Journeying onward, the royal messengers at last reached the grove of Nikūla trees, a sacred place believed to grant the wishes of those who entered with reverence. After offering their respects in this hallowed spot, they continued their travels and came to the city of Kuliṅga. Waiting for the right moment, they pressed on until they reached the holy river Ikṣumatī—a river revered by their ancestors, which flowed from the Bodhibhavana. As they moved along, they encountered Brāhmaṇas by the riverside, learned in the Vedas, who drank water with cupped hands in accordance with sacred tradition. Passing through the land of Bāhlīka and over the towering Sudāmāna mountain, the messengers beheld the abode of Vishnu. Their path brought them to the rivers Vipāśā and Śālmālī, and they saw a landscape dotted with rivers, ponds, lakes, marshes, and pools. Along the way, they observed a great variety of creatures—lions, tigers, deer, and elephants—roaming the wilds beside the road. Yet, unwavering in their purpose and eager to fulfill the command of their master, they pressed on. Their vehicles, worn and exhausted from the long journey, carried them swiftly to their destination: the finest of cities, a mountain settlement of great renown. Driven by loyalty—to bring joy to their master, to protect the royal family, and to preserve the lineage—the messengers pressed forward, undeterred by fatigue. They arrived at the city in the stillness of night, intent on their urgent mission. Now, listen to the next portion of the story as told in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. That very night, as the messengers entered the city, Bharata, the prince, was troubled by a most disturbing dream. When dawn broke and he recalled the haunting images, the son of the great king was overcome with distress. His friends, noticing his sorrow, gathered around him in the assembly hall, hoping to lift his spirits with tales and stories. Some played music to soothe him, others danced, and some performed comedies and plays. Yet, though surrounded by kindly friends and their cheerful words, Bharata found no joy. One dear companion, seated among the group, gently asked, “My friend, why do you not find pleasure?” Bharata replied, “Listen, and I will tell you the reason for my sadness.” “In my dream,” Bharata recounted, “I saw my father, disheveled, his hair unbound, 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. Then, after eating rice balls made of sesame, his head hanging low, his whole body smeared with oil, he immersed himself in the oil again and again.” “My dream grew stranger still: I saw the ocean dried up, the moon fallen to earth, and a blazing fire suddenly extinguished. The tusk of the royal elephant was shattered. The earth split open, many trees were withered, 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. Then, adorned with red garlands and ointments, righteous in nature, he hastened away, departing southward in a chariot drawn by donkeys. It seemed as if a woman in red attire, a demoness with a distorted form, was dragging him away.” “This terrifying vision has shaken me. I fear that either I, Rama, the king, or Lakshmana will die. For it is said that a man who dreams of traveling in a vehicle drawn by donkeys soon sees the smoke of the funeral pyre. Because of this omen, I am distressed and cannot honor your efforts; my throat is parched and my mind is uneasy. I find no visible cause for fear, yet I am afraid; my voice has lost its strength, and even my shadow seems diminished. I feel a strange disgust toward myself, though I know not why. This ill-omened dream, with its many forms and uncertain meaning, has filled my heart with fear as I ponder the king’s mysterious appearance.” Now, hear the seventieth chapter of the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Rāmāyaṇa. While Bharata was still describing his troubling dream, the messengers, their horses weary from the journey, entered the splendid royal city and palace, crossing the formidable moat. After meeting the king and his son and being respectfully received, they approached Bharata, touched the king’s feet, and spoke these words: “The priest sends his well-wishes, as do all the ministers. You must depart quickly, for urgent duty awaits you. Please 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.” Having accepted these gifts, Bharata, ever affectionate toward his friends, honored the messengers with kind words and asked them, “Is my father, King Dasharatha, well? Has any harm befallen Rama or the great-souled Lakshmana? Is noble Kausalya, devoted to righteousness and wise in dharma, free from illness? Is Sumitra, mother of Lakshmana and the heroic Shatrughna, also well? And my mother Kaikeyi, ever self-willed, fierce, quick to anger, wise, and proud—even in good health, what message has she sent to me?” Thus, the journey of the messengers and the troubled heart of Bharata unfolded, as the story of the Rāmāyaṇa continued.