Bharata stood near the sacred Stacco tree, addressing the grieving mothers: “This is the place where Rama rested. This humble grass bed, by fortune, served Rama, sanctifying every blade within it. How strange it is that Rama, born of nobility and divinity, must endure such hardship. A prince accustomed to the silken luxury of fine leather beds in royal chambers now lies upon this earthen mat. How does he endure such a stark contrast?
In the palace, Rama thrived amidst refinement, surrounded by courteous and gentle souls. His mornings began with divine music, the recitation of Vedic hymns, and the graceful movements of traditional dances, accompanied by the melodic chirping of tamed birds. Draped in the finest silks, tailored by master artisans, Rama was revered, his authority unquestioned. Yet now, this noble scion of Dasaratha treads the harsh wilderness, greeted not by melodies but by the roars of beasts, the hissing of serpents, and the unending chorus of insects. The cultured salutations of Ayodhya are replaced by the primal calls of forest dwellers.
And Sita, the delicate daughter of Rajarshi Janaka, now rests beside him on this humble grass. Is this not the play of time, the inescapable force that spares none—not even gods? Her steadfastness stems from her unwavering belief in her husband, Rama. Discarding wealth, power, crown, comforts, and even familial ties, Rama chose to honor his word. Such a commitment is unparalleled, a testament to his greatness.
Ayodhya remains under Rama’s protective aura. None dare cast an evil eye upon it while his fame and strength endure. To uphold Rama’s oath, I have resolved to complete his ascetic rituals in the forest, ensuring both his vow and Ayodhya’s welfare are preserved. With a vast entourage and army, I have come, leaving Ayodhya’s gates unguarded, yet none dare challenge its sanctity due to Rama’s invincible reputation. I pray that my sincere plea will move Rama to return and reclaim his throne.
As dawn broke over the Ganga, Bharata, having performed his morning rituals, noticed Satrughna still asleep. ‘How can you still slumber, Satrughna? We must soon continue our journey to Rama’s abode. Summon Guha to prepare our crossing.’ Satrughna, awakened, replied, ‘I have spent the night contemplating venerable Rama and could find no rest.’
At that moment, Guha, the noble tribal king, arrived and greeted them warmly. ‘O Princes, brothers of my dear friend Rama! I hope you are at ease in this sacred place that retains Rama’s divine presence.’ Bharata replied, ‘O King Guha, your care and respect are unparalleled. Help us now to cross this holy river.’
Guha commanded his men to ready the boats and ships. For the royal family, he prepared a grand ship, adorned and aptly named Swastika. Following tradition, sage Vasistha and the scholars boarded first, followed by Bharata, Satrughna, their mothers, and the entourage. Following camp protocol, the soldiers dismantled tents, salvaged what could be reused, and prepared to cross. Elephants and horses swam behind a guiding boat, urged on by blaring trumpets and conch shells.
Guha’s warriors skillfully navigated the river, bringing them to the hallowed grounds of Prayaga. Bharata instructed the entourage to rest. Sage Bharadwaja, accompanied by Vedic scholars, arrived to greet them, his presence suffused with divine grace. Bharata, captivated by the enchanting surroundings, marveled at the verdant beauty of the forest. Trees, heavy with ripe fruits, seemed to bow, offering their treasures. Butterflies and dragonflies danced in harmony with the gentle breeze, creating a symphony of nature.
Birds mimicked the sacred chants of the disciples, filling Bharata’s heart with divine joy. Parrots and peacocks seemed to welcome him with their melodic voices, while tender fawns nuzzled close, as if greeting a long-lost kin. Each tree and plant whispered tales, their rustling leaves a testament to the divine presence.
In the serene sanctuary of Sage Bharadwaja, all of Bharata’s weariness, grief, and worry dissolved. The harmony of nature, the affection of the animals, and the sacred atmosphere spoke of one truth: Rama’s return to Ayodhya was destined. In this moment, Bharata felt the universe’s intricate design, its mysteries unfathomable, yet its essence alive with love, faith, and hope.”
