Sita, steadfast and gentle, spoke to Rama with unwavering resolve. “Whether it is in the forest, clad in bark garments and black antelope skin, or in the kingdom as a great king, it is for you to decide where I should dwell,” she said. “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 the 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 could compare.” 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 sorrow for those lion-hearted men surrounded by friends, the dawn broke bright. Rama’s brothers, together with their companions, performed their morning ablutions and recitations on the banks of the Mandakini, and then approached Rama. They sat together in silence; not a word was spoken. But Bharata, in the midst of his friends, addressed Rama earnestly. “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 people and citizens all around approved, exclaiming, “Well spoken!” and entreated Rama again to accept the kingdom. Seeing the illustrious Bharata so afflicted and lamenting, Rama, steadfast in self-control, gently 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 do you grieve for another? For one’s lifespan diminishes, whether one stays or departs. Death goes together with a person, sits together with him, and after traveling a very long journey, returns together with him. “Wrinkles have appeared on the limbs, and the hair has turned white; a man is worn out by old age—what can he possibly accomplish then? People rejoice when the sun rises and rejoice when it sets, yet they do not realize the shortening of their own lifespan. They delight at seeing each new season arrive, but with the change of seasons, the life of living beings is diminished. “Just as one piece of wood meets another in the vast ocean, and after meeting, they part again when the time comes, so too do wives, sons, relatives, and friends come together and then disperse; their separation is indeed certain. No living being remains as they are; therefore, there is no power in lamenting for the departed. Just as someone standing on the road might say to a caravan passing by, ‘I too will come after you,’ so too is the path taken by our ancestors and forefathers, a certain way; having reached it, why should one grieve, since there is no deviation from it? As age declines and the current of life does not turn back, one should direct the mind toward happiness, for offspring are meant to enjoy happiness.” Thus, Rama spoke with wisdom and compassion, comforting Bharata and all those gathered, guiding them gently through their sorrow.