Bharata, filled with longing and sorrow, approached Kaikeyi and asked her where his father was, expressing his wish to touch the king’s feet. He wondered if perhaps his father was with Kausalya, the eldest queen. Kaikeyi, though she knew the truth, spoke to Bharata words that were dear yet dreadful, masking her knowledge with feigned ignorance, her mind clouded by greed for the kingdom. She told Bharata that his father had met the fate common to all beings. The great and illustrious king, devoted to sacrifice, had departed from this world and walked the path of the righteous. Hearing these words, Bharata—pure and noble—was overcome by grief. He suddenly collapsed to the ground, unable to bear the sorrow of his father’s death. Uttering the pitiful cry, “Alas, I am destroyed!” the mighty-armed Bharata stretched out his arms in anguish and lay prostrate. Grief enveloped him, and his mind was thrown into confusion and pain. Bharata lamented loudly, his radiant countenance dimmed by the loss. He gazed at the royal couch, once belonging to his father, which used to shine beautifully like the spotless night sky when the moon was full and the clouds had departed. Now, deprived of the wise king, the couch seemed dull—like the sky without the moon or the ocean without water. Suppressing his tears, his throat constricted by grief, Bharata, the foremost among the victorious, covered his face with a splendid garment. Those present saw him, distressed and fallen like a severed branch of a sal tree in the forest, shining like a god even in his despair. They gazed upon him, and, resembling a maddened elephant, radiant like the moon and sun upon the earth, they gently raised him. Afflicted by sorrow, they spoke comforting words: “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 possess generosity and sacrificial authority; your conduct, learning, and speech are noble. Your intellect shines in the palace like the sun.” After weeping for a long time and turning about on the ground, Bharata addressed his mother, overwhelmed by many sorrows. He spoke: “I had set out joyfully, thinking the king would consecrate Rama and perform a sacrifice. 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 gentle hand of my father, whose actions were unblemished, by which he would constantly wipe away the dust from me?” He continued, “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 as things truly were. She said, “The king, lamenting ‘Rama! O Sita! O Lakshmana!’ departed to the highest realm, the foremost among those who have gone. Your father, bound by 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 became despondent. His face fell, and again he questioned his mother: “Where now is that righteous one, the joy of Kausalya, who has departed together with his brother Lakshmana and Sita?” Kaikeyi, though fearing to say what might be dear to him, began to speak the truth, though the words were unpleasant. She told him, “That prince, my son, wearing garments of bark, has gone to the great forest of Dandaka, accompanied by Vaidehi and attended by Lakshmana.” Alarmed by this, Bharata suspected some fault in his brother’s conduct. But recalling the nobility of his own lineage, he began to inquire further: “Surely Rama has not slain a Brahmin, nor has he wrongfully seized the wealth of anyone? Surely he has not harmed any innocent rich or poor person? Surely the prince has not coveted another’s wife? For what reason, like one who has committed the sin of killing a fetus, has he been exiled to the Dandaka forest?” Then Kaikeyi, fickle in accordance with her own actions and by her very nature, began to speak out just as things had happened. Thus addressed by the great-souled Bharata, Kaikeyi, delighted yet deluded and thinking herself wise, spoke: “No wealth belonging to a Brahmin has been seized by Rama, nor has he harmed any innocent rich or poor person. Rama has not even looked upon another’s wife with his eyes. But, my son, when I heard of Rama’s intended consecration, I asked your father for the kingdom for you and for Rama’s exile. Your father, adhering to his own conduct, did exactly that.” “Rama, together with Saumitri and Sita, was sent away; and the great and illustrious king, unable to see his beloved son, was overwhelmed by grief and passed away. Now, O righteous one, you should assume the kingship.