Tara, ever wise and devoted, spoke to Vali with words full of care and benefit, hoping to guide him away from peril. Yet, her counsel failed to please him; fate had already drawn its veil, and the hour of Vali’s destruction was at hand. As Tara, her face radiant as the moon, finished speaking, Vali rebuked her. “Why should I, for any reason, tolerate the furious roaring of my brother—my enemy, O beautiful-faced one?” he demanded. “For warriors who are steadfast and unyielding in battle, to endure insult is more bitter than death, O timid one. I cannot bear the challenge of Sugriva, who seeks combat, nor the roar of that weak-necked one.” He continued, his voice unwavering, “Do not grieve on my account concerning Raghava. He knows righteousness and gratitude—how could he commit a wrongful act? Turn back with the women; why do you follow me further? You have already shown your friendship and devotion. I will go and confront Sugriva; cast off your anxiety. I shall humble his pride, but he will not lose his life. Whatever he desires in battle, I will grant; struck by trees and the blows of my fists, he will retreat. That wicked one, swollen with pride, cannot withstand me. Tara, you have fulfilled your duty as a helper and shown your affection for me. I swear by my life, and by the people, you are forbidden—enough. After defeating him in battle, I will return, that brother of mine.” Tara, with gentle words, embraced Vali. Weeping softly, she walked around him to the right, performing the auspicious rite for his victory. Heavy-hearted, she entered the inner chambers with the women, her mind clouded with grief. With Tara and the women withdrawn, Vali, burning with anger, stormed out of the city like a great serpent hissing. His breath came in fierce gusts, and his eyes searched everywhere, eager to find his foe. Then, Vali caught sight of Sugriva, golden-brown and well-adorned, girded for battle and blazing with the fire of challenge. Vali, tightly girded and brimming with strength, raised his mighty fist and advanced toward Sugriva, ready to fight without delay. Sugriva, too, with his fist clenched and fury mounting, rushed at Vali, his eyes fixed on his golden-adorned brother. Vali, his eyes red with rage, shouted at Sugriva, “This great fist of mine, tightly clenched and well-aligned, will be released with force and take your life!” Sugriva, equally enraged, replied, “Let this fist, taking your life, fall upon your head!” As the words rang out, Vali, furious, struck at Sugriva with such force that blood gushed forth, as if a mountain had been split and wounded. Sugriva, undaunted, uprooted a mighty sala tree and struck Vali with all his might, as a thunderbolt shatters a great mountain. Reeling from the blow, Vali staggered under the weight of the attack, like a ship burdened with cargo tossed upon the sea. Both brothers, mighty in strength and valor, grew to terrifying forms, swift as Garuda, and shone like the sun and the moon in the sky, locked in a fearsome duel. Intent on each other’s destruction, they sought out every weakness. Vali, endowed with immense power, grew even mightier. Sugriva, son of the sun and valiant at heart, was overpowered by Vali; his pride shattered, his strength ebbed. Desperate, Sugriva looked to Raghava, his anger rising, and fought with trees, mountain peaks, and nails sharp as thunderbolts. With fists, knees, feet, and arms, they struck each other again and again, their battle fierce as that between Vritra and Indra. The two vanaras, covered in blood, roared at each other with a noise like thunderclouds, filling the forest with their tumult. Raghava saw Sugriva, lord of the monkeys, growing weaker, glancing about in distress. Moved by Sugriva’s plight, Rama, resplendent and steadfast, fixed his gaze on his arrow, his mind set on the end of Vali. He fitted the arrow, deadly as a venomous serpent, to his bow and drew it back fully, like Death winding the wheel of time. At the twang of Rama’s bowstring, the lords of the sky and the deer below scattered in terror, as if bewildered at the world’s end. The arrow, mighty and roaring like thunder, blazing like lightning, flew from Rama’s hand and struck Vali squarely in the chest. Struck with immense force, Vali, the great monkey king, fell swiftly to the ground, his energy spent. Like Indra’s banner thrown down at the full moon, bereft of splendor and senseless at the season of Ashvayuja, Vali, his throat choked with tears, uttered a pained sound, slow and sorrowful. Rama, the best of men, like the destroyer at time’s end, had released that supreme arrow—adorned with gold and silver, blazing and enemy-crushing—like Hara emitting fire and smoke from his mouth. Drenched in streams of blood, like a blossoming ashoka shaken by the wind, Vali, son of Vasava, deprived of consciousness, fell to the earth like a toppled Indra-banner in battle.