Bharata, overwhelmed by sorrow, stood before his father’s lifeless form and cried out in anguish, “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?” He mourned the loss of the king who had cared for them in every way, wondering who would now fulfill those roles. Yet, even in the depths of separation, he observed that the earth did not split apart in grief. Deprived of their father—the righteous, noble king—and with Rama dwelling in the forest, Bharata lamented, “What purpose does my life serve? I will enter the fire as an offering, bereft of both brother and father, in the empty city ruled by the Ikshvakus.” He declared he would not return to Ayodhya, but would go to the ascetic forest instead. Hearing the brothers’ lamentations and seeing their distress, all those who followed them became even more afflicted. Shatrughna and Bharata, exhausted and despondent, lay upon the ground, writhing like two bulls with broken horns. At that moment, their wise and proper priest, Vasishtha, raised Bharata and spoke 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. In these unavoidable matters, it should not be thus.” Sumantra, too, raised Shatrughna and comforted him, explaining the truth of the coming and going of all beings. These two tiger-like men, rising up, shone forth in their glory, though drenched by rain and scorched by the sun, appearing like two separate Indra-banners. Wiping away their tears, their eyes red and voices heavy with sorrow, they spoke. Now, listen to the seventy-eighth chapter in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. As Bharata, tormented by grief, prepared for the journey, 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, endowed with virtue, has been exiled to the forest by a woman. Lakṣmaṇa, strong and full of valor—why does he not free Rāma, even if it means restraining our father? Our father, who has fallen 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 with all her ornaments, appeared at the eastern gate. Smeared with fine sandalwood paste, wearing royal garments, and adorned with various kinds of ornaments, she shone brightly. With jeweled girdles and many cords, she looked like a monkey bound with ropes. Seeing her, the doorkeeper, recognizing her as the perpetrator of evil, seized the pitiless Kubjā and presented 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 all 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.” Thus addressed, Kubjā, surrounded by her companions, was quickly seized with force and wailed as she was dragged to the house. All her companions, greatly distressed at Shatrughna’s rage, fled in every direction, conferring together, “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.” Then Shatrughna, his eyes reddened with anger, tormentor of his foes, dragged Kubjā, who was crying out, along the ground. As Manthara was dragged here and there, her many kinds of curious ornaments were scattered upon the ground, and the royal palace, adorned with those ornaments, looked at that moment like the autumn sky. The mighty Shatrughna, seized by anger, rebuked Kaikeyi harshly and spoke rough words to her. Struck by these harsh and painful words, Kaikeyi was greatly distressed and, terrified by Shatrughna’s anger, sought refuge with her son, Bharata. Seeing Shatrughna enraged, Bharata said to him, “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. If Rama, the righteous one, learns that even this hunchback has been killed, he will surely not speak to you or to me.” Hearing Bharata’s words, Shatrughna withdrew from his anger and released Manthara. Manthara fell at Kaikeyi’s feet, gasping and overwhelmed with deep sorrow, and lamented pitiably. Seeing the hunchback, her senses bewildered by Shatrughna’s violence, Kaikeyi gently comforted her, who looked like a distressed bird clinging to her. Now, listen to the seventy-ninth sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa.