He who had once amassed great merit through faithfully performed sacrifices, now sought righteousness not through ritual, but through the hardship of his own body. Once, his limbs had been anointed with the finest sandalwood paste; now, the noble Rāma’s body was smeared with dust and earth. How had it come to this? Bharata, his heart heavy with grief, blamed himself: “Because of me, Rāma—who was so accustomed to comfort—has been forced to endure such suffering. Fie upon my cruel life, condemned by all the world!” Overwhelmed by distress, his lotus-like face bathed in sweat, Bharata wept aloud as he fell at Rāma’s feet. Words failed him. He could only utter “Noble one,” his voice choked by tears, unable to speak further as he gazed upon the illustrious Rāma. Shatrughna too, overcome with sorrow, bowed low at Rāma’s feet. Rāma, moved by their grief, embraced both brothers and gently wiped away their tears. Then, together with Sumantra and Guha, the royal princes stood in the forest, resplendent as the sun and moon joined in the sky with Venus and Jupiter. The sight of these mighty kings, radiant like lordly elephants, gathered in the great wilderness, moved even the forest-dwellers to tears; their joy vanished in the presence of such sorrow. Thus concludes the ninety-ninth sarga of the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa in the ancient and sacred Rāmāyaṇa composed by Vālmīki. In the forest, Rāma beheld Bharata—almost unrecognizable, his hair matted, clad in bark garments, palms joined in supplication, prostrate upon the earth, like the sun at the end of an age. Somehow, Rāma recognized his brother, though Bharata’s face was pale and his body emaciated by grief. With great tenderness, Rāma reached out, lifted Bharata in his strong arms, and embraced him, smelling his head as a sign of deep affection. He placed Bharata on his lap and questioned him with care. “Where is our father, dear one, that you have come to the forest? As long as he lives, you should not have come here. Ah, after so long, I see you drawing near from afar, but your appearance is so changed here in the wilderness. Tell me, beloved brother, why have you come? Is the king still alive, dear one, that you have made this journey? Or has our father, stricken by grief, departed from this world? Surely, gentle one, the kingdom—your rightful inheritance—has not been lost? Do you continue to serve our father, steadfast in his vows? Is King Dasharatha, true to his word, well? The one who performed the Rājasūya and Aśvamedha sacrifices, firm in righteousness? Is the learned and ever-righteous Brāhmaṇa, the illustrious preceptor of the Ikṣvāku line, properly honored by you? Are Kausalyā and Sumitrā, mothers of sons, well? And is noble Kaikeyī also happy? Is your family priest, disciplined, learned, free from envy and impartial, honored by you as he should be? Are you attentive to the sacred fires, knowledgeable in the rites, wise and upright, always ensuring that every offering is made at the proper time? Do you show due respect to the gods, your father and mother, teachers, elders, physicians, and Brāhmaṇas? Do you regard as your instructor one who is skilled in the best weapons, expert in statecraft, and well-versed in the science of wealth? Have you appointed as ministers those who are as brave as yourself, learned, self-controlled, noble, perceptive, and discerning? For, Rāghava, wise counsel is the root of victory for kings, when well-guarded by ministers skilled in counsel and versed in all the sciences. Do you avoid the sway of sleep? Do you rise at the proper time, reflecting on the subtleties of affairs even in the latter part of the night? Do you avoid deliberating alone, or with too many? When you have taken counsel, do your plans remain secret, not leaking into the realm? After determining a matter that requires little effort but yields great results, do you set about accomplishing it without delay? Are all your actions, or those already accomplished, known to your virtuous subjects? For kings should not undertake what is unknown to their people. By reasoning or inference, or through your ministers, do you discern any counsel that has not been declared by you or your advisers? Do you value one wise person over a thousand fools? For a wise man, in times of difficulty, can bring about great benefit. Even if a king relies on thousands or tens of thousands of fools, among them there is no true support. Even a single minister who is intelligent, brave, skilled, and discerning can bring great prosperity to a king or a kingdom. Are your chief servants assigned to important tasks, those of middling ability to moderate tasks, and the lowest to the least duties? Do you appoint as your ministers those who are above suspicion, pure, descended from your father and grandfather, and the best among the best to the highest tasks? O son of Kaikeyī, do your counselors approve of your rule, or is your kingdom disturbed by harsh punishment and a greatly troubled people? Are you not despised by your priests, as a fallen man is, or by women as one who accepts harsh gifts and pursues them with desire? Remember, one skilled in intrigue, a physician intent on corrupting servants, or a brave man greedy for power—if not punished—deserves to be executed.” Thus did Rāma, with deep affection and concern, question Bharata about the welfare of their family, their kingdom, and the conduct of a righteous king.