Angada, weighed down by despair and determination, spoke with a heavy heart to his companions. He declared that, should they return without news of Sītā, Rāma would certainly mete out a sharp and deadly punishment. “What use is there,” he lamented, “for me to see my friends again in another life, if only to share more misfortune? Here, on this sacred shore of the sea, I will undertake a fast unto death.” Hearing these words from the prince, the crown prince, the foremost of the monkeys responded in sorrowful tones. They murmured among themselves, “Sugrīva is harsh by nature, and Rāghava is deeply attached to those he loves. If we return without having accomplished our task, when the appointed time comes—if Vaidehī is not found—Sugrīva, eager to please Rāghava, will surely have us killed.” They reflected further, “It is not proper for those who have failed to go before their lord. And we, the chief counselors of Sugrīva, have gathered here together.” They resolved that, having searched this place for Sītā or for any information, if they should fail, they would either go to that hero or else proceed to the abode of Yama, the god of death. Their words, filled with fear and anxiety, reached Tāra, who spoke up to dispel their despair. “Enough of this hopelessness!” he urged. “Let us all enter this cave and dwell there, if it pleases you. This place, conjured by magic, is truly hard to reach and is abundant with flowers, water, food, and drink. Here, we need not fear Indra, nor Rāghava, nor even the king of the monkeys.” Even as Aṅgada offered these agreeable words, the monkeys, somewhat reassured, said, “Let us devise a plan today itself to escape death, and let us act without delay.” Now, listen to the next part of the tale. When Tāra, radiant like the lord of the stars, had spoken thus, Hanumān reflected that indeed the kingdom had slipped from Aṅgada’s grasp. He considered Vāli’s son, Aṅgada, who was endowed with intelligence in all eight aspects and possessed fourfold strength, to be fourteen times greater than his father. Aṅgada’s brilliance, strength, and valor seemed ever increasing, like the waxing moon at the start of the bright fortnight, growing in splendor. He was as wise as Bṛhaspati, matched his father in prowess, and was as attentive to Tāra as Indra is to Śukra. Though weary from his labors for his master and thoroughly versed in all the scriptures, Hanumān now addressed Aṅgada. He described the third of the four diplomatic strategies, seeking to divide the vānaras with the power of his words. When he had thus divided them, he threatened Aṅgada with harsh words, full of anger and intimidation. “O son of Tāra,” Hanumān said, “you are certainly more capable than your father in battle and can uphold the kingdom of the monkeys as firmly as he did. But the vānaras are fickle-minded; without you, none will endure being separated from their sons and wives. They would not win your favor—this I tell you plainly—just as Jāmbavān, Nīla, and the great monkey Suhotra would not. “Neither I nor any of these can be drawn away from Sugrīva by conciliation, gifts, or any other means; nor could you remove us by force. Even a strong man should not seize the throne of another by force; how much less should one who is weak attempt it, for it leads only to self-destruction. This cave you consider your refuge is known to us; it would be easily pierced by Lakṣmaṇa’s arrows. What Indra once did by hurling his thunderbolt was little; Lakṣmaṇa would shatter this leafy shelter with his sharp arrows. Lakṣmaṇa has many arrows, like iron shafts, whose touch is like thunderbolts and lightning, capable of splitting even mountains. “The moment you take your stand, O subduer of foes, all the monkeys, their minds made up, will abandon you. Remembering their sons and wives, anxious and hungry, worn out by hardship, they will turn their backs on you. Thus, deprived of friends and well-wishing kinsmen, you will become more agitated than a blade of grass trembling in the wind. The fierce arrows of Lakṣmaṇa, swift and hard to withstand, would never harm you if you turned away and sought peace, even if they sought to kill you. “Come with us and present yourself humbly; Sugrīva will install you in the kingdom in proper order. Your uncle, the king of righteousness, who desires your happiness, is steadfast in his vows, pure, and true to his word; he would never destroy you. He desires what is pleasing to your mother, and for her sake he lives; she has no other child. Aṅgada, you must go.” Now, let the next chapter be heard. Hearing Hanumān’s respectful words, filled with righteousness and honoring his master, Aṅgada replied. “Steadfastness, purity of mind, compassion, and honesty, as well as valor and courage, are not found in Sugrīva. He who takes as his own, by law, the beloved wife of his elder brother while he lives, and treats her as his mother, is despicable. How can he know righteousness, who, with evil intent, engaged his brother in battle and sealed the entrance to the cave? Rāghava, who took his hand in truth, accomplished great deeds, and gained fame, has been forgotten by him; who would remember his good deeds? “It was out of fear of Lakṣmaṇa, not out of fear of unrighteousness, that he ordered the search for Sītā; how can there be righteousness in him? In one who is sinful, ungrateful, forgetful, and fickle-minded, who among the noble would ever trust him—especially those of noble lineage?” Thus, the vānaras, torn between fear and duty, debated their path, their hearts heavy with concern for their future and the righteousness of their leaders.