The king, Daśaratha, was removed from the oil bath where his body had been prepared and placed gently upon the ground. His face, once radiant, was now drained of color, and he lay there as if in a deep, unbroken sleep. Soon, his attendants laid him upon a splendid couch, adorned with glittering jewels—a fitting resting place for a son of the illustrious Ikshvaku line. Yet, as he lay there, the atmosphere was heavy with sorrow, and Bharata, his son, overwhelmed by grief, began to lament. “O king, what decision did you make in my absence?” Bharata cried out in anguish. “Why did you exile the righteous Rāma and the mighty Lakṣmaṇa before I could return? Where will you go now, O great king, leaving behind your people, who are already sorrowful and deprived of Rāma, that lion among men whose deeds are blameless? Who will protect and care for your city now, when you have departed to heaven and Rāma has gone to the forest? O king, the earth without you glows no more—like night without the moon. Even the city of Ayodhya seems dark and empty to me.” As Bharata’s heart poured out its sorrow, the sage Vasiṣṭha, wise and compassionate, addressed him gently, “Bharata, whatever funeral rites must be performed for this lord of men, let them be done at once. Do not hesitate, O mighty-armed one.” Honoring Vasiṣṭha’s words, Bharata replied, “So be it,” and swiftly summoned all the priests, family chaplains, and teachers. Those who had been stationed outside the king’s fire-chamber were led away by the officiating priests and sacrificers, each following the sacred rites. Then, the king—his life’s breath departed—was placed upon a bier in a palanquin called Shibilā. The attendants, their throats choked with tears and their minds weighed down with sorrow, bore him away. People walked ahead of the procession, scattering gold, golden ornaments, and fine garments along the path, honoring the king’s final journey. Others gathered fragrant woods—sandalwood, aloe, resin, pine, lotus wood, and divine timbers—preparing the funeral pyre with care. There, after offering both rare and common aromatic substances, the priests placed the king at the center of the pyre and arranged him according to sacred custom. They offered the prescribed oblations and recited prayers for the departed soul, while the singers of the Sāma Veda chanted the ancient hymns in accordance with scripture. The king’s wives, accompanied by elders, left the city in palanquins and carriages, each according to her status. The priests performed the funeral rites for the king upon the pyre, and the women, led by Kausalyā, were consumed by grief. A great cry arose from the women—a sound like thousands of cranes in anguish, their voices piercing the air with sorrow. Overwhelmed and weeping, the noble women descended from their vehicles to the bank of the Sarayu River. Together with Bharata, the king’s wives, ministers, and priests performed the water rites for the departed soul. With eyes swollen from weeping, they returned to the city and, filled with sorrow, spent ten days upon the ground in mourning. When these ten days had passed and the rites of purification were completed, Bharata, son of the king, performed the final funeral rites on the twelfth day. He gave to the Brāhmaṇas abundant gifts—jewels, wealth, food, costly garments, and precious stones. He also bestowed upon them many white blankets, hundreds of cows, male and female servants, vehicles, and grand houses, all for the sake of his father’s funeral rites. At dawn on the thirteenth day, Bharata—mighty-armed and overcome with grief—approached the place of purification, his throat choked with emotion. At the foot of the pyre, his heart heavy, he addressed his departed father, “When you entrusted me to Rāghava, who has now 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 left your beloved Kausalyā behind, where have you gone, O king?” As he gazed upon the reddish ash and the circle of burnt bones, the full weight of his loss struck him. He wailed in despair and, overcome by grief, fell to the ground. As his attendants tried to lift him, Bharata seemed like the fallen banner of Indra’s chariot, his spirit broken. All the ministers, steadfast and pure, gathered around him. Shatrughna, seeing his brother so distraught, was reminded of the sages who had witnessed the fall of Yayati at the end of his life. Overcome by sorrow, Shatrughna too lost consciousness and fell to the ground, senseless with grief. Recalling again and again the virtues and noble qualities of their father, he was seized by the anguish caused by Manthara and the actions of Kaikeyi. The ocean of sorrow, born from the granting of boons, seemed unfathomable, drowning the tender, ever-pampered prince. “O father,” Shatrughna lamented, “having abandoned Bharata, who now grieves and weeps, where have you gone? Was it not you who provided us with food, drink, clothing, and ornaments? Who will care for us now? Yet, even in this moment of utter separation, the earth does not open to swallow us.” “Deprived of you, O king, knower of righteousness and great-souled, with our father gone to heaven and Rāma dwelling in the forest—what purpose does my life serve? I will enter the fire as an offering, bereft of both brother and father, in the empty city of the Ikshvakus. I will not enter Ayodhya; I will go to the ascetic forest.” Thus, amid the lamentations and the outpouring of grief from all who loved Daśaratha, the city of Ayodhya mourned the passing of its king, and the hearts of his sons and subjects were weighed down with sorrow.