Jāmbavān, foremost among the monkeys, swiftly rose from the ground along with all the vanaras and addressed the venerable king of vultures. “Where is Sītā? Who has seen her? Who has carried away Maithilī? Please tell us everything you know and guide us, dwellers of the forest, in this quest,” he implored. He continued, “Who could ignore the might of the arrows of Daśaratha’s son, arrows that strike with the speed and force of thunderbolts, especially when unleashed by Lakṣmaṇa himself?” Comforting the anxious monkeys, who were intent on hearing news of Sītā, the king of vultures spoke to them with pleasure and reassurance. “Listen, all of you, to what I have heard about the abduction of Vaidehī—who told me of it, and where the wide-eyed Sītā is now. “For a long time, I have lain old and fallen upon this vast mountain fortress, which stretches for many yojanas. My strength and vitality have faded. My son Supārśva, the best among those who fly, has cared for me during this time, bringing me food at the right moments, despite my condition. “The Gandharvas are fierce in their desires, the serpents in their wrath, and the fear among animals is great; so too is our hunger. Once, when I was especially hungry and longing for food, my son, who had himself not eaten, came to me at sunset. “Afflicted by hunger but wishing to please me, he spoke these truthful words after being given permission: ‘Father, when the time was right and I hungered for meat, I flew through the sky and took shelter at the entrance of Mount Mahendra. There, among thousands of creatures moving between the seas, I alone blocked the path, waiting in silence. “‘Then I saw someone, radiant as the rising sun, carrying a woman as he moved—his form dark, like a broken mass of black collyrium. Seeing these two, I gathered my resolve and politely asked him to yield the path, speaking gentle and courteous words, for the sake of food. “‘Truly, there is no one on earth who strikes those who approach with conciliation, not even among the lowly—how much less someone like me? But he sped through the sky with such force it seemed he compressed the very heavens, and celestial beings approached and honored me. “‘The great sages said to me, “By good fortune Sītā lives; though separated from her husband, she has gone safely, without doubt.” Thus, the supremely radiant Siddhas told me that it was Rāvaṇa, king of the Rākṣasas. “‘I saw the wife of Daśaratha’s son, Rāma—the daughter of Janaka—stripped of her ornaments and silks, overcome by grief. Her hair was unbound, and she cried out the names of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa. This, dear one, is what has happened, as told by the best of those skilled in speech.’ “My son Supārśva told me all this in detail. Yet, even after hearing it, I was unable to act. For what can a wingless bird do? Still, whatever I can accomplish through words and wisdom, I shall do. “Now hear what I say, relying on your valor. With my words and intelligence, I will do what pleases you all. Indeed, whatever is Rāma’s task is surely mine as well—there is no doubt of this. You are all wise, strong, and resolute. “Sent by the king of monkeys, you are formidable even to the gods. The arrows of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, feathered with eagle plumes, are ready. They are enough to restrain the weapons of all three worlds. Surely, the ten-headed one, Rāvaṇa, possesses great energy and strength, but for you, who are capable, nothing is too difficult. “Therefore, let there be no more delay—make a firm decision. The wise, like you, do not linger when action is needed.” With this, the chapter drew to a close, and the next began. Having performed their water-rites and bathed, the monkey chiefs gathered around the venerable vulture on the lovely mountain, sitting on all sides. Sampāti, filled with joy and confidence, spoke again as Angada sat surrounded by all the monkeys. “Let the monkeys listen to me, silent and attentive. I will tell you the truth as I know it about Maithilī. “Long ago, O sinless ones, I fell upon the peak of this Vindhya mountain, my body scorched and afflicted by the sun’s relentless rays. After six nights, I regained consciousness, weak and disoriented, and looked about me, unable at first to recognize anything. “Then, as I observed the oceans, mountains, rivers, lakes, forests, and all the regions, my understanding slowly returned. Surely, this is the Vindhya, full of peaks and caves, crowded with joyful flocks of birds, on the southern shore of the ocean. “Here there was a sacred hermitage, greatly revered even by the gods, where a sage named Nishakara practiced severe austerities. For eight thousand years, that sage dwelled on this mountain; after the righteous Nishakara ascended to heaven, “I descended with difficulty from the summit of Vindhya, slowly and with great hardship, returning to the earth covered in sharp darbha grass. Wishing to see that sage, I came here, greatly troubled—for he was often approached by both Jatayu and myself. “Near his hermitage, fragrant winds blew, and not a single tree was seen without flowers or fruit.” Thus did Sampāti share his knowledge and memories with the assembled vanaras, guiding them in their sacred mission.