As Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa sat together in the forest, Rāma turned to his brother, the noble son of Sumitrā, and said, “Look, Lakṣmaṇa! See here—what is this terrible, thunderous, deep, and tumultuous sound we are hearing?” The air was filled with a mighty commotion, shaking the very heart of the forest. Rāma continued, “Perhaps it is herds of elephants or buffaloes in the great woods, frightened by lions, suddenly fleeing in all directions. Or perhaps a king or a royal minister is out hunting in the forest, or maybe it is some other wild beast. O son of Sumitrā, you should find out what is causing this uproar. This mountain is very difficult to traverse, even for birds. Quickly, Lakṣmaṇa, ascertain the truth behind all this.” Obedient and swift, Lakṣmaṇa hastened to climb a flowering śāla tree. From its height, he looked in all directions, focusing on the eastern quarter. There, facing east, Lakṣmaṇa saw a great army advancing—chariots, horses, and elephants crowded together, with foot soldiers marching in formation. The army was adorned with colorful banners fluttering above the chariots, and the sight of so many horses and elephants was striking. Lakṣmaṇa descended and reported to Rāma, “Extinguish the fire, noble one. Let Sītā enter the cave for safety. String your bow, and prepare your arrows and armor as well.” The urgency in his voice was unmistakable. Rāma, the tiger among men, replied calmly, “O son of Sumitrā, look carefully—whose army do you think this is?” Lakṣmaṇa, his heart burning with anger like a blazing fire, responded with fury and resolve, eager to destroy the approaching force. “Desiring to secure the kingdom, having surely obtained the consecration, Bharata, son of Kaikeyī, is coming to kill us both. Look! That great, splendid tree stands out, and on the chariot shines the banner bearing the symbol of the kōvidāra tree. Mounted on swift horses, these men move as they please; others, delighted, shine as they ride elephants. Let us, bows in hand, take refuge on the mountain, O hero, or else let us stand right here, armed and ready. Perhaps the one with the kōvidāra banner may fall into our power. “Will I see Bharata, on whose account, O Rāghava, you, Sītā, and I have all encountered this great misfortune? O Rāghava, for whose sake you have been cast out from the eternal kingdom, this enemy Bharata has now arrived; for me, he is to be slain. I see no fault, O Rāghava, in killing Bharata; for abandoning those who have previously committed wrongs is not considered unrighteous. Bharata, who has previously done wrong and abandoned righteousness—once he is slain, rule the entire earth. “Today, let Kaikeyī, greedy for the kingdom, see her son slain in battle by me, and be tormented with grief, like a tree shattered by an elephant. I will kill Kaikeyī as well, along with her associates and relatives; let the earth be freed today from this great impurity. Today, O giver of honor, I will release this restrained anger and the insult upon the enemy's army, as fire is released in dry grass. Today, I will make this forest of Chitrakūṭa soaked in blood, piercing the bodies of enemies with sharp arrows. Let wild beasts drag away elephants and horses whose hearts have been pierced by arrows, as well as men slain by me. I am not indebted to arrows or the bow in this great battle; after killing Bharata along with his army, I will be without doubt.” Thus ended the ninety-sixth sarga in the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the venerable Rāmāyaṇa, the first epic composed by Vālmīki. But Rāma, seeing his brother overcome by fierce anger, gently calmed the fiercely enraged Saumitri, and spoke these words with great composure: “What need is there here for the bow, or the sword with shield, when Bharata himself, the great archer and wise one, has come? Having killed Bharata, who has come after pledging truth to our father, what would I do with the kingdom, tainted by blame, O Lakṣmaṇa? Whatever wealth might come from the destruction of relatives or friends, I would not accept it, just as one would not eat food mixed with poison. “O Lakṣmaṇa, I desire righteousness, wealth, pleasure, and even the earth for your sake; I promise you this. For the sake of gathering brothers and for happiness, O Lakṣmaṇa, I desire even the kingdom, and I swear this to you by truth. This earth, O gentle one, surrounded by the ocean, is not difficult for me to obtain; but I would not desire even the lordship of the gods through unrighteousness, O Lakṣmaṇa. If any happiness should come to me without Bharata, you, or even Śatrughna, O giver of honor, let that happiness be reduced to ashes by fire. “I think Bharata, who cherishes his brothers, has come to Ayodhyā, remembering the family duty, dearer to me than my own life. Hearing that I have been exiled, wearing matted hair and bark garments, together with Janaki and you, O best of men—his heart overcome by affection, his senses disturbed by grief—Bharata has surely come here to see me; it cannot be otherwise. Having spoken harsh and unpleasant words, angry with mother Kaikeyī, the illustrious one has come, having appeased our father, to give me the kingdom. It is the right time that Bharata wishes to see us; he would not do anything displeasing to us, not even in thought. When, indeed, has Bharata ever done you any wrong in the past, or what kind of fear is it today that makes you suspect Bharata here?” Thus, Rāma’s calm wisdom soothed Lakṣmaṇa’s anger, turning suspicion into hope and restoring peace between the brothers as they awaited the arrival of Bharata.