When night had passed and the first rays of dawn appeared, the great sage Vishvamitra, having completed his purpose, took leave of King Dasharatha and the king of Videha. With their blessings, he set out for the northern mountains, his heart at peace. Once Vishvamitra had departed, King Dasharatha, after bidding farewell to the king of Videha, prepared to return to his own city. He moved swiftly, eager to lead his family and retinue home. Before Dasharatha left, the king of Videha, lord of Mithila, bestowed lavish bridal gifts upon his guests. He gave hundreds of thousands of cows, their wealth immeasurable. He offered fine woolen blankets, shimmering silks, and millions of exquisite garments. Elephants, horses, and splendid chariots were presented, along with foot soldiers, all adorned and resplendent, as if of divine origin. Among the gifts were a hundred maidens, each accompanied by excellent male and female attendants. Gold, refined gold, pearls, and coral were heaped in abundance. Delighted beyond measure, the king of Videha continued to shower incomparable gifts, displaying the richness of his kingdom and his joy at the alliance. Having honored his guests with every kind of treasure, he took leave of Dasharatha. The lord of Mithila then entered his own city, Mithilā, while Dasharatha, king of Ayodhyā, set forth with his noble sons. Placing the revered sages at the forefront, Dasharatha proceeded, his army following in orderly ranks. As this tiger among men journeyed with the assembly of sages and his son Rāma, ominous signs began to manifest. Terrifying birds circled overhead, their cries echoing on all sides. The animals of the earth began to move in strange, circling patterns, creating a sense of foreboding. Observing these portents, Dasharatha, the tiger among kings, turned to the sage Vasiṣṭha and voiced his unease: “These birds are grim, and the animals circle us. What is this that makes my heart tremble and my mind sink?” Vasiṣṭha, wise and composed, replied with gentle words: “Let the meaning of these signs be heard. A dreadful danger has arisen, divine in origin, signaled by the cries of birds. Yet, these circling animals are calming; let your distress be set aside.” As they spoke, a great wind arose, shaking the earth and toppling mighty trees. Darkness covered the sun, and the directions became indistinguishable. Ash drifted down, blanketing everything, and the entire army seemed bewildered, their senses dulled. Only Vasiṣṭha, the other sages, the king, and his sons remained alert amidst the confusion, standing conscious in a world gone insensible. In that terrible darkness, Dasharatha beheld a formidable figure—one who shone with the might of a mountain, his matted hair piled high. It was Bhārgava, the son of Jamadagni, famed as the destroyer of kings. He stood unassailable as Kailāsa, as fierce as the fire of dissolution, blazing with radiance unbearable to ordinary eyes. An axe was slung over his shoulder, a bow gleamed like a cluster of lightning in his hand, and he grasped a fierce arrow, resembling Śiva himself who had once destroyed Tripura. The sages, led by Vasiṣṭha and devoted to recitation and sacrifice, recognized him instantly. They gathered together, whispering among themselves: “Will he, angered once more by his father’s killing, again destroy the warrior class?” But some reassured the others: “He has already vented his wrath upon the warriors; his anger and fever are spent. He does not intend to destroy the warriors again.” Having spoken thus and offered him due honor, the assembled sages addressed Bhārgava, whose appearance inspired awe and fear, with sweet words: “Rāma, Rāma!” Accepting their reverence, the powerful son of Jamadagni turned to Rāma, son of Dasharatha, and addressed him. “O Rāma, son of Dasharatha, valiant one,” Bhārgava said, “your extraordinary prowess is renowned everywhere. I have heard in detail of your wondrous breaking of the bow.” He continued, “That deed, so marvelous and inconceivable, has reached my ears. Therefore, I have come here, bringing with me another auspicious bow. Here stands this formidable and mighty bow of Jāmadagnya—string it with an arrow and show your strength. If you can string even this bow, I will grant you a duel, for I wish to witness the valor for which you are so widely celebrated.” Hearing these words, King Dasharatha’s heart was filled with dread. His face fell, and with joined palms he pleaded, “You, who have renounced wrath against the warrior class and are now a great ascetic among Brāhmaṇas, ought to grant safety to my young sons. Born in the Bhārgava lineage, devoted to study and vows, you once promised before Indra and set aside your weapons. You became devoted to righteousness, gave the earth to Kaśyapa, and retired to dwell on Mount Mahendra. O great sage, have you come for the destruction of us all? If Rāma alone is slain, none of us could bear to live.” But Bhārgava, unmoved by Dasharatha’s words, addressed only Rāma. “Here are two excellent, divine bows, honored by the worlds, strong and powerful, skillfully crafted by Viśvakarman. One was given by the gods to Tryambaka (Śiva) for battle, and it is the very bow you broke, O descendant of Kakutstha, destroyer of Tripura. The second, unconquerable bow was given to Viṣṇu by the best of the gods; this is the Vaiṣṇava bow, O Rāma, conqueror of enemy cities. O Kakutstha, this bow is equal in essence to the Rudra bow. At one time, all the gods questioned the Grandfather (Brahmā), wishing to know the relative strength and weakness of Śiva and Viṣṇu. The Grandfather, understanding the gods’ intent…” Thus, the stage was set for a momentous encounter, the air charged with destiny, as Bhārgava and Rāma stood face to face, each bearing the legacy of divine weapons and cosmic purpose.