Bharata, overwhelmed by the weight of his mother Kaikeyī’s demands, spoke with anguish and reproach. He lamented, “How could I bear this heavy burden, like a weak creature yoked to a load far beyond its strength? What power do I possess to endure such a trial?” He confessed that even if he had the strength gained through asceticism or the sharpness of intellect, he could never fulfill her desires, for she was greedy for a son. Bharata declared that he would never wish to abandon her, wicked though her intent was, so long as Rāma continued to regard her as a mother. Yet he questioned how such a thought could ever have arisen in her heart—she who had fallen from good conduct and stood condemned by the ancestors. In their noble lineage, he reminded her, it was always the eldest son who was anointed king, and the younger brothers, devoted and focused, acted according to his guidance. He accused Kaikeyī of injustice, saying she neither observed royal duty nor understood the enduring path of royal conduct. In royal tradition, especially among the Ikṣvākus, it was the eldest who was consecrated as king—this was the established custom. Bharata lamented that among those devoted solely to righteousness and upholding the customs of their lineage, the pride in their conduct had vanished upon encountering Kaikeyī. Despite her descent from illustrious kings, he wondered how such blameworthy delusion had arisen in her, clouding her judgment. He vowed not to carry out her wicked desire, for she was set on evil and had begun a calamity that would bring death to him. Yet, for her sake, he resolved to do the unpleasant deed: he would bring back his brother Rāma, so dear to their family, from the forest. Once Rāma returned, Bharata declared, he would become his devoted servant, steadfast and shining with inner strength. Having spoken thus, the great-souled Bharata wounded Kaikeyī with a multitude of harsh words, his grief overwhelming him, and he roared again like a lion in a mountain cave. With the seventy-fourth chapter, Bharata, seized with great anger, continued to speak. He cursed Kaikeyī: “Be deprived of the kingdom, cruel one, doer of evil deeds; abandoned by righteousness, do not die weeping.” He questioned what wrong the king or Rāma—truly righteous—had done to her, that through her actions both death and exile had come upon them equally. By destroying their family, Bharata said, Kaikeyī had incurred the guilt akin to killing an unborn child, and he wished her to go to hell, never attaining her husband’s world. For her terrible deed, she had abandoned one beloved by all the worlds and brought fear even to him. Because of her, his father had died, and Rāma had taken refuge in the forest; disgrace had come upon Bharata in the world of the living. He declared that though she appeared as his mother, she was truly his enemy—cruel, greedy for the kingdom, and an evil-doer who had destroyed her husband. Kausalyā, Sumitrā, and his other mothers had suffered greatly because of Kaikeyī, the defiler of their lineage. He denied that she was the daughter of the wise and righteous king, lord of the horse-sacrifice, calling her a demoness born to destroy her father’s lineage. Because of her, Rāma—steadfast in righteousness and ever devoted to truth—was sent to the forest in sorrow, and their father departed to the heavenly realm. For this sinful act, Kaikeyī was now chief, but abandoned by Bharata, fatherless, rejected by her brothers, and despised by the whole world. He mourned that Kaikeyī, having separated Kausalyā—joined to righteousness—from her son and determined on evil, would now be bound for hell. Bharata reminded her that the eldest son, Rāma—equal to a father and born of Kausalyā—was the natural refuge of the family. A son, born from the very limbs and heart of his mother, was dearer to her than any other relative, not merely because of kinship. To illustrate this, Bharata recalled the story of the righteous Surabhi, honored by the gods. Once, Surabhi saw her two sons on earth, exhausted and senseless. Seeing them, weary at midday and lying on the ground, she wept, her eyes filled with tears, overcome by grief for her children. As she moved below the great-souled king of the gods, subtle drops, fragrant with Surabhi’s own scent, fell from her body. Even Indra, lord of the gods, noticed those fragrant tears falling upon him and regarded Surabhi with even greater respect. Observing her standing in the sky, distressed and weeping, Indra, illustrious wielder of the thunderbolt, approached her with joined palms and spoke anxiously, “Surely, there is no great danger threatening us from anywhere? For what reason are you sorrowful? Tell me, you who seek the welfare of all.” Surabhi, skilled in speech and steadfast, replied, “No harm threatens you, O lord of immortals; but I grieve for my own sons, who are in distress. Seeing these two, thin and miserable, scorched by the rays of the sun and exhausted by the ploughman, O lord of the gods, I am afflicted. Born from my own body, suffering and weighed down by burdens—when I see them, I am tormented; there is nothing dearer than a son. Even she whose thousands of sons fill the whole world is seen weeping, and Shakra does not consider anyone dearer than a son.” Thus, Bharata’s grief and anger poured forth, reminding Kaikeyī of the sacred bond between mother and child, and the pain she had caused by severing it.