With a solemn vow, Sugriva declared, “I swear by my life and by the people: you are forbidden to me. Enough—after defeating him in battle, I will return, that brother of mine.” Hearing these words, Tara, speaking gently and with affection, embraced Vali. Tears streaming down her face, she circled him to the right in farewell. After performing auspicious rites for victory, the wise Tara, her heart heavy with sorrow, entered the inner chambers with the other women. When Tara had withdrawn into her palace, Vali, burning with rage, emerged from the city like a great serpent hissing fiercely. His anger intense, Vali exhaled deeply, scanning all directions eagerly for his enemy. Suddenly, Vali’s gaze fell on Sugriva, radiant in golden-brown, adorned and girded, blazing like fire. Vali, tightly bound and brimming with strength, raised his fist and strode toward Sugriva, ready to fight at that very moment. Sugriva, too, his fist clenched and his fury mounting, advanced toward Vali, who was shining with gold. Vali’s eyes reddened with wrath as he rushed forward and spoke to Sugriva, who was skilled in battle: “This great fist of mine, tightly clenched and with well-aligned fingers, will be released with force and take your life away.” Sugriva, enraged, replied, “Let this fist, taking your life, fall upon your head!” The battle erupted. Vali, struck by Sugriva, surged forward in fury, blood pouring from him like a wounded mountain. Sugriva, not hesitating, uprooted a mighty sala tree and struck Vali’s body with it, as a thunderbolt strikes a great mountain. Reeling from the blow, Vali was overwhelmed, like a ship weighed down with cargo in the sea. Those two, mighty in strength and valor, swift as Garuda, grew to terrifying forms, resembling the moon and sun in the sky. Both sought to destroy each other, probing for weaknesses. Vali, endowed with immense power, grew even stronger. Sugriva, son of the sun and famed for his valor, was overpowered by Vali—his pride shattered, his strength waning. In his struggle, Sugriva turned his anger toward Raghava, using trees with branches, mountain peaks, and nails sharp as thunderbolts against Vali. With fists, knees, feet, and arms, their battle raged fiercely, like the epic conflict between Vritra and Indra. The two vanaras, forest-dwellers, fought covered in blood, roaring at each other with thunderous noise, like storm clouds. Rāghava observed Sugriva, lord of the monkeys, growing weaker, his eyes darting everywhere for help. Seeing Sugriva in distress, Rāma, radiant in splendor, looked upon his arrow, desiring Vali’s death. He fitted an arrow to his bow, its shape like a venomous serpent, and drew it fully, as Death winds the wheel of time. The twang of Rāma’s bowstring sent terror through the lords of winged chariots and deer; they fled, bewildered, as if the age were ending. Released by Rāghava, the mighty arrow roared like thunder and blazed like lightning, striking Vali in the chest. Struck with force, Vali, king of the monkeys and full of energy, fell swiftly to the ground. Like Indra’s banner cast down at the full moon, bereft of splendor and senseless in the season of Āśvayuja, Vali, his throat choked with tears, uttered a slow, pained sound. Rāma, like the destroyer at the end of time, had released the supreme arrow, adorned with gold and silver, blazing and enemy-crushing, as Hara emits fire and smoke from his mouth. Drenched in streams of blood, like a blossoming ashoka shaken by the wind, Vali, son of Vāsava, deprived of consciousness, fell to earth like a toppled Indra-banner in battle. Now begins the seventeenth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. Vali, fierce in battle, struck by Rāma’s arrow, fell suddenly like a tree cut down. Adorned with ornaments of burning gold, he lay on the ground, all limbs outstretched, like Indra’s banner whose radiance has been released. When that lord of the monkeys and bears fell to earth, the world lost its luster, as the sky loses its beauty without the moon. Even fallen, his body did not lose its splendor, life, energy, or valor. The golden garland, adorned with jewels and bestowed by Indra, preserved the life, energy, and glory of that foremost monkey. With that golden garland, the heroic leader of the monkeys resembled a cloud at sunset, fringed with light. His garland, his body, and the arrow that struck his vital spot—all three shone together, even as he lay fallen. That weapon, cast from Rāma’s bow and opening the path to heaven for heroes, carried Vali to the highest state. Fallen in battle, he was like a fire whose flames have died out, like Yayāti cast down from heaven at the end of his merit; like the sun fallen to earth by time at the end of an age; like mighty Indra, hard to withstand; like Upendra, difficult to endure.