Bharata could not speak. He was anxious to follow the words of his preceptor, as he had been taught. Yet his thoughts dwelled on Rāma, who had been treated so unjustly on his behalf. His mind whirled. When he spoke, his lips trembled and his voice shook with emotion. “How could a son of Dasharatha become a throne-snatcher? I would surely go to hell if I accepted the repulsive arrangement my mother contrived for me.”
His voice stopped shaking and he now spoke with conviction. “I will go to the forest. I will try diligently to persuade Rāma, who is enlightened among men, to return to his rightful place on the throne of Ayodhyā. If I cannot, then I will live with him in the forest with Lakshmana.” All who heard his words shed tears of joy, knowing that the righteous Bharata was determined to bring back their beloved Rāma.
Bharata saw the people nodding their heads and smiling in agreement. “The road is now ready. Let us start at first light!”
The people cheered and cheered in an ovation that went on for many minutes.
Vasishtha, seeing the will of the people, gave Bharata his blessings. Immediately, Bharata instructed Sumantra to ready the army. “Prepare my chariot as well,” he said.
Everyone in Ayodhyā rushed home to prepare for the journey. The next morning, as the first rays of the rising sun streaked the horizon, Bharata and Shatrughna set out in their chariot. Ahead rode the ministers and Brahmins in grand horse-drawn chariots sparkling with gold. Behind marched the army, mounted on elephants, chariots, and horses. Kausalyā, Sumitrā, and Kaikeyī followed in their royal chariots, and then the village elders, who were honored for their wisdom. Wealthy citizens, merchants, artisans, and physicians—all the people of Ayodhyā, wearing spotless new clothing, their bodies adorned with jewels and smeared with dyes in auspicious hues—rode horses, camels, and elephants.
Filled with gladness to be ending the painful separation from their adored Rāma, the entire procession crept along the new royal highway, which followed the path Rāma had taken.
After a few days, they reached the bank of the Gangā, and Bharata directed the army to spread into camps to spend the night. Then he said to Shatrughna, “I will perform oblations in the river on behalf of our departed father.” He dipped in the purifying waters of the Gangā and prayed that he would be able to persuade Rāma to return to Ayodhyā.
As Bharata finished his evening meditation and prayers and joined his ministers, he was unaware that hundreds of eyes watched him. Guha, the forest king, and his warriors were hidden behind a rise of land above the river. They surveyed the sprawling army that swallowed the banks of the river.
“What can Bharata have in mind?” wondered Guha, who was ever faithful to Rāma. “Does he wish to destroy us and Rāma with that ocean of an army?”
Thinking awhile, he formed a sensible plan. “Send all our boats to the spot along the Gangā where the army is camped,” he ordered. “Let each boat be armed with youthful marksmen to guard against anyone crossing the river. Fill the boats with food, fish, roots, and fruits. We will offer this food to Bharata if he proves his faithfulness to Rāma.”
Then Guha and his ministers walked on foot through the forest to meet Bharata, followed by people carrying welcoming gifts of food and drink.
Guha greeted Bharata as warmly as he had greeted Rāma. “Your army is welcome to stop here tonight for nourishing food and entertainment. All that is ours is yours.”
Bharata, who recognized Guha from their time as fellow students at Vasishtha’s āshram, graciously thanked the forest king. “Dear friend of my brother, how can I cross this wide river, and how can I find Bharadvāja’s hermitage through the tangle of thorns and foliage that awaits us on the other side?”
The faithful Guha, even though he could see that Bharata’s army was formidable, said simply, “My fishermen and I can take you. But first, please tell me your intentions. I pray you do not harbor hostile feelings for the innocent Rāma, for this massive army makes me wonder.”
Blameless as the sky, Bharata felt no anger, but answered earnestly, “Please, do not suspect me of wrongdoing. Rāma is my father, my brother, my master. I wish only to persuade him to return with me. That is the truth, dear Guha.”
Relieved beyond words, Guha at last relaxed and smiled widely. “Then you are blessed, to give up a kingdom for the love of your brother. Surely, your fame will never end in all the three worlds.”
That night, as Bharata tried to sleep in the place where his brother had camped, he felt the heavy weight of despair returning. Undeserving of such pain, the righteous Bharata nonetheless felt sadness burning his heart like a flame in the hollow of a tree. And like an avalanche, it obliterated his hopes and smothered his happiness.
The next morning, Guha saw Bharata’s dejected mood and tried to reassure him with stories of Rāma’s stay by the Gangā. He pointed to a distant banyan tree. “That is where your brother Lakshmana refused to sleep, so faithful was he in guarding your brother.” Guha told how the two young warriors matted their locks before boarding the boat with Sītā.
When he heard that his brothers now traveled as mendicants with matted locks, Bharata sank to the ground as if struck by an arrow. Shatrughna tried to comfort him, but overcome with sorrow, he also fell down.
Mother Kausalyā, seeing her sons’ distress, tenderly bent over Bharata, uttering gentle and motherly words. “Bharata, are you well? The hope of the Ikshvākus now rests with you, for with Rāma and King Dasharatha gone, you are our only salvation. Have you heard some bad news of Rāma? Pray tell us.”
Realizing that he should not upset Mother Kausalyā, Bharata struggled to his feet. “Please, Guha, show me the hallowed spot where Rāma spent the night,” he entreated Rāma’s friend, even as he wept. “Tell me what he ate.”
Guha gladly recalled the details, and then Bharata, followed by his mothers and ministers, walked to the ingudī tree whose branches had sheltered Rāma while he slept. Staring at the leaves, Bharata said softly, “Because of me the noble-born Rāma spent the night on the hard forest floor, his stomach empty, bereft of blankets to keep him warm. Here the tender Sītā joined him; here you can see the threads her garments left in the grass. My mind is dazed at this nightmare.”
Then he made a solemn vow. “From this day on, I will lie on the ground, eat roots and fruits, and wear matted locks and robes of tree-bark cloth. I will live happily in the forest with Shatrughna, to fulfill Rāma’s pledge. Rāma will return to rule Ayodhyā with Lakshmana.” Heartened by this plan, he stopped weeping.
The next day, Bharata and his army crossed the River Gangā in Guha’s gaily decorated fishing boats, their colorful sails billowing in the wind. The elephants splashed in the water.
On the other side, Bharata and Shatrughna left the army behind and traveled on foot to Bharadvāja’s hermitage, accompanied by Vasishtha and his ministers. When they saw the quiet abode in the distance, the two princes shed their weapons and approached with reverence.
Inside the āshram, the venerable sage greeted them with refreshing fruit juices to drink and water to bathe their feet. He inquired after the family, kingdom, treasury, and army, tactfully not mentioning King Dasharatha. In turn, Bharata and Vasishtha asked about the sage’s health, his yagya fires, his trees and birds and beasts.
After they had welcomed each other with kind words, Bharadvāja asked, “What brings you here, dear Bharata, when you should be ruling the kingdom? I hope you do not wish to do injury to your brother, who has been exiled.”
The pure-hearted Bharata could not bear such unkind words. “My life is a failure, if a blessed sage such as you thinks such ill thoughts about me,” he said, his eyes flooding with tears. “I have not agreed to what my mother arranged in my absence. I have come here to ask Rāma to rule. I pray, grant me your blessings for this worthy task. Please, tell me where Rāma is now.”
Pleased with his answer, the great sage said, “You are truly a son of th
e Ikshvākus, for you speak with self-control, obeying your elders, keeping to the ways of the good. I knew your mind before you spoke, but by so answering my question, you have enhanced your glory. You will find Rāma, Sītā, and Lakshmana on Chitrakūta Mountain. But grant me one wish: stay here with your army today.”
Bharadvāja instructed Bharata to bring his entire army to the quiet āshram. Then he used his considerable yogic powers to lavish Bharata’s army with food, drink, and entertainment as could only be found in heaven. Servants served mounds of delicious, steaming food on golden platters. They poured sweet drinks from crystal urns. Celestial Gandharvas and dancers delighted the senses. Cool breezes wiped away all fatigue, and the heavens showered fragrant flower blossoms like rain. Far into the night the soldiers danced and celebrated, yet when they awoke at dawn they felt refreshed and invigorated.
In the morning Bharata and his mothers waited patiently by Bharadvāja’s hut to bid him goodbye. The hospitable sage completed his morning meditation and stepped outside. He asked kindly, “And did your army pass the night comfortably?”
Bharata expressed his thanks again and again for the uncommon welcome they had received from the generous sage, far more lavish than any ruler on earth could have provided. Then the three mothers respectfully circled the celebrated Rishi. Kaikeyī, her eyes cast downward, scorned by all the world, fell to the sage’s feet in a silent plea, and then withdrew to one side.
Seeing Kaikeyī’s distress, the compassionate sage said to Bharata, “I would like to know more about your mothers.”
Bharata began introducing them with love and respect. “Mother Kausalyā, the king’s first wife and mother of the illustrious Rāma, who is wan from fasting and grief, is known the world over for her piety. Mother Sumitrā, who is so weak from fasting that she holds her arm in her hand, wilting like a flower, is the good mother of the valiant Lakshmana and Shatrughna.”
But when it came to introducing his own mother, his voice cracked and he wept in despair. “It is because of my cruel mother Kaikeyī that my brother has been banished and King Dasharatha has gone to his death, and my days are numbered by ignominy and heartbreak. It is because of her selfish and vain ways that you find us in this deplorable condition.”
Then the wise Bharadvāja said gently, “You must not think this way about your mother, O Bharata, for this exile of Rāma will bring happiness to all. All good will come to sages, gods, and men as a result of Rāma’s banishment.”
Heartened by these words, Bharata set out for Chitrakūta Mountain.
You must not think this way about your mother, O Bharata,
for this exile of Rāma will bring happiness to all.
—Ayodhyā Kānda 92.30
CHAPTER 16
Bharata Debates Rāma
Do you honor Vasishtha, our family’s preceptor,
as you would our father?
Do you pay homage to the gods, your ancestors,
the ministers, Brahmins, and physicians?
Are your ministers good-hearted and noble,
masters of their senses?
Are they incorruptible,
honest, and wise?
Do you listen to their advice?
For that is the source of
victory for a king.
Do you nightly reflect on ways
to ensure success for your kingdom?
Do you treat your military leader,
master of mantra-propelled missiles,
with due respect?
Is the leader of your army
brave and adventurous,
honest, devoted, and skillful?
Do you honor courageous
officers with gifts?
Do you pay your army on time?
Is your messenger learned,
alert, highly intelligent,
and precise in speaking?
Do you keep the ministers under
your rule informed
as to your goals and desires?
Are you aware of plans
your ministers make among themselves?
Do you prefer one wise advisor
to a passel of fools?
For one prudent counselor
can lead a king to success.
Do you choose enterprises that cost little
yet bring great return?
Do you act on your plans immediately without procrastinating?
Do you manage your servants
according to their merits,
giving those who are superior
work that is superior,
and those who are inferior
tasks that are inferior?
Do you study the Veda?
Do you follow the path
of our father, our grandfather,
and all who are honorable?
Are the leading citizens of your kingdom
devoted to you with their whole hearts?
Do you share your meals with friends?
These were the questions
Rāma asked of Bharata
when they met
on Chitrakūta Mountain.
For the king who governs his subjects
with fairness, who is just to all,
conquers the world
and finds his place in heaven.
Rāma and Sītā sat on the grassy banks of the pure River Mandākinī, basking in the warm sun after bathing in the cool waters. The lilt of birdsong mingled with a gentle breeze, and shady trees cooled the earth.
Rāma offered Sītā choice pieces of jambu fruit. “Try this rose-apple,” he said. “And this one is even more tender.”
Suddenly, in the quiet forest they heard a sound like the trampling of elephants. Herds of deer fled the river banks. Rāma asked Lakshmana, who was always near, to climb a tall arjuna tree to see what was happening.
“I see an army shrouded by billowing dust clouds,” Lakshmana called down from the top of the tree. “It is advancing on us quickly. Take Sītā to a cave, and string your bow and arrow.”
“Look again,” said Rāma. “Do you see a standard?”
“I see nothing but the chariot of Bharata,” said Lakshmana in tones that could scorch the earth, “driving his horses like a madman. The throne was not enough for him. Now he comes to kill us.”
Lakshmana scrambled down the tree and grabbed his bow. “Let’s take our place on the mountain or, if you prefer, make our stand here. How I long to face Bharata, the cause of all our woes. Today I will let loose the arrows of my wrath, so long stored.”
“What good would it do to attack the virtuous Bharata, who comes to me with an open heart?” asked Rāma patiently. “What good would the throne do me if it were tainted by my brother’s blood? I say this with all truth: I desire only the fruits of righteous living.
“Surely Bharata returned to Ayodhyā,” Rāma continued, “and finding that I was in exile with matted locks, is coming in all love to offer me the throne. He could never harm us. What has he ever done to you, to cause you to fear him today? Know this: an insult to him is an insult to me. How could a son think to strike down his father or his brother, as dear to him as his own life? If it is the kingdom you want, then I will tell Bharata, and he will willingly give it all to you.”
Hearing the honorable Rāma’s words, Lakshmana’s anger drained away like water down a slope. To cover his shame, he said, “I think it is our father who comes today.”
“Yes,” said Rāma, smiling now. “He has probably come to take us home or to fetch Sītā. Here I see his ancient elephant, swaying like an oak in the wind. But where is his standard? Let us go to the hermitage and wait for them.”
Later that day, Bharata left the army behind and continued on foot, fanning out with Sumantra, Guha, and his hunters to search the forest f
or Rāma. As he drew near Rāma’s hermitage, he said, “See how Lakshmana has marked the trees, to make it easier to find his way in the dark.” Bharata’s heart lightened now that he would soon reunite with his beloved Rāma.
Finally Bharata reached Rāma’s hut. A thick arbor stood nearby, covered with vines, pine boughs, and palm leaves and decorated with the golden quivers and sunbeam swords of Rāma and Lakshmana. Neat stacks of wood and mountains of flowers filled the yard. Through the open doorway he could see that the dirt floor of the hut was spread with auspicious kusha grass. By the light of the sacred fire flickering across his brother’s noble features, Bharata could just barely discern Rāma sitting before an altar inside.
Bharata was overcome with emotion. “Because of me, the highly-esteemed son of Dasharatha, born to be waited on in luxury, now sits on the ground wearing scratchy robes of bark. Dust covers his body—he who was once anointed with rare sandalwood paste and wore silken robes. I should be struck down, shunned for this cruel injustice and hated by all.” Entering the hut, his face bathed in perspiration and tears, he fell at Rāma’s feet, able to articulate only one word, Ārya (noble one).
Rāma wept as he embraced Bharata, Shatrughna, Sumantra, and Guha. Then Rāma drew Bharata to him again and fondly kissed the crown of his head. “I hardly recognize you of the mighty arms, for your face is so pale and your limbs are so thin.”
Then he began to question Bharata on the state of the kingdom. “How is my father? I trust that you are looking after him. I fear he is not well, or else why would you come here? And how are our mothers? Are the people prosperous and contented?” One by one, he thoughtfully inquired about all the affairs of the kingdom and gave Bharata advice.
“O beloved brother, what use is political science to me, when I have fallen from my Dharma?” cried Bharata. “Come to Ayodhyā with me now. I beg you, take the mantle of the throne. For as soon as you left Ayodhyā, our father joined the gods in heaven. Thinking only of you, his heart stricken with sorrow, he clung to the thought of you at his death.”
The Ramayana Page 13