सुग्रीवकृतं रामसान्त्वनं रामस्य सत्यप्रतिज्ञा च

So addressed by the grieving Rāma, the monkey Sugrīva folded his hands and, in tears, his voice choked, replied. First he told the plain truth: "I do not know at all where that wicked demon lives, nor his strength, nor his valour, nor the family of that low-born wretch." By admitting his ignorance without embarrassment he becomes worthy of trust, for the first virtue of a friend is not to pass off what he does not know as known; and "low-born" carries its own contempt for Rāvaṇa. Then he made his promise: "But I promise you truly — put away your sorrow, tamer of foes — I will strive so that you win back Maithilī. I will kill Rāvaṇa and all his host, and so satisfy my own manhood, and before long I will bring it about that you are content." To satisfy his own manhood means that a hero's promise is not only for another's sake but part of his own duty. Then he began to console him: "What good is it to cling to despair? Enough of this; remember the firmness that is yours by nature. Such lightness of mind does not become men like you. I too have suffered the great calamity of losing a wife, yet I do not grieve like this or abandon my firmness." He teaches by his own example, for advice bears fruit only when the adviser lives by it. His words fall into four parts — admitting ignorance, a true promise, a resolve to act, and comfort by his own example — and his choked voice shows that his friend's grief had become his own.

"Common monkey though I am, I do not keep grieving for her; how much less should you, a great soul, well trained and steadfast." By admitting his own smallness and upholding his friend's greatness he makes his advice gentle. "You should hold back with firmness the tears that come; you should not give up the standard and resolve of men of true worth. In misfortune, in want, in fear, or in danger of death, a steadfast man who thinks things through with his own judgement does not sink. But the foolish man who always gives way to despair sinks helpless in his grief, like an overloaded boat in the water." The image is subtle: the load comes from outside, but the sinking is his own doing. "Here, I fold my hands to you; out of affection I beg you — take hold of manly effort and give grief no opening. Those who give way to grief know no happiness, and their vigour wastes away, so you must not grieve. For one overtaken by grief even life itself is in danger; so, lord of kings, let grief go and hold to firmness alone." Sugrīva names three evils of grief: the loss of happiness, the waning of vigour, and danger to life itself — the last the conclusion of all his counsel, that grief is not only pain of the mind but a threat to life. The "foolish" man is one who, like a child, lacks discernment, and discernment is the root of firmness; thinking things through, finding a way, is the refuge in any crisis. Folding his hands is the height of the monkey king's humility: though a king, he becomes a suppliant before his friend. Grief is spoken of as finding an "opening", as an enemy slips in through a gap in the defences.

"I say what is for your good as a friend; I do not presume to teach you," Sugrīva said, remembering his place: a friend speaks for another's good, he does not lecture like a teacher, and so he avoids an instructor's pride. "Honour my friendship, and do not grieve." Sweetly comforted by Sugrīva, Rāghava wiped his tear-wet face with the hem of his garment — a small act, yet it marks the end of his grief. Restored to himself by Sugrīva's words, the lord Kākutstha embraced him, as though returning the kindness — the one comforted embracing the comforter — and said: "You have done all that an affectionate, well-wishing friend should do, all that is fitting and right, Sugrīva. See, my friend, you have won me over and I am myself again. Such a kinsman is hard to find, and above all at a time like this." "At a time like this" stresses the worth of a friend in adversity: in prosperity friends are many, in misfortune few. And Rāma's words are a high honour to Sugrīva, for the one who can comfort is the true kinsman.

"But you must make every effort to search for Maithilī, and for that dreadful, evil-minded rākṣasa Rāvaṇa," Rāma said, bringing the task back to mind — he had accepted comfort, but he had not forgotten what must be done. "And tell me with full confidence what I must do for you; everything of yours will prosper, as seed prospers in good soil in the rains." "With full confidence" means complete trust: speak without hesitation. The image of good soil assures Sugrīva that Rāma's help will surely bear fruit, as seed sown there is never wasted. "And the promise I made out of self-assurance, tiger among monkeys, take as the plain truth" — so Rāma makes clear that his earlier vow to kill Vālī was not boasting but a true pledge. "I have never spoken a lie before, nor will I ever speak one. This I promise you, and I swear it by truth itself." These words are like the thread on which the whole Rāmāyaṇa is strung, and at the end truth itself, and nothing else, is made the instrument of his oath.

Hearing Rāghava's words, and above all his promise, Sugrīva and his monkey ministers were delighted. Then the man and the monkey, drawing close together in private, talked with each other of joys and sorrows, each matching the other's — the fruit of friendship is that those who share a sorrow share their talk; and meeting apart in private is, in statecraft, a sign of true alliance. Hearing the words of that great-souled Rāma, lord of monkeys and of kings, the wise Sugrīva, chief of the monkey heroes, felt in his heart that his task was already done. The task was not yet accomplished, but he trusted that Rāma's promise was itself success; for now his gain was this certainty of mind, and with it the sarga closes.