Seated upon an iron throne, clad in black garments, the king appeared before me—a striking and ominous sight. Around him, women with dark and tawny complexions laughed at his presence, their voices echoing with unsettling mirth. Then, with haste and a sense of righteousness, the king rose. Adorned with garlands of red flowers and anointed with red ointments, he departed facing south, riding in a chariot drawn by donkeys. As I watched, it seemed as though a woman dressed in red, her posture twisted and demonic, was dragging the king away. This vision was terrifying, and I realized that this dreadful night’s dream portended death—either for me, Rama, the king, or Lakshmana. For in a dream, if one travels in a vehicle drawn by donkeys, soon he sees the smoke rising from the funeral pyre. Disturbed by this omen, I find myself unable to honor you properly; my throat is parched, and my mind is restless. Though I see no immediate cause for fear, dread presses upon me—my voice has lost its strength, and even my shadow seems diminished. I feel a strange revulsion toward myself, though I know not why. The dream, with all its ill omens and shifting forms, weighs heavily on my heart, and the king’s incomprehensible appearance fills me with dread that will not leave. As Bharata was describing his troubling dream, messengers arrived—horses weary from their journey—having crossed the impassable moat to enter the splendid royal palace and city. They approached the king and his son, offered their respects, and then turned to Bharata, touching the king’s feet before speaking. “The priest sends you his well-wishes, as do all the ministers. You must depart quickly, for urgent matters await you,” they said. “Accept these precious garments and ornaments, O wide-eyed one, and present them to your maternal uncle. Here are twenty crores from the king for your uncle, and ten crores for you, the king’s son.” Bharata, ever affectionate toward his friends, received these gifts and addressed the messengers with honor. “Is my father, King Dasharatha, well? Has any harm befallen Rama or the great-souled Lakshmana? Is noble Kausalya, wise and devoted to righteousness, free from illness? And what of Sumitra, the mother of Lakshmana and the heroic Shatrughna—is she well? My mother Kaikeyi, ever strong-willed and quick to anger, wise and proud—even if she is well, what message does she send to me?” The messengers replied respectfully, “O tiger among men, all those for whom you care are well. Fortune and the goddess of prosperity favor you; may your protection be assured.” Thus reassured, Bharata said, “I will take leave of the great king; the messengers urge me to hurry.” He then turned to his maternal grandfather and said, “O King, urged by the messengers, I must go to my father’s presence. I will return whenever you remember me.” His grandfather, embracing Bharata, spoke auspicious words: “Go, dear child, I permit you. Kaikeyi is blessed with a son like you. Convey my well-wishes to your mother and to your father, the supreme ascetic. Also greet the priest and all other excellent twice-born men, and your two mighty brothers, Rama and Lakshmana.” After honoring Bharata, his maternal uncle presented him with the best elephant, fine blankets, and skins as wealth. The Kekaya king ordered two thousand gold coins and sixteen hundred horses to be given as gifts. Trusted and virtuous ministers were assigned to attend Bharata. His maternal uncle also gave him elephants of the Airavata line, pleasing to behold and swift, and well-harnessed mules. As further gifts, he received dogs raised in the palace, strong as tigers, fierce and powerful, with great fangs. Having taken leave of his maternal grandfather and uncle, the victorious Bharata, together with Shatrughna, mounted his chariot and departed. Yet, as he left, a great anxiety gripped his heart—the urgency of the messengers and the vision of his dream weighed heavily upon him. Surrounded by men, elephants, and horses, Bharata entered the unrivaled royal road. As he passed through, he saw the inner city and entered it unhindered. After bidding farewell to his mother and his maternal uncle Yudhājit, Bharata and Shatrughna ascended their chariot once more and set out. More than a hundred chariots, their wheels perfectly round, were harnessed and followed Bharata, along with camels, cattle, horses, and mules. Protected by his army and accompanied by ministers equal in status to his grandfather Āryaka, the noble Bharata, with the steadfast Shatrughna by his side, departed from the house as if leaving Indra’s own world. Thus began the next chapter in the glorious Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki, in the Ayodhyā section.