Bharata, his heart ablaze with anguish, turned upon his mother Kaikeyi with words sharp as arrows. “You, who appear as my mother but are truly my enemy—cruel, greedy for the kingdom—I will not speak with you. You are an evildoer, the destroyer of your own husband. Because of you, Kausalya, Sumitra, and my other mothers have been plunged into deep sorrow; you have brought disgrace upon 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 your actions, Rama—steadfast in righteousness, ever devoted to truth—was sent, grieving, into the forest, and our father departed this world, broken-hearted. For this sinful deed, you now stand as the chief, abandoned by me, left fatherless, rejected by your brothers, and despised by the world. You have separated Kausalya, who is joined to righteousness, from her beloved son, driven by your own evil resolve. To what world will you go now, you who are bound for hell? Do you not understand, cruel one, that Rama—eldest son, equal to a father, born of Kausalya—is the natural refuge and protector of our family? A son, born from the very limbs and heart of his mother, is dearer to her than any other relation, not merely by kinship but by the deepest bonds of love. Once, it is said, the righteous Surabhi, honored by the gods, saw two of her sons upon the earth, exhausted and senseless. Seeing them lying on the ground at midday, weary and scorched by the sun, she wept, her eyes brimming with tears, overcome by grief. As Surabhi moved beneath the gaze of the mighty king of the gods, subtle, fragrant drops fell from her body. Even Indra, the lord of the gods, seeing those tears, regarded her with greater reverence. Observing her, Shakra saw Surabhi standing in the sky, distressed and weeping, overwhelmed with sorrow. Moved by her suffering, Indra, the illustrious wielder of the thunderbolt, approached her with joined palms and spoke anxiously, “Surely there is no great danger threatening us? Why are you so sorrowful, you who wish well for all?” Thus addressed by the wise king of the gods, Surabhi, steadfast and skilled in speech, replied, “No harm threatens you, lord of immortals. I grieve for my own sons, who are in distress. Seeing these two, thin and miserable, scorched by the sun and worn out by the ploughman, 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 world is seen weeping. Shakra, there is nothing dearer than a son.” Surabhi, ever noble and constant in virtue, upholding the world by her very nature and actions—even she, who has thousands of sons, grieves as if deprived of all. What then of Kausalya, who has but one son, and must now live without Rama? She is a chaste woman with only one son, and you, Kaikeyi, have made her bereft of him. For this, you will always suffer sorrow, in this world and the next. I will repay my debt to my brother and father, and uphold their honor—of this, there is no doubt. After bringing back Kausalya’s radiant son, I myself will enter the forest where sages dwell. I cannot bear the sin you have committed, nor endure your evil resolve, while the citizens look on, their throats choked with tears. Therefore, either enter the fire, go yourself into the Dandaka forest, or tie a rope around your neck—for you have no other refuge. When Rama, steadfast in truth and valor, returns to this 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 off; that tormentor of foes lay fallen on the earth, like Indra’s banner at the festival’s end. Now begins the seventy-fifth sarga—listen. After a long time, Bharata, mighty in spirit, regained consciousness. His eyes filled with tears, he gazed upon his grieving mother. Then, among the assembled ministers, Bharata reproached her: “I do not desire the kingdom, nor will I consult with the ministers or my mother. I know nothing of the consecration the king planned, for I was far away, dwelling with Shatrughna. I know nothing of Rama’s exile to the forest, nor of the banishment of Saumitri or Sita, or how it came about.” As Bharata cried out in this way, Kausalya, hearing his voice, spoke to Sumitra: “Bharata, son of Kaikeyi, who has wrought this cruel deed, has come. I wish to see Bharata, who sees far.” Having said this, Kausalya, pale and clad in soiled garments, trembling and senseless, set out to where Bharata was. At the same time, Bharata, together with Shatrughna and Rama’s younger brother, went to the residence of Kausalya. There, seeing her overwhelmed by grief, both Shatrughna and Bharata, filled with sorrow, embraced Kausalya as she lay, her senses lost in the depths of her suffering.