Tāra stood beside her fallen husband, her heart wracked with unbearable grief. Like a delicate creeper torn from its roots, she lamented over Vāli, the mighty monkey chief who now lay lifeless before her, his form resembling a great mountain brought low. “O hero,” she cried, her voice trembling, “mighty in battle, foremost among the vanaras—why do you not speak to me now, as I stand before you?” She pleaded with him, “Rise up, O tiger among monkeys, and return to your excellent bed. Kings as noble as you should not lie upon the bare earth in this way.” Her sorrow deepened as she gazed at his still form. “O lord of the earth, the ground must be dear to you indeed; even after your life has departed, you abandon me and seek her embrace with your body.” Tāra’s voice was thick with anguish as she continued, “O hero, by your righteousness today, it is clear that the beautiful city of Kiṣkindhā has been built upon the very path to heaven. The joyful times we shared in the honey-scented forests—those sweet moments are now ended by your departure.” She felt herself drowning in sorrow. “Devoid of joy and hope, I am plunged into an ocean of grief, now that you, the great leader of the mighty hosts, have met your end.” She marveled at her own endurance in the face of loss. “My heart must be truly steadfast, for though scorched by sorrow at seeing you fallen to the earth, it does not shatter into a thousand pieces.” Memories of the past haunted her. “Sugrīva’s wife was taken by you, and he was driven into exile; now, O lord of the monkeys, retribution for that act has come upon you.” She recalled her warnings, her words of counsel that had gone unheeded. “Intent on your own welfare, you scorned me in your delusion, though I spoke for your good, O king of the monkeys.” Her love for him shone through her lament. “O bestower of honor, with your beauty, youth, and southern charm, you will surely stir the hearts of the Apsarases in heaven, O noble one.” But fate, she knew, was inexorable. “Time is truly the ender of life; by its force, you have fallen under Sugrīva’s power, unable to resist.” She mourned the manner of his death. “Having slain Vāli in battle, though he fought another, Rāma, descendant of Kakutstha, does not grieve, even after such a blameworthy deed.” Tāra’s own suffering seemed endless. “Now, widowed and tormented by sorrow, I—once neither pitiable nor accustomed to suffering—must live on, bereft of support.” She thought of her son. “And Aṅgada, cherished and tender, used to comfort, will be left at the mercy of my wishes, while his uncle is seized by wrath.” Addressing her child, she whispered, “O son, look upon your father, so noble and devoted to righteousness; but, my child, seeing him will be a rare thing for you now.” She begged her husband for a final act of love. “Comfort your son and give him my message; kiss him on the head, for you are now setting forth on your journey afar.” Turning to Sugrīva in her grief, she said, “Be content, Sugrīva; you will regain Rumā. Rule the kingdom without anxiety, for your brother, your enemy, is destroyed.” Her sorrow would not be assuaged. “Why do you not answer me, your beloved, as I lament so? Look at these splendid-armed women, your wives, O lord of the monkeys.” Hearing Tāra’s mourning, all the monkey women gathered around Aṅgada, and, stricken by grief and misery, they too wept aloud. They cried out, “Why have you abandoned Aṅgada, your heroic son, and gone away into exile for so long? It is not right to leave behind such a virtuous, dear, and handsome child.” Tāra, her voice quivering, pleaded for forgiveness. “If, without thought, I have done anything displeasing to you, O long-armed one, forgive me, O lord of the monkey clan; I bow my head at your feet, O hero.” Overcome by sorrow, Tāra wept pitifully with the other monkey women by her husband’s side. Beautiful and resolute, she resolved then and there to undertake a fast unto death at the spot where Vāli lay. At this moment, Hanuman, chief among the monkeys, approached Tāra, who had fallen in her grief like a star from the heavens. Gently, he sought to comfort her. “O Tāra,” he said softly, “a being receives all good and bad results after death, according to their own actions, shaped by virtue and fault, without confusion. You grieve for one who is to be grieved for, you pity the pitiable; but who truly deserves to be mourned in this body, which is as fleeting as a bubble?” He urged her to look to the future. “This prince Aṅgada is your living son; consider what capable actions should be done for his future. You know well the fixed coming and going of beings; therefore, the wise should do what is good, not what is merely worldly. He, for whom thousands and hundreds of thousands of monkeys waited in hope, has now reached his destined end.” Hanuman reminded her of Vāli’s virtues. “Since he saw things rightly, was devoted to conciliation, gifts, and forgiveness, and has gone to the land won by righteousness, you should not grieve for him. All the foremost monkeys, your son Aṅgada, and the monkey kingdom remain protected by you, O blameless one. Gently encourage these two, scorched by grief, O noble lady; with your support, let Aṅgada rule the earth.” He spoke of duty and time. “As the lineage continues and what must be done now is clear, let all the king’s duties be performed; this is the certainty of time. Let the monkey king be given the proper rites, and let Aṅgada be anointed; seeing your son on the throne, you will find peace.” Hearing Hanuman’s wise words, Tāra, though afflicted by her husband’s loss, replied, “For me, even the embrace of this slain hero’s body is better than a hundred sons like Aṅgada in every way. I have no power over the monkey kingdom or over Aṅgada; his uncle Sugrīva is next in all affairs.” She spoke with conviction, “Hanuman, this idea should not be held regarding Aṅgada; for a father is the true relative of a son, not the mother, O best of monkeys. For me, there is nothing more fitting, either here or hereafter, than to rest upon this bed, honored by heroes who fell facing the enemy, rather than to seek the shelter of the monkey king.” Thus, Tāra’s grief and steadfastness shone forth, even as Hanuman and the others sought to guide her and the kingdom through their sorrow.