Afflicted and sorrowful, I remained at the entrance of the cave for a whole year, O king. Each day, I watched for any sign of my brother, and one day, I saw blood rising from the cave’s doorway. My heart was overwhelmed by grief, and my senses greatly disturbed. In despair, I sealed the entrance with a mountain peak, blocking it completely. After leaving that place, I returned to Kiṣkindhā. But when the citizens and counselors saw me, they were filled with sorrow. I was anointed as king, not out of desire for the throne; please forgive me. You alone are worthy of honor as king, and I am as before, your devoted brother. This appointment came to me only because you were absent. Now, with ministers, citizens, and the city, the realm stands peaceful, its troubles removed. This kingdom belongs to you, and I hand it over willingly. Do not be angry, gentle one, slayer of enemies. I was made king, desiring to conquer the empty land, but as I spoke affectionately, that monkey rebuked me. He cried, “Fie upon you!” and spoke many harsh words. He gathered the people and the trusted counselors, and addressed me among friends with words of utmost reproach. He said, “You all know that Māyāvī, the great demon, challenged me at night, enraged and eager for battle. Hearing his challenge, I left the royal city. My fierce brother swiftly followed me. When that mighty demon saw me, not alone but with another, he was terrified and seized by fear. He fled and rushed into a great cavern. Knowing he had entered that dreadful, vast cave, my brother, grim in aspect, said to me, ‘Without killing him, I cannot return to the city. Wait at the cave’s entrance until I slay him.’” Thinking, “He is waiting here,” I entered that difficult-to-approach cave. As I searched for him, a year passed. There, I found my enemy, terrifying and relentless. I slew him at once, along with all his kin. From his mouth, a torrent of blood flowed, filling the impassable cave and resounding upon the earth. Having slain that powerful foe, I sought to leave, but I could not see the cave’s sealed entrance. Though I called out again and again, “Sugrīva!” I received no reply and was greatly distressed. With many blows of my feet, I battered the entrance, and finally, by that means, I emerged and returned to the city. There, I was barred from the kingdom by Sugrīva, who, seeking the throne for himself, cruelly forgot the bond of brotherhood. Having said this, Vāli, now fearless, exiled me from there with only a single garment. Thus cast out by him and deprived of my wife, O Rāghava, I wandered the earth—forests and seas—out of fear of him. Grieving for my abducted wife, I entered the great mountain Ṛṣyamūka, which Vāli could not approach for another reason. Thus, I have told you everything, the full account of this enmity. See, O Rāghava, how I, though blameless, have come to this misfortune. Because of fear of Vāli, who terrifies all the worlds, O hero, I ask you to grant me your favor by restraining him. Thus addressed, the radiant and righteous one, knowing the law, began to speak words of justice to Sugrīva, as if smiling. He said, “These arrows of mine, unfailing, sharp, and shining like the sun, will fall upon that wicked Vāli, filled with wrath. As long as I do not see that Vāli, the abductor of your wife, that evil-hearted destroyer of virtue shall live. By my own judgment, I see you are submerged in an ocean of sorrow; I will surely rescue you, and you will attain abundant happiness.” Hearing these words, which increased his joy and courage, Sugrīva, greatly pleased, spoke these excellent words. Now, listen to the eleventh sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. Hearing Rāma’s words, which increased his joy and courage, Sugrīva honored Rāghava and praised him. He said, “Without doubt, with blazing, sharp arrows that pierce the vital points, you could burn the worlds in anger, like the sun at the end of an age. Hear with full attention about Vāli’s strength, valor, and steadfastness; then act as you see fit. From the western ocean to the east, and from the south to the north, Vāli, free from fatigue, traverses the earth before the sun has risen. Climbing the highest peaks of mountains, even the greatest ones, he leaps upward with force and catches them—such is his might. Many sturdy and various trees in the forests have been broken by Vāli’s strength, as he displays his power. There was a mighty buffalo named Dundubhi, shining like the peak of Kailāsa, who possessed the strength of a thousand elephants. That great-bodied one, intoxicated by his own strength and deluded by a boon, went to the ocean, lord of rivers.