Bharata, his heart heavy with longing and confusion, turned to his mother and spoke, “Tell me quickly, O wise one, of Rama—my brother, my father, my friend—whose actions are flawless and whom I serve. For to one who knows righteousness, the eldest brother becomes as a father. I will clasp his feet, for now he is my refuge. He who knows righteousness, unwavering in duty, truthful and firm in his vows—noble lady, what did my father, the valiant king, say to him?” Eager to hear his father’s final words, Bharata implored, “I wish to hear the last, 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, bound by the ties 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.’” Upon hearing this, Bharata was struck by grief at this second painful blow. 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 knowing her words would be unwelcome, answered truthfully, “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 feared some fault in his brother’s conduct. But recalling the nobility of his lineage, he questioned further, “Surely Rama has not slain a Brahmin, nor wrongfully taken anyone’s wealth? Surely he has not harmed any innocent, whether rich or poor? Surely the prince has not coveted another’s wife? For what reason, like one who has committed a terrible sin, has he been exiled to the Dandaka forest?” Then Kaikeyi, driven by her own nature and actions, began to explain just as things had happened. Deluded yet pleased, thinking herself wise, she said, “No wealth belonging to a Brahmin has been seized by Rama, nor has he harmed any innocent person, 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 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. All this was done by me for your sake alone. Do not grieve, do not be troubled; take courage, my son. The city and the kingdom are now yours and free from harm. Therefore, 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 concludes this portion of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. When Bharata heard of his father’s death and the exile of his brothers, he was tormented by sorrow and 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 added sorrow to my sorrow, like pouring salt into a wound, by causing the king’s death 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? How could Kausalya and Sumitra, overwhelmed by grief for their sons, possibly survive after encountering you, my mother? Indeed, the noble one, righteous in nature, always behaves toward you with the utmost respect, as a son should toward his mother. Likewise, my eldest mother Kausalya, who sees far ahead, conducts herself toward you, upholding righteousness, as one would toward a sister. After sending her son, who is self-controlled and dressed in bark and deer skin, to dwell in the forest, how do you, O sinful one, not grieve? Having exiled one who is blameless, heroic, self-mastered, and renowned, and who now wears bark garments, what reason do you see for this? “Surely, I think, your greed regarding Raghava was not unknown to me; for the sake of the kingdom, you have brought about this great calamity. Deprived of Rama and Lakshmana, those tigers among men, how could I, by what power or strength, hope to protect the kingdom? For the mighty king always relied on him, the powerful one devoted to righteousness, just as Mount Meru depends on its forest. How could I possibly bear this heavy burden, like a weak animal yoked to a great load, and with what strength could I endure it?” Thus did Bharata, overwhelmed by grief and righteousness, confront his mother and pour out the anguish of his heart.