On the enchanting hill, alive with the calls of intoxicated flocks of birds, Rāma gazed about and sighed to Lakṣmaṇa, “If only I could see my beloved here, all would be well for me.” Turning to his brother, he continued, “Truly, Saumitri, if only Sītā, slender-waisted Vaidehī, could enjoy with me the pure, auspicious breeze of Pampā, I could bear this life. Blessed indeed are those who enjoy the forest breeze of Pampā, carrying the fragrance of lotuses and blue lilies, so auspicious and sorrow-dispelling, O Lakṣmaṇa.” His heart heavy with longing, Rāma lamented, “My beloved, dark and lotus-eyed, separated from me—how does Janaka’s daughter, helpless, sustain her life? What shall I say to the righteous king, the truth-speaking Janaka, if he asks about Sītā’s welfare in the midst of his people? She who followed me, though I was sent to the forest by her father, steadfast in righteousness—where now does my dear Sītā dwell? Deprived of her, O Lakṣmaṇa, how shall I, wretched, continue—she who followed me when I was fallen from the kingdom, my mind distressed?” Rāma’s sorrow deepened as he confessed, “As I do not see her face, with eyes like blooming lotuses, fragrant, lovely, and unblemished, my mind seems to sink. When shall I hear, O Lakṣmaṇa, the matchless words of Vaidehī—virtuous, sweet, and beneficial—adorned with gentle smiles and laughter? When she, dark-complexioned, found me tormented by love and suffering in the forest, that virtuous lady, as if freed from sorrow, spoke to me joyfully. What shall I say in Ayodhyā to Kausalyā, O prince, when she, wise and noble, asks, ‘Where is my daughter-in-law?’ Go, Lakṣmaṇa, see Bharata, who loves his brothers; for I am not able to live without Janaka’s daughter.” As Rāma, the great-souled one, grieved like one bereft of support, Lakṣmaṇa spoke to him with unwavering resolve, “Compose yourself, Rāma—may all be well with you; grieve not, best of men. Such thoughts do not arise in those whose hearts are pure. Remembering the sorrow born of separation, let go of your attachment to your beloved. Even a moist wick, when embraced too closely by flame, is consumed. Even if he goes to the netherworld or to a place beyond, Rāvaṇa will not escape you, Rāghava, in any way. Let us first discover the whereabouts of that wicked Rākṣasa; then he will either release Sītā or meet his end. If Rāvaṇa goes into the womb of Diti along with Sītā, even there I will slay him, unless he returns the daughter of Mithilā. Regain your composure, noble one, and cast aside this pitiable state of mind. Lost purposes are not regained by those who make no effort. Energy is powerful, noble one; there is no strength greater than energy. For the energetic, nothing in the world is difficult to obtain. Men endowed with energy do not falter in their actions. Relying solely on energy, we shall recover Jānakī. Abandoning the ways of desire and casting grief behind you, you do not recognize yourself, the great-souled, self-controlled one.” Thus addressed, Rāma, whose mind was afflicted by grief, set aside his sorrow and delusion, regaining his composure. Rāma, of unfathomable prowess, undisturbed, crossed the beautiful Pampā, lovely with trees growing along its banks. Surveying the entire forest with its waterfalls and caves, though his heart was troubled, the great-souled one set out with Lakṣmaṇa, still weighed down by sorrow. As he walked, moving with the grace of a rutting elephant, undisturbed in mind, Lakṣmaṇa, devoted to his brother, protected Rāghava by righteousness and strength. Near the slopes of Ṛṣyamūka, they saw two wondrously strange leaders of the monkey bands, who neither trembled nor stirred at their approach. The great-souled leader of the monkeys, moving with the gait of a slow elephant, saw the two as they wandered and, overwhelmed by fear and anxiety, fell into deep despondency. Seeing the mighty Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, the monkeys, frightened, hurried toward a hermitage, holy and blissful, a refuge always frequented by monkey chiefs. Now begins the second sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. Seeing the two noble brothers, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, bearing excellent weapons and displaying valor, Sugrīva became apprehensive. He could not bring himself to remain, observing those mighty ones; the mind of the greatly frightened monkey became unsettled. Reflecting and considering the gravity of the situation, Sugrīva, righteous in nature, was deeply distressed along with all those monkeys. Then Sugrīva, the lord of the monkeys, extremely anxious, informed his counselors while gazing at Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, “These two have surely entered this difficult forest at Vāli’s behest; disguised in ascetic garb, they wander here with some hidden purpose.” Sugrīva’s counselors, seeing those supreme archers, moved from that mountain slope to another excellent peak. Having quickly reached it, the monkey leaders surrounded and approached the foremost among monkeys, Sugrīva. Thus, moving together in a line, leaping from mountain to mountain, they shook the peaks with their speed. The powerful monkeys, leaping, broke the blossoming trees that grew in inaccessible places. As they leapt around the great mountain, the excellent monkeys frightened the deer, cats, and tigers as they went.