As the time came to perform the final rites for King Daśaratha, devoted attendants gathered fragrant woods—sandalwood, aloe, resin, pine, lotus wood, and other divine timbers—and carefully prepared the funeral pyre for their departed sovereign. Onto this sacred structure, after offering rare and common aromatic substances, they gently placed the king’s body at the center, with the priests arranging everything according to ancient tradition. The priests then offered the prescribed oblations, their voices rising in prayer. The singers of the Sāma Veda chanted the sacred hymns as ordained by scripture, filling the air with solemn melody. Meanwhile, the king’s wives, accompanied by elders, departed the city in palanquins and carriages befitting their royal dignity. As the priests continued the funeral rites for the king upon the pyre, the women, led by Kausalyā, were overwhelmed by grief and sorrow. The plaintive cries of the women echoed like the calls of cranes, thousands of anguished voices rising in lamentation. Overcome by their sorrow, they descended from their vehicles and gathered together on the banks of the Sarayu river. There, with Bharata, along with the ministers and priests, the king’s wives performed the water rites for the departed soul. Afterwards, they returned to the city, their eyes brimming with tears, and for ten days they dwelt in mourning, lying upon the ground, lost in their sorrow. When the ten days of purification were complete, on the twelfth day, Bharata, the king’s son, performed the funeral rites as tradition demanded. With great generosity, he gave to the Brāhmaṇas abundant jewels, wealth, and food, as well as costly garments and precious stones. He bestowed upon them many white blankets, hundreds of cows, male and female servants, vehicles, and grand houses—all offered for his father’s sake. On the thirteenth morning, mighty-armed Bharata, still overcome with grief, his throat choked with emotion, approached the site of the pyre for purification and lamented bitterly before his father’s remains. He cried, “You entrusted me to Rāghava, who has now gone to the forest, and abandoned me, just as a son is left behind when his protector departs. O beloved father, having left your wife Kausalyā behind, where have you gone? All that remains is this reddish ash and a circle of burnt bones…” As Bharata beheld the extinction of his father’s body, he wailed in agony and collapsed, overcome by sorrow. The ministers, steadfast and pure, hurried to lift him up, but he was like Indra’s banner fallen to the ground. Shatrughna, witnessing his brother’s grief, was reminded of the sages who once saw King Yayati fallen at the end of his life. Overwhelmed by his own sorrow, Shatrughna too lost consciousness and fell, lamenting deeply as he recalled again and again the virtues of his father and the calamity brought by Mantharā and Kaikeyī. He felt submerged in an ocean of sorrow, born from the granting of fateful boons, and cried out, “O father, having abandoned Bharata, who grieves and laments, where have you gone? Was it not you who provided us with all we needed—food, drink, clothing, and ornaments? Who will care for us now? Yet, even in this moment of separation, the earth does not split apart. Deprived of you, O righteous and great-souled king, with Rama in the forest and you gone to heaven, what purpose does my life serve? I will enter the fire as an offering, bereft of both brother and father, in this empty city of the Ikshvakus. I will not enter Ayodhya—I will go to the ascetic forest instead.” Hearing their lamentations and seeing their grief, all who accompanied them were further afflicted. Exhausted and despondent, Shatrughna and Bharata lay upon the ground, writhing in sorrow like two bulls with broken horns. Then, Vasishtha, the wise and proper priest of their father, raised Bharata and spoke gently to him: “O illustrious one, this is the thirteenth day since your father’s passing. Only bones remain—why do you delay here? Among all beings, three pairs of opposites inevitably arise; in these unavoidable matters, it should not be thus.” Sumantra, too, raised Shatrughna and offered comfort. With wisdom, he spoke to them about the coming and going of all beings, urging them to accept the truth of life and death. Rising up, the two princes, though drenched by rain and scorched by sun, shone forth in their glory—like two banners of Indra, standing apart. Wiping away their tears, their eyes still red, they spoke in voices heavy with sorrow. As Bharata, tormented by grief, prepared for the journey ahead, Shatrughna, Lakṣmaṇa’s younger brother, addressed him: “He who is the refuge of all beings—what suffering must Rāma not feel for himself? That Rāma, so virtuous, has been exiled to the forest by a woman. And Lakṣmaṇa, strong and full of valor—why did he not free Rāma, even if it meant restraining our father? Our father, having fallen under the sway of a woman and strayed from the path of righteousness, should have been restrained earlier, seeing both right and wrong.” Thus, amid sorrow and lamentation, the royal family grieved the loss of their king and the exile of Rāma, their hearts heavy as they prepared to face the days ahead.