Suddenly struck with blood, the eminent sage Matanga was startled and cried out, “Who has dared to touch me with blood in this manner? Who is this wicked, unrestrained, and foolish soul?” Disturbed by this unexpected defilement, the sage stepped outside his hermitage to seek the cause. There, before him, lay a buffalo, vast as a mountain, slain and sprawled upon the ground. With his ascetic vision, Matanga instantly perceived the truth: it was a monkey who had hurled the beast and caused this sacrilege. Angered, the sage pronounced a mighty curse upon the monkey responsible. “Let him who has defiled my hermitage—my very refuge—with streams of blood be forbidden from entering here. Should he trespass, death will be his fate. By hurling trees and shattering this demonic body, my hermitage has been violated. If anyone, within a yojana all around, fills this sacred space—if that wicked one or his counselors come here seeking shelter—they, too, must leave at once. Should any remain, I will surely curse them as well. “In this forest, which I have always protected as a father guards his son, for the sake of its leaves, shoots, fruits, and roots—today marks the limit. If tomorrow I see that monkey again, he shall be transformed into a mountain for thousands of years.” When the monkeys heard these terrible words, they immediately departed from the forest. Seeing them leaving, Vali, king of the monkeys, called out, “Why have you all gathered here, you dwellers of Matanga’s forest? Is all well among you?” The monkeys then recounted to Vali, adorned with golden garlands, the entire story and the curse that had been placed upon him. Hearing this, Vali approached the great sage Matanga with joined palms, humbly begging forgiveness. But the sage, unmoved, withdrew into his hermitage, leaving Vali distraught and fearful of the curse. Thus, out of fear, Vali never dared enter the great mountain Rishyamuka, nor even to look upon it. Sugriva, knowing Vali’s inability to enter, wandered the vast forest with his counselors, free from anxiety. “See, O Rama,” Sugriva said, “this shining heap of bones is that of Dundubhi, vast as a mountain peak, cast down by Vali’s might. And here stand seven great sala trees, whose leaves Vali can shake down with his strength.” Sugriva continued, “I have shown you his unmatched power. O king, how will you be able to slay Vali in battle?” At this, Lakshmana laughed and asked Sugriva, “What test would convince you of Vali’s death?” Sugriva replied, “These seven sala trees—Vali once pierced each one, not just once, but repeatedly. If Rama can split these trees with a single arrow, then I will believe Vali can be slain. Once, Vali even hurled the bones of a slain buffalo two hundred bow-lengths with a single foot.” Having spoken thus, Sugriva’s eyes reddened as he pondered Rama’s might, then addressed him again. “Vali is a hero, proud of his valor and strength, undefeated in battle. Even the gods find his deeds difficult. Reflecting on his might, I fled to Rishyamuka in fear. Thinking of that unconquerable, wrathful monkey king, I have not dared leave Rishyamuka. Anxious and suspicious, I wander the forest with my loyal ministers, led by Hanuman. “But now, I have found a worthy friend, steadfast in friendship. I rely on you, Rama, as one would rely on the Himalayas. Still, I know my brother’s power and wickedness, yet I have not witnessed your valor in battle, O Raghava. I do not compare, disrespect, or fear you—but his terrifying deeds haunt me. Your words, courage, and bearing hint at a hidden energy, like fire beneath ashes.” Rama, smiling at Sugriva’s words, replied warmly, “If you do not yet trust in our prowess, O monkey, I shall give you proof worthy of your faith.” Thus speaking, Rama, the elder brother of Lakshmana, comforted Sugriva. With a playful touch of his toe, he nudged the dried body of Dundubhi—and, with mighty strength, flung it ten yojanas away. Amazed at this feat, Sugriva addressed Rama again, shining with joy before Lakshmana and the foremost monkeys. “Once, my brother Vali hurled this buffalo’s body when it was fresh and full of flesh, though he was exhausted and intoxicated. Now, O Raghava, it is dried out and light as straw, yet you have thrown it so far in delight. Still, it is hard to judge whose strength is greater—yours or his—for the difference between fresh and dried is truly immense, O Rama.