The mighty King Vali had fallen, and Queen Tara was ensnared in the relentless tides of sorrow. Her heart, heavy with grief, cast a shadow over Sugreeva, who, though victorious, found no joy in his triumph. The crown weighed heavily upon him, for the blood of his brother stained his path to power. He pondered offering solace to the weeping queen, yet words eluded him, as his own heart was burdened with remorse. Victory had brought no peace, only the bitter taste of regret.
Consumed by this melancholy, Sugreeva approached Rama, his loyal guards trailing behind. They’re stood Rama, resolute, bow and arrows in hand, ever vigilant against lurking threats. Seeing Sugreeva’s tormented face, Rama’s gaze softened.
“O noble Rama,” Sugreeva began, his voice thick with sorrow, “thou hast fulfilled thy oath with perfect order, restoring justice as promised. Yet, my heart lies shattered, for I am the cause of my brother Vali’s death. Power and wealth hold no charm for me now. Who among men can defy the decrees of Fate? We are but leaves carried by its winds. What need have we for battles and bloodshed, when every victory births a new sorrow? How can we call it triumph when hearts lie broken in its wake?”
He paused, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “The kingdom mourns Vali’s fall. Tara’s wails pierce the heavens, and young Angada’s mind is shrouded in a grief he cannot yet name. His tender heart drifts in the dark waters of despair. How shall he, unseasoned and innocent, withstand this storm?
Rama, my soul is shackled by guilt. When my brother struck me down with but a branch, he spared my life, warning me to leave. Yet, I harboured vengeance, and in my wrath, I sealed his fate. What sin weighs heavier than fratricide? I remember his words—words that now echo in my heart like a cruel reminder. Had he borne my hatred, I would have perished long ago. But he, noble in spirit, upheld our bond even as I betrayed it.
I have stained our lineage with sin, a sin that rivals Indra’s slaying of Vishvarupa, despised by the righteous and the pious alike. Indra’s burden was shared by the earth—parched lands, barren trees, and the cries of mourning women. But who shall share my burden? I am but a frail monkey, cursed by my own failings.
Rama, I have brought ruin upon the Vanara clan. Who shall respect a king stained by such guilt? I am unfit to rule. Let me retreat to the forests of Rishyamukha, living upon fruits and roots, far from the throne I do not deserve. Even the heavens would be no refuge, for there Vali reigns, and my shame would consume me in his presence.
O Rama, had I sought peace, Vali would have spared me. Only he possessed the courage to forgive. Yet I, blinded by rage, brought his life to a bitter end. Who is the greater sinner, he who strikes in defence, or he who kills out of vengeance?
Let me seek my brother’s forgiveness in the afterlife. Permit me to join him, for I cannot bear this burden. My warriors shall continue the quest to find Sita, but I am unworthy to stand beside them. My sorrow is a flood without end, and my heart is crushed beneath the weight of my sin—a mighty elephant of grief, its trunk my remorse, its tusks my repentance, and its eyes the tears that will never cease.”
At these words, Rama, son of the Ikshvaku lineage, was moved to tears. He turned his gaze toward Tara, her sorrow as deep as the ocean, her beauty dimmed by despair. Her steps were slow, heavy with grief, and her eyes, flickering like those of a frightened deer, met Rama’s. She saw in him a man of unmatched strength, his face radiant with virtue, his composure unshaken.
“O Rama,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “your might is unparalleled, your senses governed by unwavering discipline. Your fame blazes like the sun, your grace as boundless as the earth itself. You shine with a divine light, beyond that of mere mortals. You have sent my husband to the celestial realms—now grant me the same fate. Vali cannot live without me, nor can I without him. Even in heaven, his heart will ache in my absence. You, who know the agony of separation from your beloved Sita, must understand my torment.
O noble prince, slay me, for I am but an extension of Vali, his inner soul, as he was my outer strength. The scriptures proclaim that husband and wife are one, inseparable in life and death. By reuniting us, you do not sin but bestow a gift most precious.”
Rama, his voice steady and filled with compassion, replied, “O Tara, wife of the valiant Vali, cast aside the despair that clouds your heart. The universe moves to the will of Brahma, the Creator. Joy and sorrow are woven into the fabric of our lives by his design. None can escape his decree. Your son, Angada, shall be crowned prince, and you shall find safety and solace. This is the will of the Creator.
A true wife, the consort of a courageous warrior, does not succumb to despair. Let your strength mirror that of your husband’s spirit. Rise, for your son needs you, and your kingdom looks to you for guidance.”
At Rama’s words, Tara felt a flicker of hope rekindle in her heart. The certainty in his voice, like the steady flame of a lamp in the darkest night, gave her the strength to stand. Her tears slowed, and though grief still clung to her, she found the courage to face the days ahead.
Thus, in the heart of sorrow, the wisdom of Rama brought light, and the balance of the cosmos was preserved, as the stories of these valiant souls were etched into the annals of time, guiding generations yet to come.