Messengers from Ayodhya arrived at Bharata’s abode, bearing urgent tidings. That very night, Bharata was plagued by a dreadful dream, the ominous visions of which he confided to his friends. His heart, laden with unease, could not find solace despite the soothing strains of music and the allure of a dance performance arranged to uplift his spirits. A persistent shadow of foreboding lingered upon his mind.
One childhood friend, perplexed by Bharata’s somber demeanor, questioned him, saying, “I have never seen you in such a state. We have endeavored to bring you joy, but to no avail. It seems your thoughts dwell on some strange vision. Pray, share it with us, so we may offer you relief.”
Bharata spoke, his voice laden with distress: “In my dream, I beheld my father, clad in rags, his hair unkempt, leaping from a high mountain into a pit of filth. He floated in the mire, laughing maniacally, his body smeared with oil, which he drank from his cupped hands as though it were a dish. Later, he ate rice mixed with black sesame seeds, his head often drooping as he applied oil to his body, eventually sinking into a pool of it.
“I saw the ocean drained of water, the moon fallen to earth, and a blanket of darkness enshrouding all, rendering nothing visible. A grand procession of a king atop a mighty elephant ended in calamity when the tusk of the beast fell to the ground. Sacred fires were abruptly extinguished, the earth cracked open, trees withered, and hills crumbled, releasing clouds of dust across the land.
“The most terrifying image was my father, dressed in black robes, seated on an iron throne, mocked by women with black and red faces. My noble father, adorned with a red garland and smeared with red paste, was swiftly drawn southward in a chariot pulled by fat donkeys. A hideous demon, clad in red, laughed as he dragged the king along. According to learned scholars, such a vision portends death for the one journeying southward in such a manner. This dream has filled my heart with dread and left me paralyzed with grief. I fear I may never see my father again.”
Even as Bharata shared his harrowing vision, the messengers, having passed through all security posts, reached the city of Rajagrahapura. They prostrated before the Kekaya king, offering due respect, and addressed Bharata: “Vasiṣṭha inquires after your welfare and summons you immediately to Ayodhya for urgent matters. Take these treasures—valued at ten crores—and present them to your maternal uncle, as well as these garments and ornaments for your grandfather, valued at twenty crores.”
Bharata, graciously accepting the gifts, honored the messengers and asked, “Is my father, King Dasaratha, well? Are Rama and Lakṣmaṇa in good health? Is my venerable mother, Kausalyā, safe? And Sumitrā, the noble mother of Lakṣmaṇa and Śatrughna? What of my mother Kaikeyī, whose anger and pride are well known—what message does she send?”
The messengers, with practiced composure, replied, “O noble Bharata, all those whose well-being you desire are safe and sound. Fortune smiles upon you—depart without delay.”
Receiving his grandfather’s blessings and parting gifts of elephants, gold, and fine blankets, Bharata sought leave from his relatives. Accompanied by Śatrughna, soldiers, chariots, camels, and horses, he set forth. Crossing rivers and forests, Bharata traversed vast terrains: the Sudāman, Hlādinī, and Śatadru rivers, sacred villages, and the dense Bharunda forest. He rested briefly before resuming his swift journey, ultimately reaching the gates of Ayodhya on the seventh day.
As dawn broke, Bharata beheld the city built by Manu, now shrouded in an eerie stillness. The bustling streets, fragrant breezes, and cheerful sounds were replaced by silence and desolation. He spoke to his charioteer, his voice heavy with foreboding: “This place, once vibrant and joyous, now bears an air of calamity. I fear for my kin. Something grave has occurred.”
With a heart burdened by dread, Bharata entered the palace, observing the absence of routine activities and the somber faces of its inhabitants. As he approached his father’s chambers, an overwhelming sense of grief seized him. Bowing his head, he prepared to face the truth of his vision, knowing it heralded a turning point in the destiny of the Ikṣvāku lineage.
