Rāma spoke with gentle conviction, explaining that one repays their parents as best as possible by giving what one can, by bathing and clothing them, by always speaking kindly, and by nurturing them. He declared, “My father is Daśaratha, the king and my progenitor; whatever command he has given me will never be disregarded.” When Rāma had spoken thus, Bharata, noble-hearted and deeply distressed, immediately turned to his charioteer and said, “Quickly spread kuśa grass for me here on the ground, O charioteer. I will sit facing my noble brother until he is pleased with me.” Bharata resolved to lie there without food, without light, deprived of wealth like a twice-born ascetic, before the shelter, until Rāma returned. Seeing Rāma, Sumitra, also distressed, placed a kuśa mat on the ground and himself lay upon it. Rāma, the illustrious royal sage, addressed Bharata gently, asking, “Why, O Bharata, do you wish to sit beside me as I do this?” He explained that while a brāhmaṇa may sit in protest to restrain men, for those who have been anointed, there is no prescribed sitting in protest. “Rise up, O tiger among men,” Rāma urged. “Abandon this harsh vow; swiftly go to Ayodhyā, the foremost city, O Rāghava.” But Bharata remained seated, looking all around at the townspeople and countryfolk. He asked them, “Why do you not instruct my noble brother?” The townspeople and countryfolk replied to the great-souled Bharata, “We recognize Kakutstha; Rāghava speaks rightly. He too, greatly fortunate, abides by his father’s command; therefore, we are not able to turn him aside directly.” Hearing their words, Rāma spoke, “Listen to the words of friends who see with the eye of righteousness.” He continued, “Having heard both these matters fully and rightly, Rāghava, arise, O mighty-armed one, and touch the water along with me.” Then, having risen and touched the water, Bharata addressed the assembly, counselors, and guilds, saying, “I do not ask my father for the kingdom, nor do I command my mother; I do not permit the noble Rāghava, knower of the highest dharma. If it is absolutely necessary to fulfill my father’s command, then I myself will dwell in the forest for fourteen years.” Rāma, astonished by his brother’s truthful words, looked upon the citizens and countryfolk and spoke, “What was promised, pledged, and granted by my living father cannot be undone either by me or by Bharata. I must not act contrary to dharma, nor is forest-dwelling to be despised by me; what was rightly spoken by Kaikeyī and done by my father was well done. I know Bharata to be patient and one who honors elders; in this matter, all is well with this great soul, steadfast in truth. When I return from the forest with this righteous brother, I shall become, together with him, the foremost lord of the earth. The king, at Kaikeyī’s urging, was bound by my promise; let Bharata free that great king, our father, from falsehood.” Thus ended the one hundred and eleventh sarga in the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. The assembled great sages, amazed at the meeting of the two brothers whose energy was incomparable, felt their hair stand on end. Groups of seers and perfected sages, though invisible, praised the two great-souled sons of Kakutstha. They exclaimed, “Blessed is he whose two sons are both wise in dharma and mighty in righteousness. Hearing their conversation, we all long for such sons.” Then the groups of seers, eager for the destruction of the ten-headed Rāvaṇa, quickly gathered and spoke to Bharata, the tiger among kings, “Born in a noble line, great in wisdom, conduct, and fame, you should accept Rāma’s words if you regard your father. We wish that Rāma may always be free of debt to his father; and because of Kaikeyī, Daśaratha has attained heaven, being free from debt.” Having spoken these words, the Gandharvas, great sages, and royal sages all departed to their own abodes. Delighted by those auspicious words, Rāma, whose appearance was radiant, honored the sages with a joyful face. Bharata, his limbs weakened, with hands joined and voice trembling, again spoke to Rāghava: “Considering royal duty and the tradition of our lineage, you ought to fulfill the request of my mother and myself, O Kakutstha. I alone am not able to protect this vast kingdom, nor to please the citizens and countryfolk who are devoted. Our kinsmen, warriors, friends, and companions all look to you alone, as farmers look to the raincloud. O wise one, establish and assume this kingdom; you are capable, O Kakutstha, of protecting the people.” Having spoken thus, Bharata then fell at his brother’s feet, earnestly beseeching Rāma, who spoke kindly. Placing his brother on his lap, Rāma—whose eyes were like lotus petals and whose voice resembled a drunken swan—spoke tenderly: “This resolve has come to you, your own and full of humility; you are indeed capable, dear one, of protecting even the earth.