Enraged by his brother’s presence and words, Sugriva turned fiercely to Vali and declared, “Let this fist, which will claim your life, fall upon your head!” With that, Sugriva struck Vali with all his might. Vali, burning with fury, rushed at Sugriva, and blood poured from his wounds as if a mountain had been gashed. Without hesitation, Sugriva seized a mighty sala tree, tore it from the earth, and struck Vali with it, as if a mountain were being shattered by a thunderbolt. The force of the blow left Vali reeling, overwhelmed by the weight, like a ship tossed and burdened by its cargo in the vast sea. The two brothers, both mighty and valiant, moved with the swiftness of Garuda and grew to terrifying forms, appearing in the sky like the moon and the sun. Each sought the other’s destruction, searching for weaknesses, and Vali’s power only seemed to increase as he fought. Though Sugriva, son of the sun and a hero in his own right, fought bravely, he was overpowered by Vali. His pride was broken, and his strength began to wane. Facing his formidable brother, Sugriva turned his anger toward Raghava, wielding trees, mountain peaks, and even his nails, sharp as thunderbolts. The battle raged fiercely. With fists, knees, feet, and arms, the two vanaras clashed again and again, their struggle recalling the ancient battle between Vritra and Indra. Blood covered their bodies, and their roars echoed like thunderous clouds through the forest. As the fight wore on, Raghava—Rama—saw Sugriva, lord of the monkeys, growing weaker. Sugriva’s eyes darted anxiously in all directions. Witnessing his ally’s distress, Rama, radiant and resolute, looked to his arrow, intent on ending Vali’s life. He fitted a deadly arrow, gleaming like a venomous serpent, to his bow and drew it back fully, as if he were Time itself winding the wheel of destiny. At the twang of Rama’s bowstring, the lords of the skies and the animals of the forest fled in terror, as if the end of the world had come. Rama released the mighty arrow, which roared like thunder and blazed like lightning, and it struck Vali squarely in the chest. Hit with tremendous force, Vali, the king of the monkeys, fell swiftly to the earth, his energy spent. He fell like Indra’s banner cast down at the full moon, his splendor lost, senseless, and his throat choked with tears. Slowly, he uttered a sound of pain. Rama, like the destroyer at the end of time, had released a supreme arrow adorned with gold and silver, blazing and unstoppable, like Hara himself emitting fire and smoke. Streams of blood drenched Vali, and he fell to the earth like a blossoming ashoka shaken by the wind, deprived of consciousness, like Indra’s banner toppled in battle. Now begins the seventeenth sarga of the glorious Ramayana of Valmiki, in the Kishkindha Kanda. Vali, fierce in battle, struck by Rama’s arrow, fell suddenly, like a tree cut down. Adorned with ornaments of burning gold, he lay on the ground, his limbs outstretched, like Indra’s radiant banner fallen. When that lord of monkeys and bears fell, the world seemed to lose its luster, like a sky without the moon. Even fallen, Vali’s body did not lose its splendor, nor his life, energy, or valor. The golden garland, studded with jewels and given by Indra, still preserved the life, energy, and glory of this foremost monkey. With that garland, Vali looked like a sunset cloud fringed with golden light. His garland, his body, and the arrow that struck his vital spot—these three shone together even as he lay fallen. The weapon cast from Rama’s bow, which opens heaven’s gates for heroes, now carried Vali to the highest state. He lay fallen in battle, like a fire whose flames have died, like Yayati cast down from heaven at the end of his merit. He was like the sun fallen to earth at the end of an age, like mighty Indra or Upendra, hard to endure. Vali, son of Indra, broad-chested and mighty-armed, with a radiant face and lion-like eyes, lay adorned with his golden garland. Rama, accompanied by Lakshmana, approached the fallen hero, who resembled a fire gone out. The two brothers, full of valor, drew near and gazed gently upon the noble Vali. Seeing Rama and the mighty Lakshmana, Vali spoke. His words were harsh yet courteous, grounded in righteousness. Struck down, his brilliance dimmed, his senses reeling like a demon slain, Vali spoke with reason and the pride of a warrior: “You, famed and pleasing to behold, son of the lord of men—what virtue have you gained here by killing one who was turned away? For I, enraged in battle, have met my end because of you. “Compassionate, resolute, keeper of agreements, steadfast in vows—such is the fame all beings speak of you on earth. Self-control, restraint, patience, righteousness, fortitude, truth, valor—these are the virtues of kings, O ruler, and punishment for wrongdoers as well. “Considering these virtues and your noble lineage, I was restrained by Tara, yet I came to meet Sugriva. You ought not to strike me, enraged and careless, by another’s hand; such was the thought that arose in me when I did not see you.