With great swiftness, the royal messengers journeyed onward, reaching at last the clear and sacred Śaradaṇḍā river—a divine stream teeming with many kinds of birds and bustling with people. Their path then brought them to a grove of Nikūla trees, a holy place renowned for fulfilling wishes. There, they paused to honor its sanctity before continuing on to the city of Kuliṅga. As the auspicious hour arrived, they came to the revered Ikṣumatī river, sacred to their ancestors and flowing forth from the Bodhibhavana. Along its banks, they saw Brāhmaṇas, learned in the Vedas, drinking water with cupped hands. Passing through the land of Bāhlīka and the mighty Sudāmāna mountain, their journey continued. Their eyes beheld the divine abode of Vishnu, and they crossed the Vipāśā and Śālmālī rivers, encountering a landscape dotted with rivers, ponds, lakes, marshes, and pools. The road led them through forests alive with lions, tigers, deer, and elephants. Yet, undaunted, they pressed on, eager to fulfill the command of their master. Despite the exhaustion of their vehicles from the long journey, the messengers pressed forward without delay, finally arriving at the splendid mountain city. Their hearts were set on pleasing their master, safeguarding the royal family, and preserving the noble lineage. With unwavering determination, they entered the city by night. Now, listen to the sixty-ninth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. On that very night, as the messengers entered the city, Bharata experienced a most troubling dream. When dawn broke and he recalled the vision, the son of the great king was deeply distressed. His dear friends, seeing his sorrow, tried to lighten his heart with stories in the assembly. Some played soothing music, others danced, and some performed comedies and plays. But noble Bharata found no joy, even among friends speaking kindly and jesting. One close companion, seated among the others, gently asked, “My friend, why do you not take pleasure?” Bharata replied, “Listen, and I will tell you the cause of my sadness. In my dream, I saw my father, unkempt and with loosened hair, falling from a mountain peak into a muddy, filthy pool. I saw him floating in that pool, drinking oil with his hands, laughing again and again. Then, after eating rice balls made of sesame, his head hanging down and his body smeared with oil, he immersed himself in oil repeatedly. “I saw the ocean dried up, the moon fallen to earth, and blazing fire suddenly extinguished. The tusk of the royal elephant was shattered, and again the blazing fire was put out. The earth split open, many trees had withered, and mountains were scattered and smoking. My father, seated on an iron throne and dressed in black, was mocked by women of dark and tawny complexion. In haste, adorned with red garlands and ointments, he departed facing south in a chariot drawn by donkeys. It seemed as though a woman in red, a demoness with a twisted form, was dragging the king away. “Such was my terrifying dream. Surely, either I, or Rama, or the king, or Lakshmana will die. A man who, in a dream, rides a vehicle drawn by donkeys soon sees the smoke of the funeral pyre. This omen fills me with dread and leaves me unable to honor you; my throat is parched and my mind uneasy. I see no outward cause for fear, yet I sense it within; my voice falters and even my shadow seems diminished. I feel a revulsion toward myself, though I know not why. Hearing of this ill-omened dream, with its many strange forms, my heart cannot be rid of fear as I ponder the king’s mysterious appearance.” Now, listen to the seventieth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. As Bharata described his dream, the messengers, their horses weary from the long journey, entered the splendid royal palace and city, having crossed the difficult moat. They met with the king and his son, and, after being honored, they bowed at the king’s feet and spoke to Bharata, saying, “The priest and all the ministers send you their well-wishes. Depart quickly, for there is urgent business awaiting you. Accept these precious garments and ornaments, O wide-eyed one, and give them to your maternal uncle. Here are twenty crores from the king for your maternal uncle, and ten crores for you, the king’s son.” Bharata graciously accepted these gifts and, ever affectionate toward his friends, spoke with honor to the messengers. “Is my father, King Dasharatha, well? Has any harm befallen Rama or the great-souled Lakshmana? Is noble Kausalya, wise in dharma and mother of wise Rama, free from illness? And is Sumitra, learned in dharma and mother of Lakshmana and the heroic Shatrughna, also well?” Thus, with a heart full of concern and reverence, Bharata questioned the messengers, anxious for the well-being of his family.