The people of the great host, filled with emotion, resolved among themselves, “We will not return to Ayodhyā, nor will we venture into the Daṇḍaka forest; let Bharata be well, and may Rāma also find happiness.” This sentiment swept through the ranks, and soon foot soldiers, charioteers, riders on elephants and horses, and all the attendants, their hearts uplifted by unexpected fortune, raised their voices in a jubilant cry. Thousands of men, overcome with joy, exclaimed, “This is heaven!” as they followed in Bharata’s wake. The soldiers danced, laughed, and sang, each adorned with garlands, running about gleefully in every direction, their numbers vast as the eye could see. After partaking of a meal that seemed like nectar itself, their delight only grew as they beheld more divine delicacies, their minds again turning eagerly to the pleasures of eating. The attendants, the women, and the many thousands stationed in the army became exceedingly proud, all resplendent in splendid garments. Every creature—elephants, camels, oxen, horses, even wild animals and birds—was amply provided for; none lacked anything. Nowhere could one see a person in soiled white clothes, nor anyone hungry, unclean, or with hair disheveled by dust. There were rich dishes made from goat and wild boar, prepared from the choicest cuts, and soups of fruit extracts, fragrant and flavorful. Thousands of iron vessels stood filled, adorned with flowered banners and heaped with pure white rice, astonishing all who beheld them. By the edges of the forest, wells brimmed with creamy rice and milk, wish-fulfilling cows stood nearby, and trees dripped with honey. Ponds glistened with mead, surrounded by heaps of well-cooked meat, while hot dishes of peacock and jungle fowl awaited travelers along the path. Thousands of bowls, tens of thousands of pots, and countless golden vessels—hundreds of millions in number—were arrayed there. Pots, jars, and dishes overflowed with curds from young, fragrant cows and from kapittha fruits. Pools brimmed with sweet mango juice, others with thick, white milk, and some with heaps of rice pudding and sugar. Men marveled at the riverbanks, where various medicinal pastes, powders, decoctions, and bathing substances were set out in vessels. There were heaps of white, shining tooth-cleaning sticks and white sandalwood pastes, all laid out beside the river. Polished mirrors, piles of garments, pairs of sandals and shoes by the thousands were provided. Cosmetic boxes, combs, brushes, weapons, bows, ornate armor, as well as beds and seats, were readily available. Lakes filled with drinks for camels, oxen, elephants, and horses could be seen, as well as bathing ponds with gentle banks, blooming with lotuses and water-lilies. Some pools, blue as the sky, sparkled with clear water, inviting for bathing, while heaps of soft barley, colored like blue beryl, were set out. All the animals required for sacrificial offerings were prepared as well. The people gazed in wonder, scarcely believing such hospitality could be real, and regarded the wondrous welcome shown to Bharata by the great sage Bharadvāja as if it were a dream. Thus, delighting as the gods do in Nandana, that beautiful night passed at the hermitage of Bharadvāja. When the night was done, the rivers and Gandharvas, having been granted permission by Bharadvāja, departed as they had come, taking with them all the lovely women. Yet the men, intoxicated and anointed with divine aloe and sandalwood, remained, and splendid garlands lay scattered and trampled where the people had rejoiced. So ended that wondrous night, as recorded in the ancient and sacred Rāmāyaṇa composed by sage Vālmīki. When dawn broke, Bharata, with his retinue, having been honored in every way, approached the sage Bharadvāja as he wished. Seeing Bharata, the tiger among men, arrive with joined palms, Bharadvāja, his fire rituals complete, greeted him warmly. “Did you spend the night comfortably here in my hermitage?” the sage asked. “Is your entire company well? Tell me, blameless one, if you found the hospitality satisfactory.” Bharata bowed deeply, his palms joined, and replied to the radiant sage who had emerged from his dwelling, “Revered one, I, along with my entire army and attendants, have rested well and have been satisfied in every way by your hospitality. Freed from fatigue and distress, well-provided with food and shelter, even our servants, without exception, have all been most comfortably accommodated.” “O revered sage,” Bharata continued, “I now take my leave. Please, with your friendly gaze, look upon me as I set out to approach my brother. O knower of righteousness, tell me which path leads to the hermitage of that righteous and great-souled one, and how far it is.” Thus questioned by Bharata, who longed to see his brother, the great ascetic Bharadvāja, radiant with energy, replied, “At a distance of two and a half yojanas, in the uninhabited forest, lies the mountain Citrakūṭa, with its delightful, uninterrupted woods. On its northern side flows the Mandākinī river, shaded by blossoming trees and beautiful with flowering groves. Beyond that river stands Mount Citrakūṭa; at the foot of both, dear one, is their leaf-hut, where surely the two reside. O noble leader of armies, drive your force—filled with elephants, horses, and chariots—by the southern road, or by the left or right path; then you will see Rāghava.” Thus, with the sage’s blessing and guidance, Bharata prepared to journey onward, his heart set on reuniting with his beloved brother.