Let him who has permitted the departure of the noble one be subject to the gravest misfortunes: let him, with his own foot, offend the sacred cows, malign his elders, and betray his dearest friend; let him, wicked in heart, reveal before all what was told to him in confidence and trust. Let such a person become idle, ungrateful, bereft of self-respect, shameless, and despised by everyone in the world. May he, though surrounded by sons, wives, and servants in his own house, eat the finest food alone, without sharing. Let him fail to find a suitable wife, die without children, and never accomplish righteous deeds. Let him witness the destruction of his own lineage, find distress among his wives, and not live out his full span of life. Let him incur the sins reserved for the slayer of a king, a woman, a child, an elder, or for one who abandons a servant. Let him always support his servants with things unfit—lac, honey, meat, iron, and poison. When battle is joined and he causes fear among the enemy, may he be struck down as he flees. Let him wander the earth, a beggar with a skull in hand, clad in rags, like one possessed by madness. May he become addicted always to drink, to women, and to gambling, ever overpowered by desire and anger. Let his mind turn toward righteousness, yet let him act unrighteously; let him give in charity to the unworthy. May whatever wealth he has amassed in countless ways be stolen by robbers. Let every sin that falls upon one who sleeps through both dawn and dusk descend upon him who gave his consent to the noble one's exile. May he incur the gravest sins: neglecting the sacred fire, violating the teacher’s bed, and betraying a friend. Let him never serve the gods, his ancestors, his mother, or his father. May he swiftly fall, even this very day, from the world of the righteous, from their glory, and from all good deeds. May he abandon his mother’s care and stand idle, purposeless, though strong and broad-chested. Let him, though blessed with many sons, be poor, wracked by fever and disease, suffering always. Let him make false promises to his equals, to the distressed, to those who look to him in hope, and to all supplicants. May he always delight in deceit, be harsh, slanderous, impure, fearful of the king, and unrighteous at heart. Let him transgress against a virtuous wife, pure and receptive, or abandon his lawful wife to consort with others, his mind turned away from righteousness. Let him incur the sin that befalls a Brahmin whose lineage is lost. May he alone bear the guilt of polluting water or giving poison. Let him, with impure senses, hinder worship meant for a Brahmin or milk a cow meant for her calf. May he, though water is at hand, deceive a thirsty soul and bear the weight of that sin. Let him, while others argue sincerely and seek the right, be joined to their transgressions. Thus, bereft of husband and son, Kausalya, the king’s wife, tried to console herself, but, overwhelmed by grief, she collapsed. Seeing Bharata, senseless with sorrow and uttering such dire oaths, Kausalya spoke to him: “My suffering, my son, only increases, for as you swear these oaths, it is as if you are taking away my very life. Yet, by great fortune, your soul and Lakshmana’s have not strayed from righteousness. My child, steadfast in your promise, you shall surely attain the worlds of the virtuous.” Having spoken thus, Kausalya took Bharata, who cherished his brothers, onto her lap, embraced his strong arms, and wept, her heart overcome by grief. As that great-souled one mourned in anguish and pain, his mind grew agitated, torn by delusion and suppressed sorrow. Though comforted, Bharata lay senseless on the ground, his wisdom lost, sighing deeply again and again, and thus the night passed for him in grief. Thus concludes the seventy-fifth sarga; the seventy-sixth is to be heard in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. To Bharata, son of Kekayī, tormented by grief, Vasiṣṭha—the best among speakers and foremost among sages—spoke gently: “Enough of sorrow, noble prince of great fame; now is the proper time—perform the king’s final rites.” Hearing Vasiṣṭha’s words, Bharata regained his composure and, knowing what was right, arranged for all the funeral rites. The king, removed from the oil bath and placed upon the ground, his face drained of color, lay as if peacefully asleep.