In the first phase of the night, Bharata sat surrounded by humanity’s music and soothing melodies, yet a tempest of thoughts ensnared his mind. The echoes of past atrocities and shadows of future uncertainties wrestled within him. Though his resolve remained steadfast, he feared that Rama’s virtue, simplicity, and unwavering values might undermine his own genuine intentions to uphold the sacred traditions of their ancestors. Torn by anxiety and the weight of unanswered questions, he suspended the long-held custom of songs and chants throughout the four quarters of the night.
The conch shells blared, and trumpets heralded the approach of dawn. Upon hearing these regal sounds, Bharata turned to Shatrughna and declared, “I am not a king; I am Bharata, son of Dasharatha and brother of Rama. Cease this royal welcome at once.” With a heavy heart, he reflected on the chain of inauspicious events triggered by Kaikeyi’s treachery. “Our father, the protector of dharma, a descendant of the illustrious Ikshvaku lineage, bore the weight of sorrow and departed for the heavens. A moment of delusion cast our kingdom and family into a stormy, rudderless ocean. The honest virtues that Rama embodies, now lying dormant in the forest, must guide us back to righteousness.”
Overcome with emotion, Bharata collapsed, tears streaming from his eyes, distressing those around him. As the darkness receded with the dawn, the venerable sage Vasishtha, resplendent with the brilliance of dharma, entered the royal court. Accompanied by a chorus of Vedic hymns, he seated himself among scholars and ministers, embodying the essence of the Vedic order. Addressing the gathered assembly, Vasishtha instructed messengers to summon Brahmins, Kshatriyas, merchants, teachers, and leaders of the people, declaring an urgent council to address a matter of grave importance.
In swift compliance, emissaries carried Vasishtha’s command, and soon, chariots, horses, and elephants bore Ayodhya’s dignitaries toward the court. The air was alive with the informal notes of war bugles, instilling confidence in the people and dispelling their despair. Hope began to glimmer, and the citizens dared to believe in the restoration of Ayodhya’s former glory.
When Bharata entered the assembly, he was greeted not with the pomp of royal ceremony but with reverence for the values deeply ingrained in his heart. The court, vibrant with purpose, resembled a pond brimming with life. Radiating calm like the full moon amid a constellation of stars, Bharata acknowledged the assembly with a composed demeanor. Vasishtha rose and spoke:
“Prince Bharata, your father, King Dasharatha, ruled Ayodhya with unparalleled vision, compassion, and strength. His wisdom transformed every resource into prosperity, elevating this kingdom beyond measure. Rama, steadfast in dharma, followed his father’s word, embodying truth and virtue. This prosperous throne, free of blemish, is now entrusted to you. The counsel of ministers, inheritors of your father’s just governance, stands ready to assist you. Accept the crown and fulfill your duty to the Ikshvaku lineage.”
Bharata closed his eyes, lost in contemplation. “O Sage,” he replied, “can anyone dare claim the throne that belongs to Rama, the embodiment of virtue and truth? How can the sons of Dasharatha compromise the sacred standards set by their forebears? I am Rama’s servant, unworthy to ascend this throne. Future generations would curse me for usurping what is rightfully his. I cannot condone my mother’s treachery. I vow to bring Rama back to Ayodhya. If I fail, I shall remain in the forest alongside him.”
The assembly resounded with approval for Bharata’s righteous stance. He vowed to marshal all efforts to bring Rama back for the welfare of Ayodhya. Already, paths to the forest were being cleared, and a grand entourage prepared for the journey. Bharata commanded Sumantra to assemble the fourfold army. Enthused by the prince’s resolve, citizens and soldiers alike rallied to the cause, eager to partake in the noble mission.
As Bharata mounted a sturdy chariot drawn by noble horses, his heart brimmed with steadfastness and sincerity. A sea of carriages, elephants, and horses followed him, carrying the collective faith, responsibility, and traditions of Ayodhya. In this extraordinary journey, the values of the Ikshvaku lineage converged on a singular purpose: the rightful return of Rama, the paragon of truth and virtue, to his destined throne.