Bharata, renowned as the best of speakers, journeyed through the mountain slopes, weaving his way among clusters of trees whose blossoming tops shone brightly. As he drew nearer, he did not need to search again for the roots, for their presence was clear and unmistakable. When Bharata and his companions caught sight of Rāma, their hearts were struck with bewilderment and awe. It was as if, after a long and arduous crossing, they had finally reached the far shore of a vast body of water. The news of Rāma’s hermitage on the sacred mountain Citrakūṭa, blessed and inhabited by holy people, had reached Bharata. With Guha at his side, he quickly made his way there, carefully arranging the army before proceeding. With the army settled, Bharata, eager and anxious, set out to see his beloved brother, showing the way to Śatrughna. He sent word to the sage Vasiṣṭha, urging him to bring his mother quickly, and, ever devoted to his elders, hastened ahead. Sumantra, too, followed closely behind Śatrughna, for both he and Bharata were filled with longing to see Rāma. As Bharata advanced, his eyes fell upon Rāma’s leaf-hut, nestled among the hermitages of ascetics. In front of the hut, he saw wood that had been split and heaps of gathered flowers, signs of simple yet sacred living. He recognized the presence of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa by the kuśa grass garments scattered upon the trees. In the forest, he observed large piles made for warmth from the hides of deer and buffalo. With confidence, Bharata spoke to Śatrughna and the ministers accompanying him, “I believe we have reached the place that Bharadvāja described. The Mandākinī river cannot be far from here.” He pointed out the garments of bark tied high up, markers left by Lakṣmaṇa to guide the way, perhaps during travel at unusual hours. He noticed the tracks of swift elephants with noble tusks, circling and trumpeting upon the mountainside. Dense, dark smoke rose along the path, a sign of ascetics offering oblations in the forest. Filled with joy, Bharata declared, “Here I shall see the noble Rāghava, a tiger among men, who performs the sacred rites of our elders, like a great sage.” Soon, Rāghava reached Citrakūṭa and arrived at the Mandākinī river, addressing those gathered with him. Bharata’s heart was heavy as he beheld Rāma, the tiger among men, sitting upon the earth, delighting in the seat of heroes, yet dwelling in solitude. “Alas for my birth and life!” Bharata lamented. “For my sake, the lord of the world, radiant and mighty, has met with misfortune. Abandoning all desires, Rāghava dwells in the forest. Thus blamed by the world, today I shall fall at the feet of Rāma, Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa, seeking their forgiveness.” Lamenting thus, Bharata beheld a great, auspicious, and beautiful leaf-hut. It was spacious, covered with leaves of sāla, tāla, and aśvakarṇa trees, softly spread with kuśa grass, resembling an altar prepared for sacrifice. The hut was adorned with bows, strong and gold-backed, mighty and fit for battle, shining like Indra’s weapons that destroy enemies. Arrows, fierce and radiant as the sun’s rays, rested in quivers, their shining faces resembling serpents, making the hut look like a serpent’s abode. Splendid silver garments and swords decorated the hut, and shields marked with golden spots shone brightly. Curious gloves made of lizard skin, adorned with gold, were placed within, and the hut stood like a lion’s cave among wild beasts. Bharata saw a broad altar facing east and north, glowing with sacred fire and auspiciousness. After gazing for a moment, Bharata saw his revered elder, Rāma, seated in the hut, crowned with matted hair. Rāma sat clad in black antelope skin and bark garments, shining like fire, surrounded on all sides. Bharata saw the righteous lord of the earth, with lion-like shoulders, mighty arms, lotus-like eyes—the ruler of the land bounded by the sea. Seated with mighty arms like eternal Brahmā, Rāma rested on a ground spread with darbha grass, accompanied by Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa. Overwhelmed by grief and sorrow, Bharata, the illustrious son of Kaikeyī, rushed forward. Seeing his brother, pain overtook him, and he lamented, his voice choked with tears, unable to maintain his composure. He mourned, “He who was once worthy to be attended by the people in assembly now sits here among wild forest animals—my elder brother. That great soul who was formerly adorned with garments worth many thousands now practices righteousness here, clad in a deerskin. He who once wore beautiful garlands of flowers now bears this heavy mass of matted hair—how does Rāghava endure it? He who performed sacrifices as prescribed, accumulating merit, now seeks righteousness through bodily hardship. He whose body was once anointed with precious sandalwood—how is it that this noble one’s body is now covered with dirt?” Thus ends the ninety-eighth sarga in the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the ancient and illustrious Rāmāyaṇa composed by Vālmīki.