Rama, steadfast and noble, spoke to Bharata with gentle resolve: “O Raghava,” he said, “since I have been sent to the forest by our two righteous parents, how could I act otherwise? You should accept the kingdom of Ayodhya, honored by the world, while I must dwell in the Dandaka forest, clothed in bark. The great king, our father, made this division openly before the people, and having given his commands, he ascended to heaven. He, your father and mine, righteous and a teacher to the world, is our authority; you should enjoy the share allotted to you by him. For fourteen years, gentle Bharata, I shall remain in the Dandaka forest and accept the portion given to me by our great-souled father. Whatever that great father, honored among men and like the lord of the gods, instructed me, I consider that alone to be for the highest good—not even the sovereignty of all the worlds tempts me otherwise.” 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, those lion-hearted brothers, surrounded by their bands of friends, grieved together in sorrow. When dawn broke bright, Bharata and his companions performed the morning oblations and recitations by the Mandakini River, then approached Rama. They sat together in silence; no one spoke a word. At length, Bharata, surrounded by his friends, addressed Rama: “My mother, having been appeased, has given this kingdom to me; but I 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 match 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 and thick, becoming 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 people of all kinds approved, saying, “Well spoken!” and entreated Rama again. Seeing the illustrious 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 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. Our father, the lord of the earth, righteous and purified by all auspicious sacrifices with proper gifts, has gone to heaven. By properly supporting his servants, protecting his people, and giving wealth righteously, our father has attained the third heaven.