In the palace of his father, Bharata searched for King Dasharatha, but did not find him. With concern, he made his way to his mother Kaikeyi’s own quarters. Seeing her son return from his journey, Kaikeyi rose from her golden seat, her face bright with joy. Bharata, ever devoted to righteousness, entered his house, now stripped of its former splendor. When he saw his mother, he approached her with respect, gently holding her auspicious feet. Kaikeyi, renowned and affectionate, placed him on her lap, smelling his head and embracing him warmly. She began to ask after his welfare: “How many nights have passed since you left your grandfather’s house? Has the swift journey by chariot wearied you? Is your grandfather well, and your maternal uncle Yudhājit? My son, tell me everything about your journey and their welfare.” Thus questioned, the king’s beloved son, lotus-eyed Bharata, told his mother all that had happened. “Today is the seventh night since I left my grandfather’s house. Mother, both grandfather and uncle Yudhājit are well. The king, devoted to austerity, gave me wealth and jewels, and since I was weary from the journey, I arrived here before the others. Pressed by messengers sent by the king, I came quickly. Mother, I wish to ask you something, and you ought to tell me.” He looked around, troubled. “This golden-adorned couch of yours is empty, and the people of the Ikṣvāku line do not appear joyful to me. Mother, the king used to be here most of the time in your quarters, but though I have come wishing to see him, I do not see him today. I wish to grasp my father’s feet—tell me, where is he? Or is he perhaps in the quarters of the eldest, Kausalyā?” Kaikeyi replied, her words both dear and dreadful, speaking what was true yet unwelcome. Though she knew the truth, she feigned ignorance, her mind clouded by greed for the kingdom. “The fate that befalls all beings has come to your father; the great and illustrious king, devoted to sacrifice, has gone to the path of the righteous.” Hearing these words, noble Bharata was struck down by grief. He fell to the ground, overcome by sorrow for his father, crying out, “Alas, I am destroyed!” The mighty-armed hero lay there, his arms stretched out in anguish. Wracked with pain, his mind disturbed, Bharata lamented loudly. He gazed at the couch that once belonged to his father, recalling how it used to shine beautifully, like the spotless sky at night when the moon is full and the clouds have parted. Now, deprived of that wise one, it did not shine—like the sky without the moon, or the ocean without water. Suppressing his tears, his throat tight with grief, he covered his face with a splendid garment. Those who saw him, fallen like a severed sal branch in the forest, shining like a god, gazed upon him with sorrow. Like a maddened elephant, radiant as the moon and sun upon the earth, they raised him, afflicted by grief, and spoke gently: “Rise, rise! Why do you lie there, O prince of great fame? Men of your kind, honored among the virtuous, do not grieve in assemblies. You are endowed with generosity and sacrificial authority, your conduct, learning, and speech are noble; your intellect, O wise one, shines in the palace like the sun.” Bharata, weeping for a long time and turning about on the ground, addressed his mother, overwhelmed by many sorrows. “I had resolved, thinking the king would consecrate Rama and perform a sacrifice, and joyfully set out on my journey. But now everything has turned out differently, my mind is shattered, for I do not see my father, who always delighted in what was dear and beneficial. Mother, by what illness did the king depart before I arrived? Blessed are Rama and all the others, whom the father himself performed the rites for. Surely the great king, renowned, does not know I have arrived; for my father would quickly bend and touch my head. Where is the hand, gentle to the touch, of my father, whose actions were unblemished, by which he would constantly wipe away the dust from me?” He continued, his voice trembling, “He who is my brother, father, and friend, whose servant I am, O wise one—quickly tell me of Rama, whose actions are flawless. For the eldest becomes a father to one who knows righteousness; I will grasp his feet, for he is now my refuge. He who knows righteousness, is constant in duty, truthful, and firm in his vows—O noble lady, what did the king, my father of true valor, say to him? I wish to hear the final, noble message of my father.” Thus questioned, Kaikeyi spoke the words as they truly were. “The king, lamenting ‘Rama! O Sita! O Lakshmana!’ departed to the highest realm, the foremost among those who have gone. Your father, surrounded by the bonds of time and fate like a great elephant, uttered this last word: ‘Those whose purposes are fulfilled will see Rama returned with Sita, and Lakshmana, mighty-armed, come back again.’” Hearing this second painful announcement, Bharata’s heart sank. His face fell, and he questioned his mother once more: “Where now is that righteous one, the joy of Kausalya, who has departed together with his brother Lakshmana and Sita?