Sugrīva, still troubled after the previous battle, confronted Rāma with deep sorrow in his voice. He said, “You called me, showed your prowess, and slew the enemy—what have you truly accomplished? At this very moment, O Raghava, you must tell me honestly: why did you not slay Vāli? If you do not, I will not remain here.” Hearing Sugrīva’s distress, Rāma replied gently, “Sugrīva, listen, dear friend, and let your anger be set aside. I shall explain why I did not release my arrow. In ornament, attire, stature, and gait, you and Vāli are so alike that I could not distinguish between you. In voice, radiance, glance, valor, and speech, O monkey, there is no difference that I could perceive. Thus, bewildered by your resemblance, I held back the swift arrow that destroys enemies. Because of your similarity, I hesitated to let loose the dreadful arrow, fearing it might strike both of you. Had you perished by my ignorance, my folly and childishness would have been exposed, O lord of monkeys. To slay one who has been granted safety is a great and wondrous sin; and I, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā of noble complexion—all of us are under your protection in this forest. You are our refuge. Therefore, fight again, and do not be anxious, O monkey. In this very moment, you will see Vāli in battle, struck down by a single arrow, lying motionless upon the earth.” Rāma then advised Sugrīva, “Establish a mark of recognition for yourself, O lord of monkeys, so that I may know you when you enter the duel.” He instructed Lakṣmaṇa, “Pluck this blossoming Gajapuṣpī flower, adorned with auspicious signs, and place it upon the neck of the great-souled Sugrīva.” Lakṣmaṇa did so, fastening the splendid vine around Sugrīva’s neck. Adorned thus, Sugrīva shone like a garlanded cloud among cranes at dusk. Radiant in form and attentive to Rāma’s words, Sugrīva departed with Rāma and returned again to Kiṣkindhā. Now, hear the thirteenth sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. From Ṛṣyamūka, that righteous elder brother of Lakṣmaṇa went to Kiṣkindhā with Sugrīva, which was guarded by Vāli’s prowess. Rāma, raising his great bow adorned with gold, took arrows shining like the sun, fit for battle. Sugrīva, broad-necked, and mighty Lakṣmaṇa went ahead of the great-souled Rāghava. Behind them followed the heroic Hanumān, Nala, powerful Nīla, and Tāra, the illustrious chief of monkey troops. On their journey, they beheld trees weighed down with masses of blossoms and rivers with clear waters, all flowing toward the ocean. They saw mountain valleys, peaks, ravines, caves, prominent summits, and delightful glens. Their path led past lakes adorned with clear waters like beryl, filled with lotuses both in bud and full bloom. The air resounded with the calls of cranes, sarasa birds, swans, vanjula ducks, waterfowl, chakravaka ducks, and other birds. Deer grazed everywhere on tender grass shoots, roaming fearlessly through the forest and standing on the plains. Wild elephants, fierce and solitary, adorned with white tusks, struck the banks of lakes. Intoxicated monkeys, massive as mountain peaks and covered with dust, moved like living mountains, resembling elephants. Seeing other forest-dwelling creatures and birds flying in the sky, the group hurried on, all under Sugrīva’s command. As they continued, a grove of trees appeared in the sky like a great cloud, vast as a mass of clouds, surrounded by clusters of plantains. Rāma’s curiosity was piqued. He asked, “What is this? I wish to know, my friend; my curiosity is aroused. Please dispel it.” Hearing these words, Sugrīva, as he went, did not speak about the great forest at first. Then he explained, “O Rāghava, this is the vast hermitage that removes fatigue, rich with gardens and groves, abundant with sweet roots, fruits, and water. Here dwell the seven sages called the Seven Seers, steadfast in their vows, always lying with their heads downward, and constantly resting in water. For seven nights, they subsisted on air, dwelling on mountains, and after a hundred years, they ascended to heaven with their bodies. By their power, this hermitage, encircled by a wall of trees, is very difficult to approach, even for gods and demons together with Indra. Birds and other forest creatures avoid this place; those who enter here out of delusion do not return again.” Sugrīva continued, “Here, sounds of ornaments are heard, clear and distinct, as well as the music of instruments and singing, and a divine fragrance, O Rāghava. Even the sacrificial fires of the Tretā age are burning here; this smoke is seen, dense and tinged with pigeon-colored red, as if enveloping the treetops.” Thus, journeying through the wondrous landscape and learning of the sacred hermitage, Rāma and his companions pressed onward, ever closer to their great purpose.