Afflicted by hunger and weakened by the long withholding of food, I found my spirits unexpectedly lifted when, after receiving permission, I spoke these words in all truthfulness. “Father, when the time was right and I longed for meat, I soared through the sky and sought shelter at the entrance of Mount Mahendra. There, among thousands of creatures that roamed between the seas, I alone blocked the way, my mouth closed, silent, waiting. In that place, I beheld a wondrous sight: someone radiant as the rising sun, carrying a woman, passing by with the appearance of a broken mass of black collyrium. Seeing those two, my mind resolved, I courteously and gently requested the right of passage from him, hoping for food. For truly, none on earth would strike one who approaches in peace; even among the lowliest, who would do so—least of all, someone such as I? But he sped through the sky with such force that it seemed as though the very heavens were being compressed. As he vanished, I was approached and honored by celestial beings. The great sages spoke to me: ‘By great fortune, Sītā lives; though separated from her husband, she has somehow gone safely, without doubt.’ Thus addressed by those supremely radiant Siddhas, I learned that Rāvaṇa, king of the Rākṣasas, was the one I had seen. I saw with my own eyes the wife of Daśaratha’s son, Rāma—the daughter of Janaka—stripped of her ornaments and silks, overcome by the force of grief. Her hair was unbound, and she cried out the names of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa. This, dear one, is the truth of what has passed, as declared by the best of those skilled in speech. Supārśva told me fully of these events, yet even after hearing, I found myself unable to act. For how can a bird without wings accomplish any deed? Still, whatever I can do, guided by speech and wisdom, I shall do. Now, listen to what I propose, relying on your valor. With words and intelligence, I will do what pleases you all. Indeed, whatever is Rāma’s task is surely mine—there is no doubt. You are all of excellent judgment, strong, and resolute. Sent by the king of monkeys, you are formidable even to the gods themselves, and the arrows of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, feathered with eagle plumes, are prepared. Sufficient indeed are those arrows 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 difficult. Therefore, enough of delay; let a firm decision be made, for the wise do not linger when action is required. Now, let the sixty-first chapter be heard in the glorious Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki, in the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. Having performed the water-rite and bathed, the monkey chiefs gathered around me, the vulture Sampāti, on that lovely mountain, encircling me on all sides. Filled with joy and newfound confidence, I spoke again as Angada sat surrounded by all the monkeys. “Let all the monkeys, silent and attentive, listen to me. I will recount the truth as I know it about the Maithilī, Sītā. Long ago, O sinless ones, I fell upon the peak of this Vindhya mountain, my body afflicted by the sun’s heat, scorched by its rays. For six nights I lay unconscious, weak and disoriented, unable to recognize anything around me. Then, as I observed the oceans, mountains, all the rivers, lakes, forests, and regions, my understanding slowly returned. ‘This is certainly the Vindhya,’ I realized—full of peaks and caves, crowded with joyful flocks of birds, on the southern shore of the ocean. Here there once stood a sacred hermitage, 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 great difficulty from the summit of Vindhya, slowly and painfully making my way to the earth, which was covered in sharp darbha grass. Desiring to see that sage, I came here, greatly troubled. Both Jatayu and I had often approached him in the past. Near his hermitage, fragrant winds blew, and every tree was laden with flowers and fruit. Approaching the sacred hermitage, I took shelter at the root of a tree, waiting, longing to see the venerable Nishakara. Then, from afar, I saw the sage, radiant with splendor, having completed his ablutions, formidable, and facing north as he returned. Bears, hyenas, tigers, lions, and various reptiles surrounded him as he approached, like living beings drawing near a giver of life. When the sage arrived, those creatures departed, just as all the king’s troops and ministers withdraw when their lord enters. The sage, seeing me, was pleased and re-entered the hermitage. After a brief moment, he emerged and gently asked my purpose. ‘Gentle one, seeing the state of your feathers, it is clear: both your wings are scorched by fire, and even your life-breaths remain in your body with difficulty. I have seen two vultures before, swift as the wind, kings among vultures, brothers, able to assume any form at will. You are the elder, Sampāti, and Jatayu is your younger brother. Assuming human form, come and take hold of my feet. What is the cause of your suffering? How did your wings fall? Who has inflicted this punishment? Tell me everything, as I ask.