When Bharata, having returned to Ayodhya, questioned his mother, she began to speak the truth, though her words were painful and she feared to utter what he might wish to hear. She told him plainly, “My son, that prince—your brother—wearing only garments of bark, has departed for the vast Dandaka forest. He is accompanied by Vaidehi, Sita, and attended by Lakshmana.” Upon hearing this, Bharata was seized by alarm. A dreadful suspicion crossed his mind that perhaps his brother had committed some grave offense. Yet, remembering the noble lineage from which he sprang, he pressed his mother for more details. “Surely Rama has not slain a Brahmin? Surely he has not wrongfully seized anyone’s wealth, nor harmed any innocent, be they rich or poor? Surely he has not coveted another’s wife? For what possible reason, as if he had committed the most terrible sin, has he been sent into exile in the Dandaka forest?” At this, his mother—her mind restless and her actions driven by her own nature—began to explain just as events had unfolded. Addressed by the high-minded Bharata, Kaikeyi, both pleased with herself and lost in delusion, thinking her actions wise, spoke these words: “Rama has not seized the wealth of a Brahmin, nor has he harmed anyone, rich or poor. He has not so much as looked upon another’s wife. But, my son, when I learned that Rama was to be consecrated as king, I asked your father for the kingdom for you, and for Rama’s exile. Your father, bound by his word and his own conduct, did just as I requested. “So Rama, together with Saumitri—Lakshmana—and Sita, was sent away. The great and illustrious king, unable to see his beloved son, was overwhelmed by grief and passed away. Now, O righteous one, you must accept the kingship. All this, my son, was done for your sake alone. Do not grieve or be troubled; take heart and be courageous. “The city and the kingdom are now under your authority, safe and unharmed. Therefore, my son, quickly gather the Brahmins and, with the foremost sages led by Vasistha, perform the proper rites and consecrate yourself as king with a steadfast heart.” Thus concludes that section, and now begins the seventy-third sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Hearing of his father’s death and the exile of his brothers, Bharata was overcome by sorrow and spoke in anguish: “What use is the kingdom to me now, as I sit here grieving, bereft of my father and my brother—he who was as a father to me? You have heaped sorrow upon 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, bringing ruin to our family. My father, embracing a burning coal, did not recognize that it was you. Because of you, O wicked one, the king met his death; happiness has vanished from this family through your delusion, you who bring disgrace to our line. “My father, steadfast in truth and renowned, was consumed by grief after encountering you, and so perished—King Dasharatha, devoted to righteousness, is gone. Why was Rama exiled? 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? Rama, noble and righteous, always treated you with the utmost respect, as a son should toward his mother. Likewise, my eldest mother Kausalya, wise and far-seeing, always upheld righteousness toward you, as one would toward a sister. “After sending her own son—self-controlled, clad in bark and deerskin—to dwell in the forest, how can you, O sinful one, not be stricken with grief? Having exiled one who is blameless, heroic, self-mastered, and renowned—one who now wears only bark—what reason could you possibly have? “I always suspected your greed regarding Raghava, and now, for the sake of the kingdom, you have brought about this great disaster. Deprived of Rama and Lakshmana, those tigers among men, by what strength or power could I hope to protect the kingdom? The mighty king always relied on Rama, the powerful and righteous one, 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? With what strength could I endure it? Even if I possessed the power of asceticism or the strength of intellect, I would never fulfill your desires, you who are greedy for a son. “I would never wish to abandon you, wicked as you are, if only Rama would always regard you as his mother. But how could such a thought arise in you, O wicked one, fallen from good conduct and condemned by our ancestors? “In this royal lineage, the eldest is always anointed king; the younger brothers, with focused minds, serve according to his direction. Truly, I do not think you are just, nor do you observe royal duty, nor do you understand the enduring path of royal conduct. It is the tradition among kings, especially among the Ikṣvākus, that the eldest is consecrated as king. “Among those devoted to righteousness and the customs of their lineage, pride in their conduct has vanished upon encountering you. Even though you descend from the most illustrious kings, how has this blameworthy delusion arisen in you, clouding your judgment? “But I will not carry out your wicked desire, for you are set on evil. You have begun a calamity that brings death to me.” Thus did Bharata, in his grief and righteousness, rebuke his mother and declare his unwavering devotion to dharma and to his exiled brother Rama.