Even Indra, the lord of the gods, beheld the tears of Surabhi, the celestial cow, as they fell upon his own body—tears fragrant and pure. Witnessing this, Indra’s respect for Surabhi deepened, for he saw her standing in the sky, overwhelmed with sorrow, her heart weighed down, and her eyes streaming with grief. Moved by her suffering, the illustrious Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, approached her with joined palms, speaking anxiously, “Surely, there is no great danger threatening us from any quarter? Why are you so sorrowful, O you who ever seek the welfare of all? Tell me your cause for grief.” Thus addressed by the wise king of the gods, Surabhi, steadfast and skilled in speech, replied, “O lord of immortals, there is no harm threatening you. My sorrow is for my own sons, who are in distress. Behold these two—thin, miserable, scorched by the sun’s rays and exhausted by the ploughman. Seeing them, I am afflicted. They are born from my own body, suffering and weighed down by burdens. When I witness their pain, I am tormented, for there is nothing dearer than a son. Though I, whose thousands of sons fill the whole world, am seen weeping, Shakra, know that none is dearer than a son. Ever unmatched in conduct, ever upholding the world, ever noble and steadfast in virtue—such is my nature and my actions. Even I, who have thousands of sons, grieve as if bereft of all; what then of Kausalya, who must live without her only son, Rama?” “She is a chaste woman with but one son, and you have made her bereft of him. Therefore, you will always suffer sorrow, both in this world and hereafter. Indeed, I shall fully repay 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. 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 Rama, steadfast in truth and valor, returns to the earth, I too will have fulfilled my duty, cleansed of the stain of exile.” With these words, like a great 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 off. That tormentor of foes lay on the earth, like Indra’s banner fallen at the festival’s end. After a long time, regaining consciousness, the mighty Bharata, his eyes full of tears, looked upon his grieving mother. Among the assembled ministers, Bharata reproached his own mother, saying, “I do not desire the kingdom, nor will I consult with the ministers or my mother. I know nothing of the consecration that was planned by the king, 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, and how it came about.” 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 spoken thus to Sumitra, Kausalya, pale and clad in soiled garments, trembling and senseless, set out to where Bharata was. Bharata, together with Shatrughna and Rama’s younger brother, then went to the residence of Kausalya. There, seeing her distressed, Shatrughna and Bharata, both filled with sorrow, embraced her as she lay overwhelmed by grief, her senses lost. 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 obtained it for you by her cruel deed. Having sent my son, clad in bark garments, to dwell in the forest, what virtue does Kaikeyi, with her cruel vision, see in this? Soon, Kaikeyi 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, performing the sacred fire-rite beforehand, 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, and complete with elephants, horses, and chariots, has been handed over to you by her.” Thus, with many such harsh words, blameless Bharata was reproached and felt deep anguish, as if pierced by a needle in a wound. His mind agitated, he fell at her feet, lamenting in many ways, and losing consciousness; after regaining his senses, he stood there. As she continued lamenting, Bharata, with joined palms, spoke to Kausalya, who was surrounded by much grief, “Respected lady, why do you reproach me, who am innocent and unaware? You know well my deep and steadfast affection for Raghava.