As Bharata, overwhelmed by grief, was being lifted from the ground, he resembled the fallen banner of Indra’s chariot—once proud, now cast down. His ministers, steadfast and pure-hearted, gathered around him, offering support in his sorrow. Shatrughna, witnessing Bharata’s condition, was reminded of the ancient sages beholding Yayati’s fall at the end of his life; so too did Shatrughna see his brother, crushed beneath the weight of loss. The memory of their father, King Dasharatha, struck Shatrughna with such force that he lost consciousness, collapsing onto the earth. He was overcome by grief, senseless and wild with anguish, lamenting deeply. His heart and mind were filled with memories of his father’s virtues and noble qualities, yet the pain caused by Manthara’s cunning and Kaikeyi’s actions seized him like a fierce storm. The sorrow born of the king’s granting of boons to Kaikeyi, vast and unfathomable as the ocean, threatened to drown him; and the gentle, once-pampered Shatrughna was swept away in its tide. In his lamentation, he cried out, “O Father! Having abandoned Bharata, who grieves and mourns, where have you gone? Was it not you who provided us with food, drink, clothing, and ornaments? You cared for our every need—who will do so now? Yet, even at this moment of utter separation, the earth does not open to swallow us.” He continued, “Deprived of you, O king, knower of righteousness, great-souled, with our father departed to heaven and Rama 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 this empty city of the Ikshvakus. I will not enter Ayodhya; I will go to the ascetic forest.” Witnessing the brothers’ lamentation and distress, those who had followed them became even more deeply afflicted by sorrow. Both Shatrughna and Bharata, exhausted and despondent, lay upon the ground, writhing like two mighty bulls with their horns broken. At this moment, the wise and proper priest Vasishtha approached and raised Bharata, speaking gently: “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—gain and loss, joy and sorrow, birth and death. In these unavoidable matters, it should not be thus.” Sumantra, too, lifted Shatrughna and comforted him, imparting the truth of the coming and going of all beings. Enlightened by their words, the two brothers, shining like tigers among men, rose up. Though drenched by rain and scorched by the sun, they resembled two separate banners of Indra, battered but unbroken. Wiping away their tears, their eyes still red, they spoke in voices heavy with sorrow. Now, as Bharata, tormented by grief, was preparing for the journey, Shatrughna, Lakshmana’s younger brother, spoke to him: “He who is the refuge of all beings—what suffering must he not feel for himself? That Rama, endowed with virtue, has been exiled to the forest by a woman. Lakshmana, strong and full of valor—why does he not free Rama, even if it means restraining our father? Our father, who fell under the sway of a woman and strayed from the right path, should have been restrained earlier, seeing both right and wrong.” As Shatrughna spoke thus, Kubjā—Manthara—adorned in all her ornaments, appeared at the eastern gate. She was smeared with fine sandalwood paste, dressed in royal garments, and decorated with a multitude of gleaming ornaments. With jeweled girdles and many cords, she looked almost like a monkey bound with ropes. The doorkeeper, recognizing her as the one who had caused such evil, seized the pitiless Kubjā and brought her before Shatrughna. “Because of her, Rama 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 resolute, addressed the attendants of the inner palace: “By whom such intense suffering was caused to my brothers and my father, let her now reap the fruit of her cruel deed.” At his command, Kubjā, surrounded by her companions, was seized with force and wailed as she was dragged away. Her companions, terrified by Shatrughna’s wrath, scattered in all directions. They conferred among themselves, saying, “Now that he has come upon us, he will destroy us all completely. Let us seek refuge with Kausalyā, who is compassionate, generous, righteous, and renowned; she will surely be our safe haven.” Meanwhile, Shatrughna, his eyes red with anger, dragged the crying Manthara along the ground. As she was pulled here and there, her various curious ornaments were scattered across the palace floor, making the splendid royal halls look, for a moment, like the autumn sky strewn with stars. Seized by righteous anger, Shatrughna rebuked Kaikeyi harshly, speaking rough words to her. Struck by his painful rebuke, Kaikeyi was greatly distressed and, terrified by his wrath, sought refuge with her son, Bharata. Seeing Shatrughna enraged, Bharata intervened, saying, “Women are not to be slain by any being; forgive her. I would kill this wicked Kaikeyi, who has acted evilly, if the righteous Rama would not blame me for slaying my mother.” Thus, in the palace of Ayodhya, grief, anger, and the bonds of dharma played out among the sons of Dasharatha, as fate and righteousness guided their every step.