Facing east, Lakṣmaṇa’s vigilant eyes caught sight of a vast army on the horizon—a great force teeming with chariots, horses, and elephants, their ranks crowded with foot soldiers. The banners on the chariots fluttered in the wind, and the whole host gleamed with military splendor. Seeing this formidable array, adorned with horses and elephants and bright banners, Lakṣmaṇa’s heart filled with concern. He quickly turned to Rāma and reported what he had seen. “Noble one,” he urged, “extinguish the fire and let Sītā enter the cave for safety. String your bow, ready your arrows and armor—prepare yourself.” Rāma, the tiger among men, calmly replied, “O son of Sumitrā, look carefully. Whose army do you think this is?” Lakṣmaṇa, his anger burning like a blazing fire, responded with fierce resolve, eager to confront the threat. “Bharata, son of Kaikeyī, having secured the kingdom and the royal consecration, is surely coming to kill us both and ensure his rule. See there—the splendid banner with the kōvidāra tree symbol shines above the chariot. Men on swift horses move freely, while others, full of joy, ride elephants, gleaming in the morning light. Let us, bows in hand, take refuge on the mountain, O hero; or else let us stand our ground here, armed and ready for battle. Perhaps the one with the kōvidāra banner will fall into our power. Will I finally see Bharata, because of whom you, Sītā, and I have suffered this great misfortune? O Rāghava, for whose sake you have been cast out from the eternal kingdom, this enemy Bharata has now arrived, and for me, he is to be slain. I see no fault, Rāghava, in killing Bharata, for it is not considered wrong to abandon those who have previously committed unrighteous deeds. Bharata has broken with righteousness and abandoned dharma; 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 stain. Today, O giver of honor, I will release this pent-up anger and insult upon the enemy’s army, like fire set loose in dry grass. I will make this forest of Chitrakūṭa run red with blood, piercing the bodies of our enemies with sharp arrows. Let the wild beasts drag away elephants and horses felled by my arrows, as well as the men I have slain. I owe nothing to bow or arrow in this great battle; after killing Bharata and his army, I will have no doubts left.” Thus ended that sarga of the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa in the venerable Rāmāyaṇa, composed by Vālmīki. But Rāma, seeing Saumitri—Lakṣmaṇa—consumed by fierce anger, gently calmed him and spoke these words: “What need is there here for the bow or the sword and shield, when Bharata himself, the great archer and wise one, has come? If I were to kill Bharata, who has come after pledging truth to our father, what would I do with a kingdom so tainted by blame, O Lakṣmaṇa? Whatever wealth might come from destroying 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, only for your sake; I promise you this. For the sake of gathering our brothers and for happiness, O Lakṣmaṇa, I desire the kingdom, and I swear this to you by truth. This earth, 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 believe Bharata, who cherishes his brothers, has come to Ayodhyā, remembering our family’s duty. He is dearer to me than my own life. Hearing that I have been exiled, wearing matted hair and bark garments, together with Janakī and you, O best of men—his heart, overcome by affection and his senses disturbed by grief, has surely brought him 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. This is the right time for Bharata to see us; he would never do anything displeasing to us, not even in thought. When has Bharata ever wronged you in the past, and what fear is it today that makes you suspect him? Bharata should not be spoken to harshly or with unpleasant words by you; if anything disagreeable is to be said to him, let it be by me. How could sons ever kill their father in any calamity, or a brother kill his brother, O Saumitri, who is as dear as one’s own life? If you speak these words because of the kingdom, then, upon seeing Bharata, I will tell him: ‘Let the kingdom be his.’ Even if I say this truly to Bharata, O Lakṣmaṇa, ‘Let the kingdom be yours,’ he will certainly reply, ‘So be it.’ Thus addressed by his righteous brother, intent on his welfare, Lakṣmaṇa, out of shame, seemed to shrink into himself, chastened by Rāma’s gentle wisdom.