As the battle’s dust settled, Vāli, breathing faintly and casting his weary gaze all around, beheld before him his younger brother Sugrīva. Sugrīva stood there, the victor, while Vāli, defeated and exhausted, gathered his strength to speak. His words, though clear and affectionate, carried the weight of his defeat and the sorrow of their broken bond. “Sugrīva,” Vāli said, “do not come to me with reproach for my wrongdoing. I was drawn by fate, my mind clouded and deluded. Happiness, it seems, was never meant for both of us at once, for the brotherly affection that once bound us has now turned otherwise. Today, take up the kingship of these forest-dwellers, for I am departing to the abode of Yama. I abandon life, kingdom, prosperity, and my untainted fame—all in this single moment, O Sugrīva.” With the last of his strength, Vāli continued, “Listen to my words, though they may be difficult to carry out. See this child, Angada—innocent, raised in comfort, lying on the ground with his face wet with tears. Protect him, Sugrīva, as your own son. He is dearer to me than my own life, and now he is left without father or support. You must be his father, his benefactor, his protector in every way, and keep him safe in times of danger, just as I did.” Vāli’s gaze softened as he spoke of his son. “Angada, the glorious son of Tara, is your equal in valor. He will stand at the forefront in the destruction of the demons. He will perform deeds worthy of his lineage, displaying strength and courage in battle. And remember, the daughter of Sushena is wise in subtle matters of wealth and omens; she is accomplished in every way.” Turning his thoughts to duty, Vāli said, “Carry out your obligations towards Raghava without hesitation, Sugrīva. To fail in this would be unrighteous, and your own worth would be questioned. And now, take this divine golden garland and place it upon yourself. Great fortune dwells within it, and it should only be relinquished after my death.” Hearing these words, Sugrīva, moved by brotherly affection, felt his joy vanish, overcome again by sorrow, like the moon eclipsed by a shadow. Yet, calmed by Vāli’s counsel, he acted rightly and attentively, and with Vāli’s permission, accepted the golden garland. With the garland given and his son standing before him, Vāli, now resolved to depart for the afterlife, spoke affectionately to Angada. “Embrace the place and time, my son. Endure both happiness and sorrow as they come. Be obedient to Sugrīva. As I cherished you always, Sugrīva may not hold you in such high regard, but you must still remain with him. Do not show excessive affection nor complete indifference—both are great faults. Keep a balanced view.” Having spoken thus, Vāli’s eyes rolled, his body pierced by arrows, his dreadful teeth exposed. His life departed. At that moment, the vanaras, seeing their leader fallen, cried out in grief. The foremost among the monkeys lamented, for now Kiṣkindhā was empty—the lord of the monkeys had gone to heaven. The gardens, the mountains, and the forests were all deserted. With the tiger among monkeys slain, the vanaras lost their brilliance. Once, by his great speed, the forests would tremble; who now would gather flowers, who would accomplish the great deeds, who would fight battles as he had done—even against the mighty Gandharva? For fifteen years, Vāli had battled Golabha, ceasing neither by day nor night, and in the sixteenth year, he slew that unruly foe. How could such a fierce and mighty one, a terror to all, now be fallen? Without their heroic leader, the monkeys wandered the forests in despair, like cows bereft of their bull. Amidst their mourning, Tara, Vāli’s wife, plunged in an ocean of grief, saw the face of her dead husband. She fell to the ground, clutching him, like a vine clinging to a great tree felled in the forest. Now, Tara, renowned in the world, approached the face of her fallen king and spoke to her beloved, though he no longer heard her words. “You lie in distress, O hero, having disregarded my warnings. Surely, the earth is dearer to you than I am, for you embrace her and do not speak to me. Fate has placed you under Sugrīva’s power—now only he is mighty, O hero who delighted in daring deeds. The greatest of bears and monkeys attend you, their lamentations and Angada’s grief unbearable to witness. Even after hearing my words, why do you not awaken? Here you lie, where once you struck down your enemies. O pure-souled, noble-born, lover of battle, dearest to me, you have left me alone and helpless. The wise should never give a maiden to a warrior. See me now, a hero’s wife, suddenly made a widow; my honor shattered, my eternal path broken.” Thus, the forest echoed with the cries of loss and the sorrow of those left behind, as the great Vāli departed from the world, leaving behind a kingdom in mourning and hearts heavy with grief.