The two mighty vanaras, fierce dwellers of the forest, clashed with wild energy, their bodies drenched in blood as they roared at each other with a noise as thunderous as storm clouds. In the midst of that tumultuous battle, Rāghava—Rāma—watched Sugrīva, the lord of the monkeys, growing weaker, his eyes darting anxiously in all directions. Seeing the monkey king distressed and faltering, Rāma, radiant with splendor, looked to his arrow, his mind set on ending Vāli’s life. With resolve, Rāma fitted a deadly arrow to his bow, its sharp tip gleaming like a venomous serpent. He drew the bowstring fully, embodying Death itself as he turned the wheel of time. The twang of Rāma’s bowstring rang out, filling the air with dread; the celestial beings in their flying chariots and the creatures of the wild, terrified, scattered as if the end of an age had come. Released from Rāghava’s hands, the mighty arrow roared like thunder and blazed like lightning as it sped toward Vāli, striking him powerfully in the chest. Hit with such force, Vāli—the monkey king endowed with immense energy—fell swiftly to the ground. He was like Indra’s banner, cast down at the full moon, its brilliance lost and its splendor faded in the season of Āśvayuja. His throat choked with tears, Vāli uttered a slow, pained sound. Rāma, the best among men, stood there like the destroyer at the end of time, having released the supreme arrow adorned with gold and silver, blazing and crushing his enemy as Hara himself might emit fire and smoke from his mouth. Vāli, now drenched in streams of blood, resembled a blossoming ashoka tree shaken by the wind. Bereft of consciousness, the son of Vāsava fell to the earth like Indra’s banner toppled in battle. Thus begins the seventeenth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. Vāli, fierce in battle, struck by Rāma’s arrow, fell suddenly like a tree felled by an axe. Adorned with ornaments of burning gold, he lay on the ground with his limbs outstretched, shining like Indra’s radiant banner now cast down. As this lord of monkeys and bears fell to earth, the world seemed to lose its luster, like the sky when robbed of the moon’s light. Even in defeat, lying on the ground, Vāli’s body did not lose its splendor, its energy, or its valor. The golden garland, bright with jewels and gifted by Indra, preserved his life, his strength, and his glory, even as he lay fallen. With that garland, the heroic monkey king looked like a sunset cloud edged with golden light. His garland, his noble body, and the arrow that had struck his vital spot—these three shone together, undiminished. The weapon loosed from Rāma’s bow, which opens the path to heaven for heroes, now bore Vāli to the highest state. Fallen in battle, he resembled a fire whose flames have died, or Yayāti cast down from heaven at the end of his merit. Like the sun fallen to earth by the force of time at the end of an age, like mighty Indra or Upendra, hard to withstand and difficult to endure, Vāli, son of Indra, lay fallen—broad-chested, mighty-armed, his face radiant, his eyes like a lion’s, adorned with a golden garland. Rāma, accompanied by Lakṣmaṇa, beheld this fallen hero and approached him, seeing him like a fire whose flames have gone out. The two brothers, full of valor, came near gently, honoring the noble Vāli. Seeing Rāma, descendant of Raghu, and the powerful Lakṣmaṇa, Vāli spoke, his words harsh yet courteous, grounded in righteousness. Though his brilliance was diminished and his senses clouded, like a demon struck down, Vāli addressed Rāma with words meant to reason, proud and fierce even in defeat: “You, famed and pleasing to behold, son of the lord of men—what virtue have you gained here by killing one turned away? For I, enraged in battle, have met my end because of you. Compassionate, of great resolve, keeper of agreements, steadfast in vows—such is the fame all beings speak of you upon the 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 Tārā and yet came to meet Sugrīva. 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. I know you as one whose soul is slain, a banner of righteousness yet unrighteous, evil in conduct, like a well covered with grass. A wicked man in the guise of the virtuous, hidden like fire—thus I do not recognize you, concealed by the pretense of righteousness. Whether in your realm or your city, whenever I commit a wrong, I do not disregard you—so why do you slay me, innocent of sin? I, a monkey living in the forest, always eating fruits and roots, not fighting you here, but engaged with another— You, son of the lord of men, renowned and pleasing to see, indeed bear the marks of righteousness, O king, visible to all. What man, born in a warrior’s line, learned and free of doubt, would commit a cruel deed, hiding behind the signs of righteousness? You are born in the Rāghava lineage, renowned for righteousness; why do you, who appear noble, act in a manner unworthy of you? Conciliation, generosity, forbearance, righteousness, truth, steadfastness, and valor—these are the virtues of kings, O ruler, as is punishment for wrongdoers. We are forest-dwellers, Rāma, living on roots, fruits, and meat; this is our nature, while you are a man among men, O lord of people.” Thus, even as he lay fallen, Vāli spoke, his words heavy with pain, pride, and the search for justice in the shadow of his fate.