Upon the sacred hill of Rishyamukha, Rama, Lakshmana, Hanuman, and Sugriva sat beneath the vast blue sky, their hearts heavy with stories yet untold.
Sugriva, his eyes downcast, spoke in a voice laden with sorrow, “O Rama, mighty prince, hear my tale of grief — for sorrow, like a shadow, follows me.”
Long ago, Sugriva had ruled Kishkindha, the mighty kingdom of the vanaras. By his side stood his brother, Vali — strong, fierce, and beloved. Together, they protected their people and kept the forests safe.
But fate turned cruel. One dark day, a demon named Mayavi challenged Vali to a duel. The two warriors fought fiercely until Mayavi, fearing for his life, fled into a deep cave. Vali, burning with pride, followed, instructing Sugriva to wait at the cave’s mouth until his return.
Days turned to weeks, and the cave remained silent. Only the sound of flowing blood echoed forth. Fearing his brother slain, Sugriva placed a boulder at the cave’s entrance and returned to Kishkindha with a heavy heart.
Believing Vali dead, the vanaras crowned Sugriva as their king. But Vali was not dead. He burst forth from the cave, victorious — only to find Sugriva upon his throne.
Blinded by rage and betrayal, Vali struck down Sugriva’s loyal followers and seized the kingdom. “You betrayed me!” he roared. “You sealed me in that cave to steal my crown.”
Sugriva, with no strength to fight his mighty brother, fled. Since that day, he wandered in exile, hiding upon Rishyamukha Hill — the only place Vali dared not tread, bound by a sage’s curse.
“O Rama,” Sugriva’s voice trembled, “I have lost my home, my honor, and my brother’s love. I live as a shadow, hunted and alone.”
Rama’s eyes shone with compassion and righteous anger. “O Sugriva, your pain is great, but hear my vow — I shall slay Vali and restore your kingdom. For friends share not only joy, but burdens, too.”
Sugriva bowed low, his heart swelling with hope. “O Rama, if you grant me justice, then I swear by the gods — my army, my life, and my soul shall be yours. Together, we shall find Sita.”
Rama smiled gently. “Then let us act, O friend. Call Vali forth, and let dharma decide his fate.”
Thus, a sacred bond was sealed — not with gold or riches, but with the promise of justice and the birth of a friendship that would shine through the ages.
The wind carried Rama’s vow, and the mountains echoed his promise — for soon, the skies of Kishkindha would witness a battle of brothers, where truth would rise, and injustice would fall.