O best of sages, you have asked about the next birth of that great soul, Bharata, and what he did as a brāhmaṇa. Listen as I recount his story. After relinquishing his kingdom, Bharata, whose heart was wholly devoted to the Lord, dwelled for a long time in the sacred place of Śālagrāma. There, he excelled in virtues such as nonviolence and others, and through steadfast practice, he attained the highest state of self-control over his mind. So deep was his devotion that he uttered only the names of the Lord—Yajñeśa, Acyuta, Govinda, Mādhava, Ananta, Keśava, Kṛṣṇa, Viṣṇu, and Hṛṣīkeśa—and nothing else passed his lips. Not even in dreams did he speak or think of anything but these names. Though he performed the simple offerings of fuel, flowers, and sacred grass for divine rites, he was otherwise detached from actions, remaining absorbed in yoga. Once, for the purpose of ritual purification, Bharata went to a great river. After bathing and performing the appropriate post-bath rituals, a thirsty, pregnant doe emerged alone from the forest to drink at the riverbank. At that moment, a mighty lion’s roar shook the air, terrifying all creatures. The frightened doe leapt suddenly toward the bank, and in her panic and exertion, her unborn fawn slipped from her womb into the rushing river. Seeing the helpless fawn swept away by the swift current, Bharata quickly seized it, rescuing it from the water. Meanwhile, the trauma and strain proved too much for the doe, and she fell and died on the spot. Witnessing the mother’s death, the royal ascetic took the orphaned fawn back to his hermitage. Day by day, he cared for and nourished the young deer, and it thrived under his protection. The fawn would wander through the thickets, sometimes venturing far, but always returning to the hermitage, wary of wild animals. Each morning, it would leave, and each evening, like a loyal horse, it would come back, becoming ever more attached to Bharata’s dwelling. In time, Bharata’s heart became wholly absorbed in the fawn, whether it was near or far, and he paid no heed to anything else. Having renounced his kingdom, sons, and all worldly ties, he now felt a deep affection for the young deer. He would worry anxiously: “Has it been taken by wolves? Has a tiger or lion struck it down? It has been gone so long and has not returned.” The marks of its hooves on the earth brought him joy, and he would wonder, “Where is my fawn? Surely he will return from the forest and delight me, scratching his neck with his little horn.” Even the grass, its tops nibbled by the deer, seemed to him as beautiful as singers in a choir. Whenever the fawn was absent for long, Bharata’s mind was filled with anxious thoughts; when the fawn was near, his face shone with joy and contentment. Thus, his attachment to the deer disturbed his meditation, even though he had once abandoned royal pleasures and prosperity. The steadfastness of his mind became as unsteady as the deer itself, wandering afar. As time passed, the fawn watched Bharata with the affection of a son for his father. Then, O Maitreya, when the time came for Bharata to leave his body, his mind was fixed solely on the deer; absorbed in thoughts of it, he thought of nothing else at the moment of death. Because his mind was thus absorbed at the end, he was born again as a deer, but with memory of his previous birth, in the great forest along the Jambu path. Remembering his past life, he became distressed by worldly existence, and, leaving his mother, he made his way once more to Śālagrāma. There, sustaining himself on dry grass and leaves, he atoned for the karma that had caused his birth as a deer. When that body was cast off, he was born again, this time with memory of his past lives, into a pure and noble family of yogis devoted to righteousness. Endowed with profound knowledge and understanding of the true meaning of all the scriptures, he realized the self as distinct from nature. Having attained self-knowledge, he saw all beings, from the gods downward, as non-different from himself, his mind vast and unified. Though he underwent the sacred thread ceremony, he did not recite what his teacher had taught, nor did he perform rituals or study the scriptures. Even when spoken to repeatedly, he replied little, and his speech was unrefined, rustic, and lacking the polish of formal learning. His body was emaciated, his garments soiled, and his teeth and mouth unclean; thus, the townspeople despised him. Yet, when a yogi is honored, it can harm the power of yoga, but when disregarded by people, the yogi attains success. Therefore, the yogi should not stray from the virtuous path, even if scorned by others; let them disregard him, for they cannot attain his state. Reflecting on the words of Hiranyagarbha, the great-minded one presented himself among people as if he were dull-witted or mad. When he obtained grains, pulses, sesame, rice, roots, wild fruits, or seeds, he would eat them in abundance, observing restraint in time. Thus, the story of Bharata unfolds, showing the journey of a soul through devotion, attachment, and ultimate liberation.