Tara’s noble and righteous counsel bore no weight upon Vali, for though she trembled in apprehension, she remained as serene as the full moon amidst stormy clouds. Her husband, King Vali, chastised her, seeking to impress upon her the necessity of his impending course.
“O fair and charming lady!” he declared. **”My adversary, my own brother, roars like a lion, hurling challenges despite a history of failure. Why should I tolerate such impudence? O delicate beauty, for an indomitable warrior to remain silent when confronted by his foe is akin to renouncing life itself. To exercise restraint in such a moment is but an act of self-destruction. Observe the tumultuous clamor he raises, the restless stir of his gathered forces. Shall I permit this indignity? Nay! And as for the noble prince Rama, be not troubled by him. He is a beacon of virtue, a scion of righteousness, and a steadfast upholder of truth. He will not stain his honor with treachery against me.
Return, dear one, to the royal chambers, and take the other women with you. Why do you follow me thus? You have shown me due reverence and spoken wise counsel, but my course is set. I shall meet Sugreeva in combat, yet fear not—for I shall not slay him, only subdue and humble him. He shall learn the might of my fists and the futility of his defiance. The proud Sugreeva will find himself undone, his arrogance shattered, yet he shall live. You have opened my heart to new reflections, and your devotion is beyond measure. Go now, rest assured, for I shall return victorious, bathed in the glory of triumph.”
Thus, the wise and graceful Tara circumambulated her husband, performing the sacred rites of protection known in her land, seeking the blessings of the universe for his victory and safe return. Yet as she withdrew to the palace, her heart was heavy with unspoken dread.
When the women had departed, Vali, like a serpent stirred from its coil, emerged from his gates with wrathful haste. With keen eyes, he scanned the surroundings, assessing every movement. At last, he beheld Sugreeva, golden-hued like a flickering flame, striding forth with resolute determination. The sight of his brother’s readiness only inflamed Vali further, and he, too, prepared for battle.
With fury, he surged forward, his mighty fists clenched, and Sugreeva, undaunted, met him with equal force. Vali, his voice ringing like thunder, taunted:
“Behold, my iron fist! It has cast you to the ground before, and now, it shall send you as a guest to the Lord of Death!”
Sugreeva retorted, “My blows shall fall upon you like the hammer of fate, shattering your pride to dust!”
The battle commenced with unbridled ferocity. Vali’s strikes were swift and devastating, yet Sugreeva, summoning all his might, tore a massive tree from the earth and wielded it against his brother. The force of his blow left Vali momentarily staggered, like a ship caught in a raging tempest.
The combatants, equal in power and skill, circled one another like celestial bodies locked in fierce contention, their movements as swift as Garuda’s flight. Blow after blow rained down, and though Sugreeva fought valiantly, Vali’s superior prowess soon gained the upper hand, weakening his younger brother. Sugreeva, sensing peril, cast his gaze toward Rama.
With the precision of destiny itself, Rama nocked his arrow, drew back his mighty bow, and loosed his shaft. The arrow, infused with divine power, struck Vali with unerring force, felling him where he stood. At the very moment of impact, the beasts of the forest scattered in terror, the sound of the bowstring’s twang echoing like a celestial decree.
Vali fell to the earth as Indra’s banner is brought down at the end of a festival. His ornaments, gifted by the gods, lay scattered, shimmering like fallen stars. Though wounded and near his end, his radiance did not wane. The golden garland bestowed upon him by Indra preserved his life’s flickering embers, even as he lay like a storm cloud pierced by the evening sun’s last rays.
As Rama and Lakshmana approached, Vali lifted his gaze, his golden eyes burning with both sorrow and indignation. With a voice both weary and commanding, he spoke:
**”Rama! I stand upon the threshold of death, yet I must ask—does victory taste sweet when achieved by means unworthy of your name? You, hailed as the paragon of virtue, have struck me unawares, without challenge, without warning. The world praises your lineage, your strength, your wisdom, and your righteousness, yet this deed of yours is cloaked in injustice.
A true king governs with patience, virtue, and strength—not with deceit. Did I ever cross you, Rama? Did I ever challenge you or bring harm to your people? I lived by the ways of the forest, bound by the laws of my own kind. What claim did you have upon my life?
O prince of the Raghu line! You walk the path of dharma, clad in ascetic robes, bearing the marks of virtue—yet this act of yours is unworthy of your noble blood. To strike an unguarded foe, to slay from concealment, is the way of cowards, not warriors. Had you met me in battle, I would have sent you as a guest to Yama’s realm!
If you sought aid against Ravana, you had but to ask. I would have bound him in chains and placed him at your feet! Did he conceal Sita in the depths of the ocean or the farthest reaches of the sky? No matter—I would have torn through any realm to return her to you, as the sacred Vedas were once retrieved from the abyss by Hayagriva.
Yet, instead of seeking my strength, you chose treachery. If you can justify your deed, then speak, Rama, and let the world hear your defense!”
Having uttered these words, Vali fell silent, awaiting Rama’s response. Thus stood the fallen son of Indra, and before him, the incarnation of dharma itself prepared to answer.
Would the prince of Ayodhya, bearer of righteousness, refute these grave accusations, or would he stand convicted by the weight of Vali’s words? The moment of reckoning had come.