The sun rose high above the forests of Kishkindha, its golden rays falling upon the land that waited — silent and breathless — for the battle of brothers.
True to his word, Rama prepared to restore Sugriva’s honor. With Hanuman’s guidance, Sugriva stood tall once more, his heart burning with courage, though fear flickered still in his eyes.
“O Rama,” Sugriva whispered, “Vali’s strength is beyond compare. He is blessed with a boon — in battle, he draws half the strength of any foe who faces him. How shall I defeat such might?”
Rama placed a steady hand upon Sugriva’s shoulder. “Fear not, O friend. I shall be near, hidden among the trees. Challenge him, and when the time is right, my arrow shall end his cruelty.”
With heavy steps, Sugriva marched toward the gates of Kishkindha. He roared aloud, his voice shaking the very mountains. “O Vali! Come forth, mighty brother. Today, we end this quarrel — once and for all.”
The earth trembled as Vali emerged — radiant, fierce, and mighty, his golden crown gleaming like the sun itself. His eyes narrowed as he beheld Sugriva. “So, coward, you dare challenge me? I shall crush you like dry leaves beneath my feet.”
With a thunderous cry, the brothers clashed. Trees toppled, rocks shattered, and the skies darkened as they wrestled — two mighty lions locked in battle. The ground groaned beneath their strength.
But Rama, hidden in the shadows, watched carefully. The brothers were alike — strong and swift — and it was hard to tell one from the other.
Sugriva, beaten and bruised, staggered back and fled toward Rama. “O Rama,” he gasped, “I am no match for him. I beg you, give me some mark so you shall know me when next we fight.”
Rama nodded. “Go, Sugriva. This time, wear a garland of flowers. When the duel begins anew, my arrow shall not miss its mark.”
The next morning, crowned with a garland, Sugriva returned and roared once more, “O Vali! Return, face me now!”
Vali laughed, his pride towering like the mountains. “Fool! You return only to die.”
The battle began again — fierce, fiery, and terrible. But now, Rama’s eyes found the mark.
With steady hands, Rama drew his bow, his arrow gleaming like a streak of lightning, carrying the weight of justice. With a mighty twang, he released it — and the arrow flew swift and true.
It pierced Vali’s chest, silencing his roar, bringing the mighty king crashing to the earth.
Vali lay upon the ground, his breaths shallow, his eyes filled with the weight of his pride and his fall. Rama stepped forth, his face calm, his heart heavy.
“O Rama,” Vali gasped, “why strike me from hiding? What wrong have I done you?”
Rama knelt beside him. “O Vali, your strength was great, but your pride led you astray. You wronged your brother, stole his wife, and mocked dharma. I am bound by duty, by friendship, and by righteousness. Today, I stand not as a man, but as dharma itself.”
Vali’s eyes softened. “Your words are true, O Rama. I see now the path I lost.” He turned to Sugriva. “Forgive me, my brother. Rule well, and protect our people.”
With his final breath, Vali embraced Sugriva, and his soul soared to the heavens — freed at last from anger and pride.
The forest stood still, the winds gentle, as if bowing in respect to the fallen king and the prince who upheld righteousness.
And so, Vali’s tale came to an end, and Sugriva’s reign began — with Rama’s vow fulfilled, and the quest for Sita drawing ever closer to its destined path.