As Tara stood before Rama, her heart heavy with grief, she spoke words laden with sorrow and longing. She praised Rama’s immeasurable nature, his self-mastery, and unwavering righteousness, noting how his fame never faded, his discernment was keen, and his patience matched the steadfastness of the earth. She saw in his bloodshot eyes the same fierce resolve as warriors wounded in battle. She beheld him, mighty and well-built, armed with bow and arrows, his divine form radiant even though he walked the earth in human guise. Overcome by loss, Tara pleaded with Rama, “With the very arrow that struck down my beloved Vali, let me too be felled. Slain, I shall join him, for Vali will find no joy without me, O hero.” She spoke of how even in heaven, Vali would know only grief and pallor without her, just as Rama himself would find no happiness, separated from Sita, the daughter of Videha, on the slopes of the king of mountains. Tara implored Rama to recognize the pain of one deprived of their beloved, urging him to end her suffering so that Vali would not endure the agony of her absence. She reasoned with him: if he hesitated, fearing the sin of slaying a woman, he should know that as Vali’s own, she was not separate from him. The scriptures and Vedas, she reminded, declare that a man’s wives are not distinct from himself, and among the wise, no gift surpasses that of a wife. By sending her to Vali, Rama would not incur unrighteousness, but rather act in accordance with dharma. Yet, Tara also confessed her helplessness. She pleaded not to be slain in her afflicted, defenseless state, but admitted she could not long survive without Vali, the wise monkey chief who once roamed Matanga’s groves, adorned in golden garlands. Moved by her words, Rama, mighty and noble, sought to comfort Tara. He spoke gently, reminding her that the world and all within it are governed by the Creator. All happiness and sorrow, he explained, are ordained by that supreme will; not even the three worlds can defy the order set by Him. Rama assured Tara that she would yet attain supreme happiness, and her son Angada would be made heir-apparent. Such is the Creator’s design, and the wives of heroes, he said, do not give themselves over to lamentation. Consoled by Rama’s compassionate words, Tara, though her face was wet with tears and her beauty undiminished by grief, fell silent. Thus, the tale moved forward. In the next chapter of the glorious Ramayana of Valmiki, within the Kishkindha Kanda, Rama—Kakutstha—shared the sorrow of Sugriva, Tara, and Angada, along with Lakshmana. He spoke to them with wisdom and resolve: “Grief and lamentation do not bring what is best for the departed. What must be done now should be done without delay. The ways of the world must be honored; you have shed your tears, and no action can be undertaken beyond its proper time.” He spoke of destiny as the cause of all things, the means of all action, and the root of every undertaking for all beings. No one is the agent of another’s deeds, nor can anyone master destiny. The world moves according to its own nature, and time is its ultimate refuge. Time neither surpasses itself nor diminishes, and none can transcend its nature. Time has no kinship, no cause, no might; it is not swayed by friendship, family, or will. The wise, Rama said, recognize the transformations wrought by time, for righteousness, wealth, and desire all unfold according to its sequence. He continued, “Vali has now gone to his own nature, attaining the fruit of his deeds. Through conciliation, gifts, and alliances, the lord of the monkeys is now purified. By adhering to his duty, that great soul has triumphed; not clinging to life, he has reached heaven. This is the highest destiny the monkey chief could attain. Enough of grief—let us turn to what must now be done.” When Rama finished, Lakshmana, destroyer of enemy heroes, addressed Sugriva with respect, though Sugriva’s mind was clouded by sorrow. “Sugriva, now is the time to perform the funeral rites for Vali, with Tara and Angada by your side. Gather the wood—dry and fragrant sandalwood—for the rites. Console Angada, whose heart is broken; do not let childish thoughts overtake you—this city is now under your rule. Let Angada bring garlands, garments, clarified butter, oil, and perfumes, as is proper. Tara, bring the bier with haste; urgency, when paired with virtue, is fitting now. Let the monkeys accustomed to bearing the bier prepare themselves; those who are able and strong will carry Vali away.” Having spoken thus, Lakshmana, the joy of Sumitra, stood by his brother Rama. Hearing Lakshmana’s words, Tara—her mind agitated—quickly entered the cave, intent on preparing the palanquin. Tara brought forth the palanquin, and heroic monkeys, well-versed in such tasks, carried it. The palanquin was adorned with divine, auspicious seats, resembling a chariot, beautifully decorated with wing-like designs and fine woodwork. It was draped with ornate cloths, firmly arranged on all sides, like the celestial vehicle of the Siddhas, and furnished with latticed windows. Spacious and well-crafted by skilled artisans, it was adorned with wooden motifs of mountains and exquisite craftsmanship. Masses of flowers and garlands of lotuses covered it, radiant decorations glowing with the color of the young sun. Upon seeing this splendid palanquin, Rama said to Lakshmana, “Let Vali be laid down quickly; let the funeral rites be performed.” Thus, with reverence and solemnity, preparations were made to honor the fallen king, fulfilling the duties owed to the departed and to the living alike.