As Surabhi, the celestial mother of cows, moved beneath the presence of the great Indra, subtle, fragrant drops—perfumed with the scent of Surabhi herself—began to fall gently from her body. These delicate, aromatic tears descended and touched the very body of Indra, the king of the gods. Witnessing this, Indra’s respect for Surabhi deepened even further. Indra, also known as Shakra, looked up and saw Surabhi standing in the sky, overcome with sorrow and weeping in distress. Moved by her evident grief, the illustrious wielder of the thunderbolt approached her with his palms joined in reverence. Anxiously, he addressed her, “Surely, there is no great danger threatening us from any quarter? Why are you so sorrowful, Surabhi, you who always seek the welfare of all? Tell me the cause of your pain.” Thus questioned by the wise king of the gods, Surabhi, steadfast and skilled in speech, replied with composure, “O lord of immortals, no harm threatens you from anywhere. My grief is not for myself, nor for you, but for my own sons, who now suffer in distress. Look upon these two—thin, miserable, scorched by the relentless rays of the sun, and worn down by the ploughman’s labor. Seeing them thus, O lord of the gods, I am afflicted.” She continued, “They are born from my own body, suffering and burdened—when I see them in such a state, I am tormented, for there is nothing dearer to a mother than her son. Even one who has thousands of sons spread throughout the world, as I do, grieves for each as if she had only one. What, then, of Kausalya, who is forced to live without her only son, Rama?” “Though Kausalya is a chaste woman with but a single son, you have made her bereft of him. For this, you will surely experience sorrow in this world and the next. I am determined to repay my debt to my brother and father and to uphold their honor—of this, there is no doubt. Once I have brought back Kausalya’s radiant son, I will myself enter the forest where the 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. Therefore, 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 Rama, steadfast in truth and valor, returns to the earth, then I too will have fulfilled my duty and be cleansed of the stain of exile.” Thus, like a mighty elephant in the forest goaded by spears and hooks, he fell to the ground in fury, hissing like a serpent. His eyes were bloodshot, his garments loosened, and all his ornaments cast aside. That tormentor of foes lay fallen upon the earth, like Indra’s banner at the close of a festival. Now begins the seventy-fifth sarga. After a long time, the mighty one regained consciousness. His eyes filled with tears as he looked upon his grieving mother. Then, in the presence of the assembled ministers, Bharata reproached his mother, declaring, “I do not desire the kingdom, nor will I seek counsel from the ministers or my mother. I knew nothing of the consecration that was planned by the king, for I was far away, dwelling with Shatrughna. I knew nothing of Rama’s exile to the forest, nor of the banishment of Saumitri or Sita, or how any of this came to pass.” As the great-souled 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 to Sumitra, Kausalya—pale, clad in soiled garments, trembling and nearly senseless with grief—set out to where Bharata was. At the same time, Bharata, together with Shatrughna and Rama’s younger brother, made his way to Kausalya’s residence. There, seeing Kausalya overwhelmed by sorrow, both Shatrughna and Bharata, their hearts heavy with grief, embraced her as she lay senseless. Weeping themselves, they approached the noble and wise lady, who was also weeping in her sorrow. Then Kausalya, greatly afflicted, spoke these words to Bharata: “Now, the kingdom you desired has come to you, free from obstacles. Indeed, Kaikeyi has quickly secured it for you by her cruel act. Having sent my son, clad in bark garments, to dwell in the forest, what virtue does Kaikeyi, with her harsh vision, see in this? Soon, she will surely send me as well to where my illustrious son, shining like gold, now dwells. Or else, I myself, accompanied by Sumitra, will gladly go, after performing the sacred fire-rite, to where Raghava is. Or, if you wish, you may yourself take me there today, to where that tiger among men, my son, endures his penance. Indeed, this vast kingdom, filled with wealth and grain, with elephants, horses, and chariots, has been handed over to you by her.” With many such harsh words, the blameless Bharata was reproached and felt deep anguish, as if a needle were piercing a fresh wound. His mind agitated, he fell at her feet, lamenting in many ways, losing consciousness. When he regained his senses, he stood before her. As she continued to lament, Bharata, his palms joined, spoke to Kausalya, who was surrounded by her immense grief.