Overwhelmed by inconsolable grief for his beloved son, King Dasharatha departed from this world. Then, O righteous Bharata, you were urged to assume the kingship. “All that has come to pass was done for your sake alone,” your mother told you, “so do not let sorrow or trouble weigh you down. Take refuge in courage, my son. The city and the kingdom are now under your authority, safe and unharmed. Therefore, my child, quickly—following the proper rites and with the foremost sages led by Vasistha—gather the Brahmins and, with steadfast heart, consecrate yourself as king upon the earth.” Thus concludes the seventy-second chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Upon hearing of his father’s death and the exile of his brothers, Bharata was consumed by sorrow and spoke these words: “What use is this kingdom to me now, as I grieve here, bereft of my father and my brother—who was as a father to me? You have compounded my sorrow, pouring salt into my wounds, 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 realize it was you. “Because of you, O wicked one, the king met his death; your delusion has stolen happiness from this family and brought disgrace upon our line. Encountering you, my father—steadfast in truth and renowned—was consumed by unbearable grief and thus perished. The great King Dasharatha, devoted to righteousness, has been destroyed. 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? Indeed, Rama, noble and righteous by nature, always behaves toward you with the utmost respect, as a son should to his mother. Likewise, my eldest mother Kausalya, wise and far-seeing, conducts herself toward you upholding righteousness, as one would toward a sister. After sending her self-controlled son, clad in bark and deer skin, to dwell in the forest, how do you, O sinful one, not grieve? “Having exiled one so blameless, heroic, self-mastered, and renowned—one who now wears bark garments—what reason did you see for this? Surely, 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? The mighty king always relied on Rama, 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? Even if I had the power through 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 in intent, if only Rama would always regard you as a mother. But how did such a thought arise in you, O wicked one, fallen from good conduct and condemned by our ancestors? “In this lineage, the eldest is always anointed as king; the other brothers, with focused minds, act 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. For in royal tradition, the eldest is always consecrated as king; this is the established custom among kings, especially among the Ikṣvākus. Among those devoted solely to righteousness and upholding the customs of their lineage, the pride in their conduct has vanished upon encountering you. “Even though you are descended from 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. Now, for your sake, I will do this unpleasant deed: I will bring back from the forest my brother, beloved of our family. After bringing back Rama, I, with a steadfast heart, will become his devoted servant, shining with inner strength.” Thus, having spoken these harsh and piercing words to his mother, the great-souled Bharata, though overwhelmed by grief, roared again like a lion in a mountain cave. Listen now to the seventy-fourth chapter. Having thus reproached his mother, Bharata, seized with great anger, again spoke: “Be deprived of the kingdom, Kaikeyī—cruel one, doer of evil deeds; abandoned by righteousness, do not die weeping. What wrong did the king or Rama, truly righteous, ever do to you, that through your actions both death and exile have come upon them equally? By destroying this family, you have incurred the guilt of killing an unborn child; Kaikeyī, go to hell and do not attain your husband’s world. “By this terrible deed you have committed, you have abandoned one beloved by all the worlds and brought fear even to me. Because of you, my father has died, and Rama has taken refuge in the forest; you have brought disgrace upon me in this world of the living. You, who appear as my mother but are truly my enemy, cruel one, greedy for the kingdom—I will not speak with you, evil-doer, destroyer of your husband.” Thus did Bharata, filled with grief and righteous anger, pour out his heart to his mother, Kaikeyī, in the palace bereft of joy.