As Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Sītā watched from their vantage point, Lakṣmaṇa pointed out a remarkable sight: a grand and splendid tree stood out before them, and on a distant chariot, a banner bearing the symbol of the kōvidāra tree shone brightly. Swift horses carried noble men who moved freely as they wished, while others, filled with delight, rode proudly atop elephants. Turning to Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa spoke with urgency, “Let us, with our bows in hand, seek refuge on the mountain, O hero. Or, if you wish, let us stand our ground right here, armed and prepared for battle. Perhaps the one bearing the kōvidāra banner may fall into our power today.” With emotion swelling in his heart, Lakṣmaṇa continued, “Will I see Bharata, on whose account, O Rāghava, you, Sītā, and I have all been forced into this great misfortune? For the very reason that 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 abandoned righteousness and wronged us, O Rāghava—once he is slain, you should rule the entire earth.” Lakṣmaṇa’s anger flared as he declared, “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. O giver of honor, today I will release this restrained anger and the insult upon the enemy’s army, like fire let loose in dry grass. 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, their hearts pierced by arrows, as well as men slain by me. I am not indebted to my bow or arrows in this great battle; after killing Bharata and his army, I will be without doubt.” Thus Lakṣmaṇa, overcome by fierce anger and resentment, spoke his mind. But Rāma, seeing the intensity of Lakṣmaṇa’s rage, gently calmed his brother and spoke these words with clarity and compassion. “What need is there here for the bow, or the sword with 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 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 duty of our family, dearer to me than my own life. Hearing that I have been exiled, wearing matted hair and bark garments, together with Jānakī 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? Bharata should not be spoken to harshly or with unpleasant words by you; if anything disagreeable is to be said to Bharata, let it be said 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 given to him.’ Even if I say this truly to Bharata, O Lakṣmaṇa, ‘Let the kingdom be given to him,’ he will certainly reply, ‘So be it.’” Hearing these gentle yet firm words from his righteous brother, Lakṣmaṇa, overcome with shame, seemed to shrink into himself. He replied, “I think it is our father, Daśaratha himself, who has come to see you.” Seeing Lakṣmaṇa thus abashed, Rāghava responded, “I think this mighty-armed one has come here to see us. Or perhaps, thinking that we, accustomed to comfort, are not suited for the forest, he will certainly take us back home. Or perhaps my illustrious father, Raghava, will take Vaidehī, who is accustomed to utmost comfort, from the forest and return.” As they looked out, Rāma pointed out two splendid, well-bred, and delightful horses, swift as the wind and the best of fast steeds. At the head of the approaching army stood a great-bodied elephant named Shatrunjaya, aged and noble, belonging to his wise father. Thus, the brothers and Sītā watched the approaching party, their hearts filled with hope, uncertainty, and the bonds of family, as the story of their exile and reunion unfolded on the sacred grounds of Chitrakūṭa.