After ten days of mourning had passed, and the period of ritual purification was complete, Bharata, the noble son of King Daśaratha, performed the funeral rites for his departed father on the twelfth day. With deep reverence, he offered the Brāhmaṇas abundant gifts: jewels, wealth, fine food, costly garments, and many precious stones. He also gave them white blankets, hundreds of cows, male and female servants, vehicles, and grand houses—bestowing these generous offerings to honor his father’s memory. When the thirteenth dawn broke, Bharata, mighty-armed yet overwhelmed by grief, approached the site of purification, his voice choked with emotion. At the foot of the pyre, his heart heavy, he lamented to his father, “When you entrusted me to Rāghava, who has now gone to the forest, you abandoned me—as a son is left behind when his protector departs for the wilderness. O dear one, having forsaken your wife Kausalya, where have you gone, O king?” As he gazed upon the reddish ashes and the circle of burnt bones, the reality of his father’s absence struck him with full force, and he wailed in anguish before collapsing to the ground. His attendants lifted him, but he was like Indra’s fallen banner, bereft of its former glory. The ministers, steadfast and pure-hearted, gathered around him. Shatrughna, too, witnessed Bharata’s grief—just as the sages once saw Yayati fallen at the end of his life. Overcome by sorrow, Shatrughna also fainted, falling to the earth, senseless with pain. He remembered again and again the virtues of their father, and the grief caused by Manthara and the influence of Kaikeyi seized him like a fierce storm. The ocean of sorrow, born from the granting of Kaikeyi’s boons—a sorrow unfathomable—engulfed Shatrughna, who had always been tender and pampered. He cried out, “O father, having abandoned Bharata, who grieves and laments, 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 break apart.” Deprived of their righteous and great-souled father, with Rāma exiled to the forest, Shatrughna lamented, “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 Ikṣvākus. I will not enter Ayodhyā; I will go to the ascetic forest.” Hearing the brothers’ lamentations, all those who followed them became even more deeply afflicted. Exhausted and despondent, Bharata and Shatrughna lay upon the ground, writhing like two bulls with broken horns. At that moment, the wise family priest Vasishtha approached and gently raised Bharata. He said, “O illustrious one, this is the thirteenth day since your father’s passing. With only the bones remaining, why do you delay here? Among all beings, three pairs of opposites inevitably arise—such matters are unavoidable, and it should not be thus.” Sumantra, too, lifted Shatrughna and comforted him, speaking wisely of the coming and going of all beings. Their words restored some composure to the brothers, who rose, shining with their innate nobility, though their tears still flowed and their eyes were red with sorrow. Standing together, drenched by rain and scorched by sun, they seemed like two Indra-banners, battered but upright. Wiping away their tears, they spoke with voices heavy with grief. As Bharata, still tormented by sorrow, prepared for the journey ahead, Shatrughna—Lakṣmaṇa’s younger brother—spoke to him. “He who is the refuge of all beings—what suffering must he 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, swayed by a woman and led astray from righteousness, should have been restrained sooner, seeing both right and wrong.” As Shatrughna spoke thus, Manthara, the hunchbacked maid adorned in all her finery, appeared at the eastern gate. She was smeared with fine sandalwood paste, dressed in royal garments, and adorned with many ornaments. Her jeweled girdles and cords made her look like a monkey bound with ropes. The doorkeeper recognized her as the cause of their misfortune and seized the pitiless Manthara, presenting her to Shatrughna. He said, “Because of her, Rāma was sent to the forest and your father gave up his life. Here is that wicked and cruel woman—do with her as you see fit.” Hearing these words, Shatrughna, deeply distressed but firm in his resolve, addressed the attendants of the inner palace: “She who caused such intense suffering to my brothers and my father, let her now reap the fruit of her cruel deeds.” Thus commanded, Manthara was seized with force by the attendants and, surrounded by her companions, wailed in distress as she was dragged away. Thus, the sorrow of the royal family mingled with anger and the search for justice, as Ayodhyā’s fate hung in the balance.