As dawn broke, the night’s troubling shadows still lingered in Bharata’s heart. The son of King Dasharatha awoke, heavy with sorrow, for the memory of a haunting dream would not let him rest. His friends, noticing his distress, gathered around him in the assembly, their only wish to lift the weight from his spirit. Some began to tell stories, hoping to distract him with tales; others played music, their melodies meant to soothe his soul. Some among them danced, while others performed plays and comedies, all in an effort to bring joy to Bharata. Yet, despite their efforts—though he was surrounded by friends speaking kindly, making jokes, and offering companionship—Bharata could not find any happiness. The gloom of his heart was unshaken. To address this, one dear friend, seated among the companions, inquired, “Why, my friend, do you not take pleasure?” It was a gentle question, but Bharata’s mind was troubled. He answered, “Listen to the reason for this sadness that has come upon me.” He shared that he had seen, in a dream, his father—King Dasharatha—appearing unkempt, with loosened hair, as if fallen from a mountain peak, and immersed in a muddy, filthy pool. He described seeing his father floating in that pool, repeatedly drinking oil, as if laughing again and again. He also saw that his father had eaten rice balls made of sesame, and that his head was hanging down, his body smeared with oil. He was immersed in oil again and again, as if the ritual of death was upon him. Bharata continued, describing the unsettling omens in his dream: the ocean had dried up, the moon had fallen to the earth, and a blazing fire had suddenly vanished. He saw the tusk of the royal elephant was broken, and again, a blazing fire was extinguished. The earth had split open; many trees were dried up; mountains were scattered and smoking. He saw, seated on an iron throne, dressed only in black garments, that women with dark or tawny complexions were laughing at the king. He added that while journeying, like shadows flickering southward, a virtuous man, adorned with red garlands, left. Toward the end of his vision, ifaus like a demoness in red attire, with a distorted posture, was dragging away, and though the king was, he saw her hand. A more detailed picture: a vehicle drawn by donkeys, heading south, and the feeling that death was near for whoever in such a vehicle rode. “If a man sees himself in a vehicle drawn by donkeys, it is a sign that he will soon see the tip of a funeral pyre’s smoke,” he explained. Bharata continued, his mind and body distressed, saying that he no longer felt at ease, his voice was tremulous, his shadow diminished, and his heart was filled with fear. He no longer a cause for his fear, yet and the king’s strange new look in life, he pondered, his soul laced with a sense of dread. As Bharata recounted all this, the seventieth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa begins, marking a new turn in the tale. While his sorrowful tale was still fresh, a group of messengers entered the city and palace, crossing the moat, like a wind bringing news. They had come a long way, their horses spent, and they sought an audience with King and son, bringing urgent tidings. Their task complete, they laid hold of the king’s feet, and spoke, “The priest and ministers send their well-wishes. You must depart quickly, for there is pressing business that requires you in Ayodhyā.” They urged Bharata to accept gifts of garments and ornaments, and told him that he would receive twenty crores for his maternal uncle and ten crores for himself. Having accepted these, Bharata, ever affectionate toward his friends, spoke to the messengers, asking after the wellbeing of all. “Is my father, King Dasharatha, well? Is any harm come to Rama or Lakshmana? Is noble Kausalya, the mother of Rama, in good health? Is Sumitra, who is mother to Lakshmana and Shatrana, a devoted and honorable companion, also safe? And what of Kaikeyi, my mother—self-willed, quick to anger, and clever—what news is there?” If the messengers were honest, they would have told you that all those for whom you wish well are and are well. They answered him, and he found himself compelled to heed their words. “I will take leave of the great king,” Bharata said, “for the messengers urge me to go.” At this, Bharata prepared himself to return to his father’s house, following the messengers’ bidding. He addressed his maternal grandfather, acknowledging that he would return only if his name was remembered. When you read the Rāmāyaṇa, you see how his grandfather, with warmth and wisdom, embraced him and offered blessings. He offered advice and well-wishing for his mother, his father, and his brothers Rama and Lak mana, as well as for the priest and other notable men of virtue. Finally, the king of the Kaikeyas gave Bharata precious gifts: the best of elephants, fine blankets, skins, and other treasures, as a token of honor and affection. All these things, Bharata accepted, as he prepared to set out on the path that destiny had laid before him.