By good fortune, your heart, along with Lakshmana’s, has remained steadfast in righteousness,” Kausalya spoke gently to Bharata, her voice filled with both relief and sorrow. “My child, unwavering in your promise, you will surely attain the worlds reserved for the virtuous.” Having uttered these words, she drew Bharata—who cherished his brothers—onto her lap, embraced his strong arms, and wept, overwhelmed by grief. Bharata, noble-hearted and tormented, found himself lost in distress and pain. His mind, clouded by sorrow and confusion, struggled to find clarity. Even as others tried to comfort him, he lay senseless upon the ground, his wisdom obscured, sighing deeply again and again. The night passed for him in anguish. Now, in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa, the seventy-sixth sarga unfolds. To Bharata, son of Kekayī, thus tormented by grief, Vasiṣṭha—the best among speakers and foremost among sages—addressed him. “Enough of sorrow, noble prince of great fame,” Vasiṣṭha said, “now is the proper time to perform the final rites for the king.” Hearing the sage’s words, Bharata regained his composure. Knowing what was right, he began to arrange all the funeral rites. The king, Daśaratha, was removed from the oil bath and placed upon the ground. His face was drained of color, and he lay as if merely asleep. Laid upon a splendid couch adorned with jewels, Bharata, the son of Daśaratha, lamented, overwhelmed by sorrow. “O king, what did you resolve, exiling righteous Rāma and mighty Lakṣmaṇa while I was away and had not yet returned? Where will you go, great king, leaving behind these sorrowful people, deprived of Rāma, the lion among men whose deeds are blameless? Who will ensure your city’s welfare and security now, when you have departed to heaven and Rāma has gone to the forest? The earth, bereft of you, shines not, like a night without the moon; the city appears to me the same.” As Bharata thus lamented, his mind cast down, the great sage Vasiṣṭha again spoke to him. “Whatever funeral rites must be performed for this lord of men, let them be done promptly, mighty-armed one, without hesitation.” “So be it,” said Bharata, honoring Vasiṣṭha’s words. He quickly summoned all the priests, family chaplains, and teachers. Those who had been stationed outside the fire-chamber of the lord of men were led away by the officiating priests and sacrificers, according to the proper rites. Then, having placed the king, whose consciousness had departed, upon a bier in Shibilā, the attendants—throats choked with tears and minds distressed—carried him away. People went ahead of the king, scattering gold, ornaments, and various garments along the path. Others gathered sandalwood, aloe, resin, pine, lotus wood, and divine woods to prepare the funeral pyre. There, after offering fragrant substances both rare and common, they placed the king in the midst of the pyre, the priests arranging him. The prescribed oblations were offered, and the priests recited prayers for him. The singers of the Sāma Veda chanted the Sāma hymns according to scripture. His wives, accompanied by elders, departed from the city in palanquins and carriages, as befitted their status. The priests performed the funeral rites for the king upon the pyre, and the women, led by Kausalyā, were consumed by grief. The sound of women arose—like the cries of cranes—thousands lamenting in anguish, their voices filled with sorrow. Overwhelmed and weeping, the noble women descended from their vehicles to the bank of the Sarayu. Together with Bharata, the king’s wives, ministers, and priests performed the water rites. Entering the city with tear-filled eyes, they spent ten days in sorrow upon the ground. The seventy-seventh chapter now unfolds. After ten days had passed and purification was completed, the king’s son, on the twelfth day, performed the funeral rites. He gave to the Brāhmaṇas abundant jewels, wealth, and food, as well as costly garments and various precious stones. He gave many white blankets, hundreds of cows, male and female servants, vehicles, and grand houses to the Brāhmaṇas for his father’s funeral rites. Then, at dawn on the thirteenth day, Bharata, mighty-armed and overcome with grief, his throat choked with emotion, approached for purification. At the foot of the pyre, deeply afflicted, he spoke these words to his father: “When you entrusted me to Rāghava, who has gone to the forest, you abandoned me, just as a son is left behind when his protector departs for the wilderness. O dear one, having abandoned your mother Kausalya, where have you gone, O king? Seeing that reddish ash and the circle of burnt bones—” Beholding the extinction of his father’s body, Bharata wailed and was overcome. Miserable and weeping, he fell to the ground. As he was being lifted up, he was like the banner of Indra’s chariot fallen down. All his ministers, steadfast in purity, approached him. Just as the sages saw Yayati fallen at the end of his life, so too did Shatrughna, seeing Bharata overwhelmed by grief.