When Rāma saw the palanquin prepared for Vāli, he turned to Lakṣmaṇa and said, “Let Vāli be laid down quickly, and let the funeral rites be performed.” At Rāma’s word, Sugrīva and Aṅgada, both overcome with grief, gently lifted the lifeless body of Vāli and placed him upon the palanquin, their cries echoing through the forest. Once Vāli was laid upon the palanquin, they adorned his body with ornaments, garlands, and fine garments, honoring the great monkey king even in death. Then Sugrīva, now king and lord of the monkeys, commanded, “Let the funeral rites for this noble one be performed properly.” He ordered the monkeys to go before the procession, scattering many kinds of jewels along the path, while the palanquin followed behind. “Let the honors for our lord be performed as befits a king,” he said, “for such splendor is seen on earth for monarchs.” The monkeys hastened to fulfill these commands, performing the funeral rites for Vāli with all due reverence. Tāra and the others, embracing Aṅgada, did so at once, their hearts heavy with sorrow. All the monkeys, bereft of their kinsman, set out together, weeping loudly, and the monkey women, devoted to Vāli, followed behind, their cries of “O hero, O hero!” resounding as they lamented their beloved. The wailing of the monkey women, led by Tāra and others, filled the forest with grief. Their sorrowful voices echoed through the trees and mountains, so that even the rivers and hidden places seemed to mourn. In the midst of this mourning, many monkeys who dwelled in the forest gathered wood and built the funeral pyre. The foremost among them gently lowered the palanquin from their shoulders. Grief-stricken, all stood back, and Tāra approached her husband’s body. Overcome with sorrow, she placed Vāli’s head on her lap and wept, “O great king of the monkeys, my beloved protector! O most precious, mighty-armed one, look at me! Why do you not see me, crushed by sorrow?” She gazed at his face and cried, “Even though your life has departed, your face still shines with radiance, O bestower of honor, its color unfaded, just as when you were alive. It is Time, in the form of Rāma, who has dragged you away, O monkey, and with a single arrow has made us all widows.” Tāra continued her lament: “Here are your wives, O king, the vanara women who have come along the path, their feet weary—do you not notice them? Surely these, with faces like the moon, are your cherished wives. Why do you not look at Sugrīva, O lord of the monkeys? Here are your ministers, beginning with Tāra, and the citizens of your city, all gathered around, grieving. Dismiss these ministers, O subduer of enemies, as you once did, and let us all, filled with longing, sport together in the forests.” As Tāra, surrounded by mourning companions, poured out her grief, the monkey women, themselves worn down by sorrow, tried gently to raise her up. Then Aṅgada, weeping for his father, and Sugrīva, both overwhelmed by loss, placed Vāli on the funeral pyre. With trembling hands and clouded senses, Aṅgada performed the final rites, circling his father counterclockwise as he set out on the long journey beyond. The funeral rites for Vāli were carried out according to custom. The foremost among the monkeys then made their way to the auspicious river, its waters pure and clear, to offer libations for the departed soul. Gathering together, Sugrīva and Tāra accompanying Aṅgada at the front, they poured water for Vāli, honoring his memory. Rāma himself, sharing in Sugrīva’s sorrow, was moved to grief and took part in the funeral duties for the fallen king. When the funeral fire had been kindled for Vāli, who had been slain by the illustrious scion of Ikṣvāku, the monkeys approached Rāma, accompanied by Lakṣmaṇa. Thus concludes that portion of the glorious Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki, in the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. Afterwards, the chief ministers of the monkeys gathered around Sugrīva, who was tormented by grief and whose garments were still wet from tears and ritual ablutions. Together, they approached the mighty-armed Rāma, doer of flawless deeds, and stood before him with joined palms, as sages stand before Brahmā. Then Hanumān, son of the Wind, his face shining like the young sun and his form like a golden mountain, spoke reverently: “By your grace, O descendant of Kakutstha, I have attained the great ancestral kingdom of the Vānaras, fierce-toothed and endowed with strength. This kingdom, difficult even for the great-souled to obtain, has been gained with your permission. Now, having entered the auspicious city, Sugrīva, together with his circle of friends, will arrange all affairs. He has bathed and been anointed with fragrant herbs as prescribed. He will especially honor you, O lord, with garlands and jewels. You ought to come to this delightful mountain cave, establish your bond as lord, and gladden the Vānaras.” Thus addressed, Rāghava, the destroyer of enemy heroes, replied to Hanumān with wisdom and gentle speech: “For fourteen years, gentle one, whether it be a village or a city, I shall not enter, for I am upholding my father’s command. Let Sugrīva, the foremost of Vānaras, enter the splendid cave as is proper. Let the heroic one, having entered as prescribed, be quickly consecrated in the kingdom.” Having thus spoken to Hanumān, Rāma then addressed Sugrīva, preparing him to assume his rightful place as king.