strong-armed one; your conduct has preserved the bond of true friendship, and the sight of a wife is unwavering for the virtuous.” Thus permitted by Tārā, or urged by her in haste, the mighty-armed Lakṣmaṇa entered within. There, he saw Sugrīva, radiant as the sun, seated on a most excellent golden throne, adorned with splendid coverings. Sugrīva shone with divine ornaments, possessing a celestial form and fame, wearing heavenly garlands and garments, unconquerable like mighty Indra. He was surrounded by women adorned with celestial ornaments and garlands; his eyes were reddened with excitement, and he appeared like Death himself. The golden-hued hero, seated on the splendid throne, tightly embraced Rumā, and with his wide eyes, gazed upon Saumitri (Lakṣmaṇa), whose spirit was undiminished and whose eyes were also wide. Let the thirty-fourth sarga be heard in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. When Lakṣmaṇa, the foremost of men, entered—unimpeded and still enraged—Sugrīva became agitated in his senses. Seeing the son of Dasharatha, angered, breathing heavily, blazing with radiance, and tormented by his brother’s distress, the foremost among monkeys sprang up, abandoning his golden seat, like a great, splendidly adorned banner of Indra. As he leapt up, Rumā and the other women also rose, like stars surrounding the full moon in the sky, with Sugrīva. With bloodshot eyes, radiant, hands joined in reverence, Sugrīva moved about and stood there, like a great wish-fulfilling tree. Lakṣmaṇa, angered, spoke to Sugrīva, who was with Rumā, surrounded by women, as the moon is with stars: “A king endowed with strength, noble lineage, compassion, self-control, gratitude, and truthfulness is honored in the world. But if a king, established in unrighteousness, makes false promises to his benefactors, who could be more cruel than he?