Time, that inexorable force which brings all lives to their close, has now brought me, Vāli, under Sugrīva’s power, leaving me unable to resist its sway. Slain in battle by Rāma, the scion of the Kakutstha line, I fell even as I fought another. Yet Rāma, though he has performed such a blameworthy act, feels no sorrow for what he has done. Now, widowed and tormented by grief, I, Tāra, who once knew neither suffering nor pity, must continue on, bereft of support. My cherished and gentle Angada, so accustomed to comfort, will now live subject to my will, while his uncle’s anger hangs over us. O my son, behold your father, noble and devoted to righteousness; yet, my child, the sight of him will now be rare indeed. Comfort your son, give him my last message, and kiss him on the head—for you, my lord, are setting out on a distant journey. Sugrīva, be content: you will regain Rumā. Rule the kingdom without anxiety, for your brother, your enemy, is no more. But why do you not answer me, your beloved, as I mourn and lament? Look upon these splendid-armed women, your devoted wives, O lord of the monkeys. Hearing my sorrowful cry, all the monkey women gathered around Angada, and, stricken with grief, they wept aloud. Why have you abandoned Angada, your heroic son, and gone away to exile for so long? It is not right to leave behind such a virtuous, dear, and handsome child. If, without thought, I have ever done anything to displease you, O long-armed one, forgive me, O lord of the monkey clan—I bow my head at your feet, O hero. Then, weeping bitterly with the other monkey women by my husband’s side, I, Tāra, flawless in beauty, resolved to undertake a fast unto death there where Vāli lay. As the lamentation filled the air, Hanuman, chief among the monkeys, gently approached and sought to console me, who had fallen down in grief like a star from the sky. “A being receives the results of their actions—good or bad—after death, according to their own deeds, without confusion,” he said softly. “You grieve for one who is to be grieved for, you pity the pitiable; but who truly deserves mourning in this body, which is as fragile as a bubble? Consider Angada, your living son—think on what capable actions should be done for his future. You know well the cycle of birth and death; therefore, the wise should do what is good, not merely what is worldly. He, for whom hundreds of thousands of monkeys waited in hope, has now reached his destined end. Since he saw things rightly, was devoted to conciliation, gifts, and forgiveness, and has gone to the land won by righteousness, you should not grieve for him. All the foremost monkeys, Angada your son, and the monkey kingdom remain protected by you, O blameless one. Gently encourage these two, scorched by grief, O noble lady; with your support, let Angada rule the earth. As the lineage continues and what must be done is clear, let all the king’s duties be performed—this is the certainty of time. Let the monkey king be given the proper rites, and let Angada be anointed; seeing your son on the throne, you will find peace.” Hearing Hanuman’s words, I replied, my heart heavy with loss: “For me, even the embrace of this slain hero’s body is better than a hundred sons like Angada in every way. I have no power over the monkey kingdom or over Angada; his uncle Sugrīva is next in all affairs. Hanuman, do not think otherwise regarding Angada, for a father is the true relative of a son, not the mother, O best of monkeys. For me, there is nothing more fitting, here or hereafter, than to lie upon this bed, honored by heroes who fell facing the enemy, rather than seek the shelter of the monkey king.” Meanwhile, as Vāli breathed faintly and looked around, he saw Sugrīva, his younger brother, standing before him. With clear words, full of affection, Vāli spoke to the victorious Sugrīva: “Sugrīva, do not approach me with blame for my wrongdoing; I was drawn by fate and deluded in mind. O dear one, happiness was not destined for both of us at the same time; the brotherly affection we once had has now turned otherwise. Today, assume the kingship over these forest-dwellers; know that I, departing today, am going to the abode of Yama. I now abandon life, kingdom, vast prosperity, and untainted fame, all at once, O Sugrīva. In this state, O hero, I ask you to fulfill these words, though they are difficult to accomplish. See this child, Angada, worthy of happiness, raised in comfort, innocent, his face filled with tears, lying on the ground. Protect Angada, who is dearer to me than my own life, as if he were your own son, now left without me and without support. Be his father, his giver, his complete protector in every way, and grant him safety in all dangers, just as I did, O lord of monkeys.” Thus, in the shadow of loss and the certainty of time, the kingdom prepared to move forward, guided by the last wishes of the fallen king and the counsel of the wise.