With Vāli fallen in battle, Sugrīva, accompanied by Aṅgada, approached the body of the mighty vanara king. Together, their hearts heavy with grief, they lifted Vāli and gently placed him upon a palanquin, their cries of sorrow echoing through the air. Once the lifeless form of Vāli rested on the palanquin, they adorned him with splendid ornaments, fragrant garlands, and fine garments, honoring him as befitted a great king. Sugrīva, now king and lord of the monkeys, commanded that the funeral rites for the noble Vāli be performed with all proper ceremony. He ordered that the monkeys go ahead, scattering many kinds of jewels along the path, while the palanquin bearing Vāli’s body followed. “Let the monkeys honor their lord as befits a king,” Sugrīva declared, “for such is the splendor of royalty upon the earth.” Swiftly, the funeral rites were set in motion. Tāra and the other monkey women, their hearts broken, embraced Aṅgada as they mourned. All the monkeys, bereft of their beloved kinsman, moved forward, their cries resounding with grief. The monkey women, led by Tāra and her companions, followed, their voices raised in lamentation, calling out, “O hero, O hero!” as they wept for their cherished lord. Their sorrowful cries filled the forest, echoing among the trees, and the sound of their weeping seemed to make the very forests and mountains mourn, reverberating along the riverbanks and in the secluded, watery places of the wild. The forest-dwelling monkeys gathered and constructed a funeral pyre. The foremost among them carefully lowered the palanquin from their shoulders. Overwhelmed by sorrow, all stood aside, allowing Tāra to approach. Seeing her husband lying motionless, Tāra, overcome with anguish, placed Vāli’s head on her lap and poured out her grief: “O great king of the monkeys, O my beloved protector! O most precious, mighty-armed one, look at me! Why do you not see me, crushed by sorrow? Even now, though your life has departed, your face appears radiant, O bestower of honor, its color unchanged as if you still lived. It is Time, in the form of Rāma, who has dragged you away—by whom all of us have been made widows with a single arrow in battle.” She continued, “Here are your wives, O king, the vanara women, who have come along the path with weary feet—do you not see them? Surely these, with faces like the moon, are your cherished wives; why do you not look upon Sugrīva, O lord of the monkeys? Here are your ministers, beginning with Tāra, and the citizens of your city, all gathered in grief. Dismiss your ministers, O subduer of enemies, as you did before, and let us all, filled with longing, once more sport together in the forests.” As Tāra, surrounded by sorrow, lamented thus for her husband, the other monkey women, themselves worn out by grief, tried to comfort and raise her. Then Aṅgada, together with Sugrīva, weeping for his father, placed Vāli upon the funeral pyre, his senses overwhelmed by mourning. They offered fire to the departed king according to the sacred rites, and walked around the pyre, counterclockwise, as is the custom for one setting out on the long journey beyond. Having performed all the funeral rites for Vāli as tradition prescribed, the foremost of the monkeys made their way to the auspicious river with pure water to offer libations. There, with Aṅgada at the forefront, Sugrīva and Tāra among them, they poured water for Vāli, honoring his memory. Rāma, though mighty and steadfast, was moved by Sugrīva’s sorrow and performed the funeral duties for the fallen vanara king. When the funeral fire had been kindled for Vāli, who had been slain by the illustrious scion of Ikshvaku, the monkeys approached Rāma, accompanied by Lakṣmaṇa, their hearts still heavy. Thus concludes the twenty-sixth sarga of the glorious Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki, in the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. After the rites, the chief ministers of the monkeys gathered around Sugrīva, who was still tormented by grief, his garments soaked with tears. They approached mighty-armed Rāma, the doer of flawless deeds, and stood before him with joined palms, as sages do before Brahmā. Then Hanumān, son of the Wind, his face radiant like the young sun and his form resplendent as a golden mountain, spoke humbly with joined hands: “By your grace, O descendant of Kakutstha, I have attained the great ancestral kingdom of the Vānaras, fierce-toothed and strong. This kingdom, difficult to obtain even for the great-souled, has been gained with your permission, O lord. Now, having entered the auspicious city, Sugrīva and his circle of friends will arrange all affairs. He has bathed and been anointed with fragrant herbs as prescribed, and he wishes especially to honor you 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 wise and eloquent destroyer of enemy heroes, replied to Hanumān: “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.” Then Rāma turned to Sugrīva and spoke: “Knowing conduct, endowed with good conduct, noble in strength and valor—consecrate this heroic Aṅgada also as crown prince.” Thus, the rites of passage for Vāli were completed, and the kingdom of the Vānaras was readied for its new age under Sugrīva and Aṅgada, as Rāma upheld his vows, ever steadfast in righteousness.