As the arrow was drawn from the wound, it shone with a fierce brilliance, like a blazing serpent emerging from the depths of a mountain cave. Yet, just as the sun’s rays fade and are blocked at sunset, so too did streams of blood flow from every wound, covering the valiant one’s body. The blood, tinged with copper and red ochre, ran down like mountain streams, and I tenderly wiped the dust of battle from your form. Tārā, overwhelmed by grief, let her tears fall in torrents, bathing her husband’s blood-stained body as he lay struck down by weapons. Seeing her beloved slain, she wept unceasingly. Turning to her son Angada, whose eyes were tawny with sorrow, Tārā spoke: “Behold, my son, the dreadful, final condition of your father.” She urged Angada, “Pay your respects to the king, your father, who is worthy of all honor.” Thus addressed, Angada rose and clasped his father’s feet. Embracing him with his strong, rounded arms, Angada cried, “It is I, Angada. As you once did, honor Angada now as he bows before you.” He pleaded, “Say those words again—‘May you live long, my son’—why do you not speak? I am here, your son by your side, serving you, though your consciousness has departed, struck down suddenly as a cow with her calf is felled by a lion.” Tārā lamented, “You performed the great sacrificial battle, were bathed in the waters of Rāma’s weapons, and completed the final rites—how can you now be without me, your wife?” Her eyes searched in anguish, “Where is your beloved golden garland, the one given by the king of gods, bestowed in delight after battle? Why do I not see it upon you now?” Though life had left him, the dignity and glory of kingship still clung to him, like the sun’s radiance resting upon the mountain king. “You did not heed my words, nor could I restrain you. With your death, I am slain as well, along with our son. Prosperity departs from me, just as you have departed.” Thus ends the twenty-third chapter and begins the twenty-fourth in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. Tārā, overwhelmed by the vast, irresistible ocean of grief, was swiftly overtaken by sorrow. Witnessing her agony, Vāli’s younger brother, Sugrīva, swift in action, was tormented by the unparalleled loss of his elder brother. Tears filled his eyes as he approached Rāma, his mind weighed down with sorrow, surrounded by his attendants. Standing before Rāma, who held a bow and arrows as deadly as serpents and whose noble form bore the marks of greatness, Sugrīva spoke: “O king, you have fulfilled your promise, and the deed is done. But now, O son of the king, my mind is withdrawn from all pleasures—my life feels ended.” “With this queen weeping bitterly, lamenting in the city, tormented by grief, the king slain, and Angada in doubt, O Rāma, I find no joy in the kingdom. Out of anger, intolerance, and excessive outrage, I permitted my brother’s death. Now, with the leader of the monkeys slain, O best of the Ikṣvākus, I suffer intensely.” Sugrīva continued, “I think it better to dwell on the mountain’s summit, to live long in Ṛṣyamūka according to my own nature; for even by killing him, heaven is not gained for me. I never wished to harm you, nor did I act against you—this the great-souled, wise one told me. Rāma’s word is just, and so too is my action.” “How could a brother, O Rāma, ever desire the death of his own brother, who possessed such great virtues, even when tempted by the throne? Truly, I did not wish to kill him, for it would have violated my very nature; but through the fault of my misguided mind, I committed this fatal transgression.” “For a moment, broken like a snapped branch, I lay in lamentation; then he comforted me, saying, ‘You must not do this again.’ He upheld brotherhood, nobility, and righteousness; I, instead, displayed anger, desire, and baseness.” “This act is unthinkable, to be shunned and examined by oneself. Yet I have incurred this sin, O friend, by killing my brother, as Indra did when he slew Tvaṣṭṛ’s son. The earth, waters, trees, and women bore Indra’s sin, but who will bear mine, or wish to follow the path of the brother-slaying monkey?” “I am unworthy of honor, succession, or the kingdom, O Rāghava, after such a sinful and family-destroying deed. I am the doer of a contemptible act, condemned by the world; great sorrow floods me, like a torrent into a hollow. Having struck down my own brother, my hands, eyes, and head are stained by this burning grief, this disease of sin that assails me like a maddened elephant battering a riverbank.” “Alas, this unbearable sin has destroyed my noble nature, O best of men. Like gold, pale and burning in the fire, so too am I, O Rāghava. Because of me, this whole clan of mighty monkeys is afflicted; and I fear even Angada’s life is now only half, consumed by grief and sorrow.” “A son may be easily found, a good and obedient one; but where is a son like Angada? Nor, O hero, is there a brother so dear. Today, the heroic Angada will not live; his mother will survive only for his protection. But without her son, stricken with grief, she too will not live—this I know for certain.” “Therefore, I shall enter the blazing fire, wishing for the company of my brother and my son. These foremost monkeys will search for Sītā, always following your command. Your task will surely be accomplished, O prince, even after I am gone; but know me, who have committed this offense and am unworthy to live, as the destroyer of my lineage, O Rāma.” At that moment, as Sugrīva looked again and again, Rāma—patient as the earth and protector of the world—saw Tārā, plunged in grief and weeping, and became anxious for her. The ministers and chief counselors, seeing Tārā, beautiful-eyed and queen of the monkey-lion, still embracing her fallen husband, gently raised her, though her spirit was utterly dejected. As she was being led away from her husband’s side, Tārā, struggling in her grief, saw Rāma, radiant with his bow and arrows, shining with his own splendor like the blazing sun. He, with eyes beautiful like those of a deer, his body marked by kingly greatness, and never before seen by her, was recognized by Kakutstha as a foremost among men.