As Vāli lay wounded, his strength ebbing away, he turned to Rāma with a plea. “If I have acted in any way that departed from righteousness, knowingly or unknowingly, O knower of dharma, protect me with words joined to righteousness.” His throat was choked with tears, and he uttered a cry of pain, gazing at Rāma like an elephant trapped in the mud. Vāli’s sorrow was not for himself, nor for his wife Tārā, nor even for his kin. His greatest grief was for his son, Aṅgada, foremost in virtue and adorned with golden ornaments. “Deprived of seeing me, he, who has been cherished since childhood, will waste away like a pond whose water has been drunk dry,” Vāli lamented. “He is but a child, his understanding unformed, my only beloved son. O Rāma, mighty son of Tārā, you must protect him.” He urged Rāma to direct his highest wisdom towards Sugrīva and Aṅgada, for Rāma was both protector and guide, steadfast in discerning what should and should not be done. “The conduct you show towards Bharata and Lakṣmaṇa, O king, that same conduct you should consider for Sugrīva and Aṅgada. Ensure that Sugrīva does not disregard Tārā, who is devoted to austerity and bears the blame for my faults. For one favored by you, it is possible to rule the kingdom, living according to your will and following your mind. It is possible to attain heaven and to rule the earth by acting under your guidance; yet, even as Tārā tried to restrain me, I sought my death at your hands.” Vāli confessed, “I entered into single combat with my brother Sugrīva.” Having spoken thus to Rāma, the lord of the monkeys fell silent. Rāma, with words approved by the virtuous and filled with the meaning of dharma, comforted Vāli, whose understanding was clear. “You should not be troubled for this reason, O monkey; we are not to be grieved over by you, nor should you, best of monkeys, grieve for yourself. In this matter, we have acted with firm resolve according to dharma. He who imposes punishment on the guilty, and the one who is punished—both, having fulfilled the purpose of action and its cause, should not be sorrowful. Therefore, by receiving the due punishment, you are freed from sin, and have attained your own righteous nature by the path prescribed by justice. Abandon grief, delusion, and the fear that dwells in your heart; for, O foremost of monkeys, the ordained order cannot be transgressed by you. As Aṅgada is always devoted to you, O lord of the monkeys, so too should Sugrīva be devoted to me—of this there is no doubt.” Hearing these sweet, thoughtful, and righteous words of the great-souled Rāma, Vāli, skilled in battle, spoke well-chosen words. “When, distressed by arrows, I spoke to you unknowingly, O lord, you—whose might is like Indra’s and whose valor is terrifying—have been appeased; forgive me, O king.” Now listen to the nineteenth chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Kiṣkindhā section. The great monkey king, lying wounded by arrows, though addressed with reasoned words, gave no reply. His limbs, shattered by stones and struck severely by trees, overwhelmed by Rāma’s arrows, at the end of his life, lost consciousness. Tārā heard that her husband, the tiger among monkeys, had been slain in battle by Rāma’s arrow. She, together with her son, upon hearing of her beloved husband’s cruel death, deeply distressed, rushed out from the mountain cave. The mighty monkeys who were attendants of Aṅgada, seeing Rāma with his bow, terrified, fled in all directions. Tārā saw the frightened monkeys running swiftly, scattered from their troop like deer whose leader has been killed. Approaching those sorrowful ones, she too grieving, addressed all the monkeys who were fleeing in fear of Rāma, their ranks broken by arrows. “You monkeys, who were the foremost followers of the lion among kings—why, having abandoned him, do you flee in terror and distress? If, for the sake of the kingdom, a brother has been struck down by his own cruel brother, by Rāma’s far-flying arrows sent from afar—” Hearing the words of the monkey’s wife, the monkeys, who could assume any form at will, spoke timely and appropriate words to the lady. “Return while your son still lives; protect Aṅgada. Death, in the form of Rāma, has slain Vāli and is taking him away. Though he hurled trees and massive rocks, Vāli was struck down by arrows as hard as thunderbolts, as if felled by the thunderbolt itself. All this monkey army has been overcome and scattered, now that the tiger among monkeys, radiant as Indra, has been slain. Let the city be protected by heroes, and let Aṅgada be installed as prince; the monkeys will serve Vāli’s son, who stands in his father’s place. Or, O lovely-faced one, if you prefer another place here, let the monkeys quickly enter the fortresses even today. Here dwell forest-roaming ones, both with and without wives; from those greedy and deceitful ones, we have great fear.” Hearing the words of the woman, who was standing very near, Tārā, she of the beautiful smile, replied in a manner befitting herself. “What use have I for a son, or even for the kingdom itself, when my husband, the lion among monkeys, the greatly fortunate one, is lost?” Having spoken thus, she ran off, weeping, overcome by grief, striking her head and chest with her arms in her sorrow. As she went, she saw her husband fallen on the ground—the slayer of the lords of demons, who never turned away in battle.