Resembling a mighty, maddened elephant, radiant as the moon and the sun upon the earth, Bharata was gently raised up by those around him, who were themselves afflicted by sorrow. They spoke to him with compassion: “Rise, rise, O prince of great fame! Why do you lie here? Men like you, honored among the virtuous, do not give in to grief in the midst of the assembly.” They reminded him of his noble qualities—his generosity, his authority in sacrifice, his noble conduct, learning, and speech. “Your intellect, O wise one, shines in the palace like the sun,” they said, urging him to compose himself. Yet Bharata, overwhelmed by sorrow, continued to weep for a long time, turning about on the ground. At last, he addressed his mother, his heart heavy with many griefs. “I had set out joyfully, believing that the king would consecrate Rama and perform a great sacrifice. But now, everything has turned out so differently. My mind is shattered, for I do not see my father, who always delighted in what was dear and beneficial.” He pleaded with his mother, “By what illness did the king depart before I could arrive? Blessed are Rama and all the others, for the father himself performed the final rites for them. Surely the great king, renowned as he was, did not know I had arrived; for my father would have quickly bent down and touched my head in blessing. Where is the gentle hand of my father, whose actions were always blameless, that used to wipe the dust from me?” Then, with a trembling voice, Bharata asked, “He who is my brother, my father, and my 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 steadfast 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 truth as it was: “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, Bharata’s heart sank beneath a second, painful blow. His face fell, and he questioned his mother again: “Where now is that righteous one, the joy of Kausalya, who has departed together with his brother Lakshmana and Sita?” Kaikeyi, though the words were unpleasant and fearing to say what might be dear to him, spoke the truth: “That prince, my son, wearing garments of bark, has gone to the great forest of Dandaka, accompanied by Vaidehi and attended by Lakshmana.” At this, Bharata was alarmed, suspecting some fault in Rama’s conduct. But recalling the nobility of his own lineage, he questioned further: “Surely Rama has not slain a Brahmin, nor wrongfully seized the wealth of anyone? Surely he has not harmed any innocent, rich or poor? 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 his mother, Kaikeyi—fickle by her own nature—spoke out just as things had happened, thinking herself wise and yet deluded. Delighted for her own reasons, she said: “No wealth belonging to a Brahmin has been seized by Rama, nor has he harmed any innocent, rich or poor. Rama has not even looked upon another’s wife. 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 word, did exactly that. Rama, together with Saumitri and Sita, was sent away; and the great and illustrious king, unable to see his beloved son, overwhelmed by grief, passed away. Now, O righteous one, you should assume the kingship. All this was done by me for your sake alone. Do not grieve, do not be troubled; take refuge in courage, my son. The city and the kingdom are now under your authority and free from harm. Therefore, my son, quickly, in accordance with proper rites and with the foremost sages led by Vasistha, gather the Brahmins and, with a steadfast heart, consecrate yourself as king upon the earth.” Thus ends this portion of the sacred narrative, and the seventy-third sarga is to be heard in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Upon hearing of his father’s death and the exile of his brothers, Bharata, tormented by sorrow, spoke out: “What use is the kingdom to me now, as I grieve here, bereft of my father and my brother, who was like a father to me? You have brought sorrow upon my sorrow, like pouring salt into a wound, by making the king pass away and turning Rama into an ascetic. You have come like the night of destruction for the ruin of our family; my father, embracing a burning coal, did not realize it was you. Because of you, O wicked one, the king met his death; happiness has been taken from this family by your delusion, you who bring disgrace to our line. Having encountered you, my father, steadfast in truth and of great renown, was consumed by intense grief and thus perished, King Dasharatha. My father, the great king devoted to righteousness, has been destroyed; why was Rama exiled, and for what reason did he go to the forest?” Thus, in the midst of grief and confusion, Bharata poured out his anguish, seeking the reason for the exile of his beloved brother and the loss of his father.