Bharata, overwhelmed by sorrow and devotion, approached Rama with earnest entreaty. He addressed his elder brother, “O bestower of honor, please accept the kingdom in proper order and in accordance with righteousness, and bring joy to your friends. Let the earth, with you as her lord, no longer remain widowed—just as the spotless moon brightens the autumn night. Along with these ministers, I bow my head and implore you; as your brother, disciple, and servant, you ought to show me your favor. O tiger among men, do not transgress this eternal and ancestral circle of subjects, which has always been respected.” Having spoken thus, the mighty-armed Bharata, son of Kaikeyi, tears streaming from his eyes, again respectfully touched Rama’s feet with his head, following custom. Rama, seeing his brother sighing repeatedly like a maddened elephant, embraced Bharata and spoke gently: “You are noble-born, virtuous, radiant, and steadfast in your vows; how could someone like you commit any wrong for the sake of the kingdom? I see not the slightest fault in you, O destroyer of foes, nor should you reproach your mother for her ignorance. O wise and blameless one, the will of elders must always be obeyed, especially concerning suitable spouses and sons. Just as in the world we are counted by the virtuous as wives, sons, and disciples, so too should you understand yourself. Whether I dwell in the forest, wearing bark and antelope skin, or in the kingdom as a great king, it is for him to decide—our father alone. As long as there is respect for the righteous father, honored by the world, so too, O best of the righteous, should there be respect for the mother. O Raghava, since I have been sent to the forest by these two righteous parents, how could I act otherwise? You should obtain the kingdom of Ayodhya, honored by the world, while I must dwell in the Dandaka forest, clothed in bark. Thus, having made this division in the presence of the people, the great king, having given his commands, ascended to heaven. That king, your father, righteous and a teacher of the world, is the authority; you should enjoy the share allotted to you by him. O gentle one, for fourteen years I shall dwell in the Dandaka forest and enjoy the portion given to me by my great-souled father. Whatever my great father, honored among men and like the lord of the gods, told me, I consider that alone to be for the highest good—not even the sovereignty over all the worlds.” Thus ended the one hundred and fourth sarga in the glorious Ayodhya Kanda of the holy Ramayana, composed by sage Valmiki. As the night passed, filled with grief among those lion-like men and their friends, dawn arrived. Bharata and his brothers, surrounded by their companions, performed the morning oblation and recitation at the Mandakini River, then approached Rama. They sat together in silence; no one spoke. At last, Bharata, in the midst of his friends, addressed Rama: “My mother, having been appeased, has given this kingdom to me; I now give it to you—enjoy the kingdom without hindrance. Like a dam broken by a great rush of water, this vast portion of the kingdom cannot be held by anyone but you. Just as one cannot follow the speed of a horse or the flight of Garuda, so am I unable to keep pace with your course, O king. One who is always supported by others lives easily; but, O Rama, it is hard for him who lives off others. Just as a tree planted and nurtured by a man grows tall, with a thick trunk, and becomes difficult for a short person to climb, so when that tree flowers but does not bear fruit, the one who planted it does not enjoy the satisfaction for which he raised it. This is the analogy, O mighty-armed one; you should understand its meaning. If you are the chief among us, then do not rule over your servants. Let the foremost guilds and all the people, O great king, see you, unconquerable by enemies, shining in the kingdom like the blazing sun. Let the intoxicated elephants trumpet in your procession, O descendant of Kakutstha; let the women of the inner palace rejoice with full attention.” Hearing Bharata’s words, the citizens and all the people approved, saying, “Well spoken!” and entreated Rama again. Seeing Bharata so afflicted and lamenting, Rama, steadfast in self-control, comforted him: “A person does not act according to his own will; he is not his own master. From here and there, Death drags him along. All accumulations end in depletion; all elevations end in a fall; all unions end in separation; and life itself ends in death. Just as ripe fruits have no fear except of falling, so for one who is born, there is no fear except of death. Just as a house, though built with strong pillars, decays and collapses when old, so too do people, subject to old age and death, decline. The night that passes does not return; the full-flowing Yamuna moves only toward the ocean filled with water. Days and nights pass for all living beings here; they swiftly diminish their lifespans, like the sun’s rays drying up water in summer. Grieve for yourself—why grieve for another? For one’s lifespan diminishes, whether one stays or departs.” Thus Rama spoke, gently guiding Bharata and all assembled, upholding the path of dharma and the will of their departed father.