In the dense forests of Kishkindha, the words of Rama, rich with the wisdom of the world’s ways, the duties of kingship, and the ancient codes of conduct as set forth by Manu, sank deep into the heart of Vali. In his final moments, the mighty monkey king grasped a profound truth: the world is governed by a sovereign of dharma, and under the guidance of such a righteous soul as Rama, the safety and prosperity of Angada and Tara were assured. Rama’s solemn promise instilled in Vali an unwavering faith and a sense of deep satisfaction, for he saw his own departure from this world as both just and timely.
With this awakening, the burden of pain and anxiety melted away. Though his body lay weakened, teetering on the edge of consciousness, his spirit soared, bathed in eternal bliss—a state akin to the fruits of the hardest penance, yet achieved without the gruelling effort.
Meanwhile, in the palace halls, Queen Tara, wife of the vanquished king, was apprised by a trembling guard of her husband’s fall. Grief seized her heart like a vice, and with Angada, her beloved son, clutched to her side, she emerged from the royal chambers. Around them, the retinue of Angada, gripped by fear of Rama and Lakshmana’s formidable presence, scattered into hiding. Tara observed their flight with piercing eyes and thought: When the leader of a host has fallen, how swiftly the rest crumble beneath fear.
The brothers’ imposing figures, fully armed and ready to quell any spark of resistance, were mistaken by the monkey warriors as harbingers of further violence. Yet Tara, with the poise of a queen though her heart was heavy, stepped forward and addressed them:
“O valiant warriors, who once stood steadfast beside Vali in all his endeavours, why now do you flee like frightened deer? This kingdom has never known fear such as this. The cruel arrow that felled Vali was not born of justice, yet you cower as though you yourselves are guilty. Stand firm, for cowardice is alien to Kishkindha.”
But the monkey warriors, gifted with the power to assume any form, urged her with trembling voices to safeguard Angada. “Queen Tara,” they implored, “return with your son. Do not face Rama, whose single arrow brought down the indomitable Vali, the son of Indra himself. We know not the extent of his power, for if Vali—who triumphed over demons and celestial forces alike—could be defeated so effortlessly, what hope have we?”
Their words echoed in her ears as she approached the battlefield. Her steps were steady, though sorrow weighed her down like chains. In the clearing, she beheld Rama, radiant with divine brilliance, and Lakshmana, his countenance equally luminous, as though the cosmos itself bowed to their command. Beside them stood Sugreeva, her husband’s brother, yet there was no trace of triumph in his gaze—only unease at the sight of Tara and Angada, cloaked in grief.
Crossing the assembled crowd, Tara reached Vali’s fallen form. His powerful body lay still, but there was no shadow of pain upon his face—only a serene acceptance. Overcome, she cried out:
“O noble king! Never once did you scorn me, in joy or sorrow. Why now do you not answer my call? You were the ruler of this land you cherished so dearly, holding Kishkindha close with all you might. Your reign was just, your rule undisputed, your people safe under your care. Have you gone to conquer another realm beyond this world? But Kishkindha lacked for nothing—why leave it, and me, behind?”
Her voice faltered as tears blurred her vision. “Your absence has stripped me of all desire to live. My heart, though heavy, refuses to break, even as I know you have crossed into the realm from which none return.” She knelt beside him, her voice a whisper. “O king, you committed a grievous wrong—seizing Ruma, your brother’s wife, and driving Sugreeva into exile. I warned you of the consequences, but you dismissed my fears as trifles. Now, fate has delivered its verdict.”
She turned to Sugreeva, her eyes sharp with sorrow. “Your life’s ambition is fulfilled. Your mighty foe lies vanquished. You have Ruma once more, unscathed, and the kingdom you yearned for is yours. But know this: Vali’s strength, his relentless devotion to the Sun God Aditya, has carried him to divine realms. What remains for Angada and me? How shall we endure this world without him?”
As Tara’s grief spilled forth, her words resonated like a mournful melody among the gathered host. Her despair was a star fallen from the heavens, flickering between hope and desolation.
Hanuman, ever wise and discerning, stepped forward. His heart ached for the bereaved queen, yet he spoke with gentle firmness:
“O noble queen, a paragon of fairness, do not let despair consume you. Every being, whether king or commoner, beast or God, must face the fruits of their actions. The laws of nature are impartial, unyielding to status or plea. Neither wailing nor regret can alter their course. The only path is acceptance, for resistance breeds only further sorrow.”
He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “In this world, we are all alone in the face of destiny. The burdens of our deeds are ours alone to bear. You must rise above this grief, for it cannot change the past. Instead, look to the living—your son Angada needs your guidance, your strength. He is young and untested, but your wisdom can shape him into the leader Kishkindha now requires.”
Tara listened, her heart torn between the weight of loss and the call of duty. “O Hanuman,” she whispered, “my spirit wavers in this storm of sorrow. I never meddled in Vali’s rule, nor do I possess the knowledge of governance. Angada, my tender son, is unprepared for the responsibilities that lie ahead. Let Sugreeva take the mantle, for he is capable and just.”
Hanuman’s gaze softened, but his words were resolute. “You, Queen Tara, are the heart of Kishkindha. You must seek Vali’s counsel one last time before he departs this world, and ensure that his legacy endures. The oath of Rama, though it brought sorrow, has also restored balance and justice to the kingdom. Let this moment be a testament to the immutable laws that govern the universe: no creature, no matter how mighty, is beyond the reach of dharma.”
Thus, amid the echoes of loss and the dawn of new duty, the kingdom of Kishkindha stood at the crossroads of grief and renewal, its fate resting in the hands of those left behind.
