Nothing in this world seemed to cause greater pain than witnessing Rama, once so prosperous, now offering his father only simple ingudi fruit and honey as a meal. The sight of Rama presenting these humble ingudi cakes to his father filled the heart with such sorrow that it was a wonder it did not shatter into a thousand pieces. Truly, it seemed that the old saying was correct: as is a person’s food, so are the deities who preside over him. As this grief unfolded, Rama’s co-wives, seeing her so afflicted, gathered to comfort her. In the hermitage, they beheld Rama—he appeared to them like a god who had fallen from heaven, his splendor dimmed by renunciation. Beholding Rama, who had given up all the pleasures of princely life, the mothers were overcome by grief and wept aloud. Rama, steadfast in his word and a tiger among men, rose and reverently touched the blessed feet of all his mothers. With their soft, gentle hands, those women with wide, beautiful eyes tenderly brushed the dust from Rama’s back. Saumitri—Lakshmana—too, seeing the mothers so distressed, greeted each of them in turn after Rama, his heart full of respect and feeling. The women responded to Lakshmana, son of Dasharatha and marked by auspicious signs, with the same affection they gave to Rama. Sita, sorrowful and eyes brimming with tears, respectfully touched the feet of her mothers-in-law and stood before them. Kausalya, embracing Sita as a mother would her own daughter, saw her so emaciated and dejected from the hardships of forest life. She spoke to Sita with deep distress, wondering aloud how the daughter of the king of Videha, wife of Rama, and daughter-in-law of Dasharatha had come to suffer so in this lonely forest. Looking upon Sita’s face—scorched and withered like a lotus under the sun, dulled like gold covered in dust, or the moon veiled by clouds—Kausalya was pierced by grief. “O Vaidehi,” she said, “the sight of your face burns me with sorrow, as fire consumes its fuel. Misfortune-born sorrow torments my heart.” While his mother spoke in such distress, Rama, the elder brother of Bharata, approached and touched the feet of the sage Vasistha. Like Indra himself approaching Brihaspati, Rama, radiant and prosperous, respectfully honored the priest, who was as resplendent as fire, and sat beside him. Bharata, devoted to righteousness, then sat near his elder brother, accompanied by his ministers, the chief citizens, soldiers, and the people who understood dharma. There, the mighty Bharata, hands joined in reverence, gazed upon Raghava—Rama—who shone with the splendor of a sage, just as Indra gazes with devotion upon Prajapati. A great curiosity arose among the noble assembly: what words would Bharata speak today, after bowing to Raghava? In that moment, Rama, steadfast in truth; Lakshmana, of great prowess; and righteous Bharata, surrounded by their friends, shone in the assembly like three sacred fires attended by their priests. Thus ended the one hundred and third sarga of the glorious Ayodhya Kanda in the ancient and revered Valmiki Ramayana. Then Rama, perceiving his brother’s devotion to his elders, began to question him, with Lakshmana by his side. “I wish to hear what you have to say, Bharata, and why you, dressed in bark garments and with matted hair, have come to this place. For what purpose have you, clad in black antelope skin and with matted locks, entered this forest, leaving behind the kingdom? You ought to tell me everything.” Thus addressed by the noble descendant of Kakutstha, Bharata, son of Kaikeyi, with hands joined and great effort, spoke these words: “Our noble father, having performed a most difficult deed, has abandoned his life and gone to heaven, tormented by grief for his son. Urged by a woman—my mother Kaikeyi—he committed this great sin that destroyed his own honor. She, my mother, now deprived of the kingdom’s fruit, widowed and consumed by sorrow, will fall into a terrible hell. Therefore, as your servant, I beg your favor: be consecrated as king today, just as Maghavan was anointed. All these citizens and widowed mothers who have come to you deserve your grace. O bestower of honor, please accept the kingdom in due order and in accordance with righteousness, and bring happiness to your friends. Let the earth, with you as her lord, no longer be widowed, just as the autumn night is brightened by the spotless moon. Together with these ministers, I bow my head and entreat you; as your brother, disciple, and servant, you ought to show me your favor. O tiger among men, you should not break this eternal and ancestral circle of subjects, which has always been honored.” Having spoken thus, the mighty-armed Bharata, his eyes brimming with tears, again respectfully grasped Rama’s feet with his head, as was the custom. Seeing his brother Bharata sighing again and again like a maddened elephant, Rama embraced him and spoke gently: “You are noble-born, endowed with virtue, radiant, and steadfast in your vows; how could someone like you ever commit wrong for the sake of the kingdom? I do not see even the slightest fault in you, O destroyer of foes, nor should you reproach your mother for her ignorance. O most wise and blameless one, the will of elders is always to be followed, especially when it concerns suitable spouses and sons. O gentle one, just as in the world we are counted by the virtuous as wives, sons, and disciples, so too should you understand yourself.” Thus, in that sacred forest, amid sorrow and love, the brothers and their kin stood united in dharma, each upholding the ancient and revered ways of their lineage.