For your sake, I will perform this painful task, Bharata declared, his voice trembling with emotion. I will go to the forest and bring back my brother Rāma, so dear to our family. Once I have returned with him, I will devote myself wholly to his service, steadfast and unwavering, shining with inner strength as his faithful servant. Having spoken thus, the noble-hearted Bharata, though overwhelmed by grief, lashed out at his mother with harsh words, his anguish pouring forth like the roar of a lion in a mountain cave. But Bharata’s anger did not abate. Once more, seized by great wrath, he addressed Kaikeyī with burning words: “Be deprived of the kingdom, Kaikeyī! Cruel one, author of evil deeds, you who have abandoned righteousness—may you not die weeping in misery. “What wrong did the king, or Rāma—who is truly righteous—ever do to you, that by your actions, both have been struck down with death and exile alike? By destroying our family, you have incurred the guilt of slaying the unborn. Go to hell, Kaikeyī, and do not ever reach your husband’s world. “With this terrible deed, you have driven away one beloved by all the worlds and brought fear even to me. Because of you, my father has died, and Rāma has been forced into the forest. You have brought disgrace upon me in the eyes of the living. “You, who appear to be my mother but are truly my enemy, greedy for the kingdom and cruel, I will not speak with you, evil-doer, destroyer of your own husband. Kausalyā, Sumitrā, and my other mothers, afflicted with great sorrow, have all suffered because of you, the defiler of our lineage. “You are not the daughter of that wise and righteous king, the lord of the horse-sacrifice; you are a demoness, born only to destroy your father’s line. Because of you, Rāma—steadfast in righteousness and ever devoted to truth—was sent to the forest in sorrow, and our father departed to the heavenly realm. “For this sinful act, you are now the chief, abandoned by me and fatherless, rejected by your brothers, and despised by the whole world. Having separated Kausalyā, joined to righteousness, from her son, and determined on evil, to what world will you go today, you who are bound for hell? “Cruel one, do you not realize that the eldest son, Rāma—equal to a father and born of Kausalyā—is the natural refuge of the family? A son, born from the very limbs and heart of his mother, is dearer to her than any other relative—not merely because of kinship. “Once, it is said, the righteous Surabhi, honored by the gods, saw her two sons on the earth, exhausted and senseless. Seeing them, weary at midday and lying upon the ground, she wept, her eyes filled with tears, overcome by grief for her children. As she moved beneath the great-souled king of the gods, subtle drops, fragrant with her own scent, fell from her body. “Even Indra, lord of the gods, seeing those fragrant tears fall upon him, regarded Surabhi with even greater respect. Observing her, Shakra saw Surabhi standing in the sky, distressed and weeping, overwhelmed by sorrow. Seeing her tormented by grief, the illustrious Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, approached 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.’ “Thus addressed by the wise king of the gods, Surabhi replied: ‘No harm threatens you from anywhere, 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, Shakra. There is no one dearer than a son.’ “Ever unmatched in her conduct, ever seeking to uphold the world, ever noble and steadfast in virtue, by her very nature and actions—even she, with thousands of sons, grieves as if bereft of all. What then of Kausalyā, who must live without Rāma? She is a chaste woman with only one son, and you have made her bereft of him. Therefore, you will always suffer sorrow, both here and hereafter. “I will repay my debt to my brother and father, and I will uphold their honor—of this, there is no doubt. After bringing back Kausalyā’s radiant son, I myself will enter the forest, where sages dwell. For I cannot bear the sin you have committed, while the citizens look on with tearful throats. I cannot endure this evil resolve of yours. “So, either enter the fire, or go yourself into the Dandaka forest, or tie a rope around your neck—for you have no other refuge. When Rāma, steadfast in truth and valor, returns to the earth, I too will have fulfilled my duty, cleansed of the stain of exile.” Thus, like an elephant in the forest goaded by spears and hooks, Bharata fell to the ground in fury, hissing like a serpent. His eyes were bloodshot, his garments loosened, all his ornaments cast aside; that tormentor of foes lay fallen on the earth like Indra’s banner at the festival’s end, overwhelmed by grief and righteous wrath.