Sampāti, his heart swelling with joy and renewed hope, spoke again as Angada sat amidst the gathered monkeys. He called for their silent attention, promising to share the truth he knew about Maithilī, Sītā. He began his tale: “Long ago, O sinless one, I fell upon the peak of this Vindhya mountain. My body was tormented by the fierce heat of the sun, scorched by its relentless rays. For six nights I lay unconscious, weak and disoriented. When I finally regained my senses, I looked all around, but nothing was familiar to me. Gradually, as I observed the oceans, mountains, rivers, lakes, forests, and regions, my understanding returned. I realized that this was indeed the Vindhya mountain, full of peaks and caves, bustling with joyous flocks of birds, situated on the southern shore of the ocean. Here, there was a sacred hermitage, revered even by the gods, where a sage named Nishakara practiced severe austerities. For eight thousand years, that righteous sage dwelled on this mountain. After Nishakara ascended to heaven, I struggled down from the summit of Vindhya, descending slowly and painfully to the earth covered in sharp darbha grass. Desiring to see the sage, I came here, greatly troubled. Both Jatayu and I had often approached him. Near his hermitage, fragrant winds blew, and every tree bore flowers and fruit. I drew near the sacred hermitage and took shelter at the root of a tree, waiting and hoping to see the venerable Nishakara. From afar, I saw the sage, radiant and formidable, having completed his ablutions and facing north. Bears, hyenas, tigers, lions, and various reptiles surrounded him as he approached, as if living beings were gathering around a giver of life. When the sage arrived, the creatures departed, just as a king’s troops withdraw with their ministers when the king enters. The sage saw me and was pleased. He entered his hermitage, and after a brief moment, he came out and asked my purpose. He remarked gently, ‘Seeing the condition 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 illness? How did your wings fall? Who has inflicted this punishment? Tell me everything as I ask.’ Now, listen to the sixty-first chapter in the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. I accomplished that dreadful and difficult task swiftly, recounting everything to the sage, including our pursuit of the sun. ‘O venerable one,’ I said, ‘wounded and ashamed, my senses disturbed and exhausted, I am unable to speak clearly.’ Both Jatayu and I, overcome by pride and rivalry, leapt into the sky from afar, eager to test our strength. On the summit of Mount Kailāsa, in the presence of sages, we wagered to follow the sun until it reached the great mountain at sunset. As we traveled together, we saw many cities below, each the size of a chariot wheel, each distinct from the other. In some places, we heard the sound of musical instruments; elsewhere, the jingling of ornaments. We saw many women dressed in red, singing. Swiftly rising into the sky, we reached the sun’s path. From there, we looked down upon the forest, lush with green meadows. The earth appeared covered with rocky peaks, as if with stones, and was encircled by rivers like threads woven around the land. The Himālaya, Vindhya, and the great Meru mountains shone forth on the earth, like mighty serpents in a pool of water. Then, intense sweat, fatigue, and fear seized us both. Confusion overtook us, followed by a dreadful fainting. We could not discern the southern, southeastern, or western directions; the world seemed destroyed at the end of an age, as if burned by fire. My mind was overwhelmed, and my sight faltered. With great effort, I steadied my mind and vision in that place. I looked again with difficulty at the sun; to us, the sun appeared equal in size to the earth. Without bidding me farewell, Jatayu fell to the earth; seeing him swiftly descend from the sky, I released myself as well. Shielded by my wings, Jatayu was not burned; but through carelessness, I was scorched and fell from the path of the wind. I suspect that Jatayu fell in Janasthāna, but I myself fell upon the Vindhya, my wings burned and my body paralyzed. Deprived of my kingdom, my brother, and the strength of my wings, I resolved in every way to die, and so I cast myself from the mountain peak. Now, hear the sixty-second chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Kiṣkindhā Book. Having spoken thus to the foremost sage, the wind-god, greatly afflicted, then meditated for a moment, and the venerable one spoke these words.