As they journeyed through the forest, Rāma turned to Lakṣmaṇa and said, “Surely we have arrived at the hermitage of that great-souled sage—Agastya’s virtuous brother—for it now appears before us.” Along the way, they had seen thousands of trees, their branches sagging under the weight of ripening fruits and fragrant blossoms, a testament to the forest’s abundance. On the breeze came the sharp aroma of ripe pippali peppers, their scent suddenly filling the air. All around, Rāma noticed piles of gathered firewood and darbha grass, its golden blades gleaming like cat’s eye gems, lying neatly cut upon the ground. In the midst of the forest, rising like the dark peak of a rain-laden cloud, a column of smoke from the hermitage fire marked the dwelling within. At secluded bathing places, twice-born sages could be seen, having completed their ablutions, offering freshly gathered flowers in worship. Rāma said gently to Lakṣmaṇa, “As I have heard from Sutikshna, this must indeed be the hermitage of Agastya’s brother. For the sake of the world’s welfare, this virtuous brother subdued Death itself by force and made the southern region a sanctuary.” He continued, recounting a tale from the past. “Here, it is said, once lived the cruel asura brothers, Vatapi and Ilvala—mighty beings and slayers of Brahmins. Ilvala, taking the guise of a Brahmin, would deceitfully invite Brahmins to a funeral feast. After performing the funeral rites for his brother, he would transform Vatapi into a ram and feed the Brahmins, following all the sacred rites of śrāddha. Once the Brahmins had eaten, Ilvala would call out loudly, ‘Vātāpi, come out!’ At his brother’s summons, Vatapi, bleating like a ram, would burst forth from the bodies of the Brahmins, tearing them apart. In this way, these flesh-eating beings, capable of assuming any form, destroyed thousands of Brahmins together, time after time. “At last, at the request of the gods, the great sage Agastya himself came to that śrāddha and consumed the asura. When the meal was finished, Ilvala, as was his custom, offered water for rinsing the hands and cried out, ‘Come out, Vatapi!’ But the wise and eminent sage Agastya, smiling, addressed Ilvala, the slayer of Brahmins, saying, ‘How can one who has been digested by me—your rakshasa brother in the form of a ram, who has gone to the abode of Yama—come out?’ Hearing these words, which revealed his brother’s death, Ilvala, the night-wanderer, was seized by rage and rushed at the sage. But Agastya, the foremost of Brahmins, destroyed him utterly, burning him up with the fire of his own brilliance. “This is the hermitage of that brother, adorned with a lake and surrounded by forest, where, out of compassion for the Brahmins, such a difficult and noble deed was accomplished.” As Rāma shared this story with Saumitri, the sun dipped below the horizon and the time of twilight arrived. After performing the evening worship with his brother, Rāma entered the hermitage and greeted the sage. The sage welcomed them warmly, and Rāghava spent the night there, nourished by roots and fruits. When dawn broke and the sun rose, Rāghava prepared to depart. Bowing respectfully, he said, “I bow to you, venerable one. I have spent the night comfortably. I take my leave; I go now to see your elder brother, my teacher.” Receiving the sage’s blessing to go, Rāghava set out, following the indicated path and observing the beauty of the forest. He saw wild rice, jackfruit, śāla trees, vañjulā, tinisha, ciribilva, madhūka, bilva, and tinduka trees. All around, hundreds of forest trees were adorned with blossoming creepers, their tips covered in flowers. Some trees bore the marks of elephants’ trunks, others were brightened by playful monkeys, and the air resounded with the cries of intoxicated flocks of birds. Then Rāma, lotus-eyed, spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, the heroic one who walked behind him. “See, the trees have glossy leaves, the animals and birds are gentle, and not far from here lies the hermitage of the great sage whose mind is pure. That hermitage, renowned throughout the world as belonging to Agastya, is before us—its very presence relieves the fatigue of weary travelers.” The forest was filled with thick smoke from sacrificial fires, adorned with garlands of bark-cloth, peaceful with calm herds of deer, and alive with the calls of many birds. Rāma continued, “He, desiring the welfare of the worlds, subdued Death by force, and by his virtuous deeds made the southern quarter a place of refuge. This is the hermitage of that one whose power caused the southern quarter to be feared by the Rākṣasas—visible to them, but never enjoyed. From the time this quarter was claimed by the virtuous sage, the night-roaming beings have lived in peace, free from enmity. This southern quarter, named after the blessed one, is renowned in the three worlds and cannot be overcome by those of cruel deeds. “To always block the path of the sun, the great Vindhya mountain, obeying Agastya’s command, does not grow higher. Here stands the illustrious hermitage of Agastya, long-lived and famed for his deeds, served by well-behaved deer.” With reverence and wonder, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa beheld the sacred dwelling of the sage, a place sanctified by great deeds and compassion, where the very air seemed to carry the blessings of the wise.