The chief priest and all the ministers sent their respectful greetings, and with urgency they dispatched their trusted messengers. “Depart at once, with all haste,” they instructed, “for an urgent matter awaits you.” Yet they gave strict orders: the messengers were not to reveal that Rāma had gone into exile, nor that King Daśaratha had passed away. Their sole message was to summon Bharata to the house of the Raghus. In preparation, the messengers quickly gathered fine silk garments and splendid ornaments, intended both for the king and for Bharata. After partaking of food suitable for their journey, they returned to their homes to make ready for departure. Soon, mounting their swift and well-chosen horses, they prepared to set out for distant Kekaya. When the time was right, after performing the sacred rites of departure and ensuring all remaining tasks were complete, the messengers, having received permission from the venerable Vasiṣṭha, set out in great haste. Their path led them northward along the western bank of the long Aparaṭāla river, and in due course, they crossed the Mālinī river at its middle. Further along their journey, they crossed the sacred Gaṅgā at Hastināpura, then turned westward, reaching the land of Pañāla and passing through the region known as Kurujāṅgala. As they traveled, they observed lakes and rivers filled with clear, pure water, their minds intent on the mission entrusted to them. With swift determination, they soon reached the clear and holy Śaradaṇḍā river, alive with many kinds of birds and crowded with people. Their journey brought them to a grove of Nikūla trees, a sacred place renowned for granting wishes. There, the messengers paid their respects before entering the city of Kuliṅga. Continuing on, they arrived at the sacred river Ikṣumatī, revered by their ancestors and flowing from the Bodhibhavana. Along the way, they saw Brāhmaṇas, learned in the Vedas, drinking water with cupped hands. Passing through the land of Bāhlīka and the mountain called Sudāmāna, they beheld the abode of Viṣṇu and glimpsed the Vipāśā and Śālmālī rivers, as well as many other rivers, ponds, lakes, marshes, and pools. Their path took them through lands where lions, tigers, deer, and elephants roamed. Undeterred, they pressed onward along the great road, eager to fulfill their master’s command. Though their vehicles grew weary from the long journey, the messengers did not falter. Swiftly, they reached the finest city—a mountain settlement—without delay. Driven by devotion to their master, intent on preserving the royal family and its lineage, the messengers hurried onward, arriving at the city during the night, undaunted by fatigue or darkness. It was on that very night, as the messengers entered the city, that Bharata, son of the great king, was visited by a disturbing dream. When dawn broke, he recalled the troubling vision and was filled with deep distress. His dear friends, noticing his sorrow and wishing to comfort him, gathered in the assembly and began to tell stories. Some played music to soothe his heart, others danced, and still others performed plays and comedies. Yet, though surrounded by kind friends and gentle laughter, Bharata found no joy. One close companion, sitting among the group, gently asked, “My friend, why do you not take pleasure?” Bharata replied, his voice heavy with concern, “Listen to the reason for my sadness. In my dream I saw my father, unkempt, his hair loose and disheveled, falling from a mountain peak into a muddy, filthy pool. I saw him floating there, repeatedly drinking oil with his hands, laughing again and again. After eating rice balls made of sesame, his head hung down, his whole body smeared with oil, and he immersed himself in oil again and again. “In that dream, I saw the ocean dried up, the moon fallen to earth, and blazing fires suddenly extinguished. The royal elephant’s tusk was shattered. The earth split open, many trees dried up, and mountains lay scattered and smoking. “I saw the king seated on an iron throne, dressed in black garments, mocked by women with dark and tawny complexions. Adorned with red garlands and ointments, he departed facing south in a chariot drawn by donkeys. It seemed as if a woman in red attire, a demoness with a distorted posture, was dragging the king away. “This terrifying night vision has left me shaken. Either I, Rāma, the king, or Lakṣmaṇa will die. For a man who dreams of traveling in a vehicle drawn by donkeys soon sees the smoke rising from the funeral pyre. Because of this omen, I am deeply troubled and cannot honor your attempts to cheer me; my throat is parched and my mind is uneasy. “I see no cause for fear, yet I feel it. My voice has lost its resonance, my shadow seems diminished. I feel a strange disgust toward myself, though I know no reason why. Hearing of this ill-omened dream, with its many forms and unpredictable course, I cannot shake this great fear, especially as I ponder the king’s incomprehensible appearance.” As Bharata spoke of his dream and its disturbing omens, the weary messengers, their horses spent from the long journey, entered the splendid royal palace and the city itself, crossing the impassable moat, arriving just as Bharata’s heart was weighed down with foreboding.