The sorrowful news of King Dasharatha’s demise, delivered by Bharata, sent a shock wave through Rama’s heart, leaving him reluctant to accept the grim reality. Overwhelmed with grief, he collapsed to the ground like a mighty elephant brought low by a mortal blow. Sita, Lakshmana, and his brothers quickly splashed water on his face, reviving him. Regaining consciousness, Rama broke into bitter tears and lamented to Bharata, saying:
“Brother, when our father has ascended to the heavens, what purpose does Ayodhya serve for me? Who shall rule the kingdom now, in the absence of such a noble and wise king? He left this world, bearing the grief of my exile, and I was unable to perform his last rites. What use am I as a son if I could not be by his side in his final moments? O Bharata, you and Shatrughna are truly fortunate and blessed to have performed his funeral rites on time. I, burdened by the weight of guilt for causing his death, cannot return to Ayodhya, even after my exile in the forest. When I return, who shall guide me? Earlier, it was he who would correct my faults and illuminate the path of righteousness. Each word from his lips was a melody of wisdom and comfort. Who will speak to me thus now?”
Turning to Sita and Lakshmana, Rama mourned:
“Sita, your father-in-law is no more. O Lakshmana, we are fatherless now. Bharata has brought us this tragic news.”
Hearing his anguish, Bharata and Shatrughna wept bitterly. The brothers embraced and consoled Rama, urging him to perform the last rites near the riverbank. Sita, stricken with sorrow, could hardly face Rama. Gathering his resolve, Rama said, “Let us conduct the post-death rituals. Bring sesame seeds and a simple cloth. Sita shall lead, you follow her, and I shall walk behind. This walk for my father’s final rites is a journey of deep anguish.”
Thus, with profound reverence, they proceeded to the sacred Mandakini River. Guided by Sumantra, the loyal minister and well-wisher of King Dasharatha’s family, they chanted Vedic hymns as they prepared for the ceremonies. Rama, standing on the southern bank of the river, offered water cupped in his hands, saying:
“O revered father, be satisfied with this sacred water offered to you in these last rites. May it reach you in abundance and bring you peace.”
On the far side of the river, Rama prepared a simple offering of flour-based food for his ancestors and his father. With tearful eyes, he murmured, “O father, whatever I eat, I offer to you as tradition demands, that it may be acceptable to the gods as sacred prasadam.” Having completed the rituals, they crossed back and returned to the hermitage on Mount Chitrakuta.
As they reached the hermitage, Rama held Bharata and Lakshmana close, their cries echoing like the roar of lions across the mountain caves. Soldiers, citizens, and the entourage of Ayodhya, who had come seeking Rama, were alarmed by the reverberating lamentations. The sound of galloping horses, rumbling chariots, and the marching of elephants filled the forest, creating a cacophony like distant tremors of an earthquake.
The dust raised by the advancing procession formed thick clouds, striking fear into the hearts of birds and beasts alike. The wilderness came alive with frantic movements—elephants trumpeting, boars and deer fleeing, serpents slithering away, and birds filling the skies with their cries of panic.
When the multitude reached the hermitage, they found the great Rama seated on the bare ground, grief-stricken yet radiant, like a celestial being cast down from the heavens. The people of Ayodhya, led by Sage Vasishta and the queens, approached him with reverence and sorrow. Queen Kausalya, seeing the remnants of the ritual offerings, lamented:
“My noble son, who once lived in wealth and luxury, has now offered such austere tributes to his father. Though appropriate for his ascetic life, my heart aches to see such a great king honored with modest offerings. Yet, I take solace in the righteousness of my son.”
Moved by her words, the other women consoled Kausalya as they entered the ashram. There, Rama greeted them humbly, touching their feet and bowing in reverence. Sita, weeping, saluted her mother-in-law, who embraced her like their own daughter.
Kausalya, in deep anguish, lamented to Sita:
“O daughter of King Janaka, wife of the virtuous Rama, and daughter-in-law of the great King Dasharatha, how you endure this austere life in the forest pains my soul. You are like a lotus scorched by the sun, a golden ornament cast into the dust, or the moon veiled by heavy clouds. Your suffering burns my heart.”
Rama then approached Sage Vasishta, bowing with folded hands. The sage blessed him, and together, Rama, Bharata, Shatrughna, and the citizens of Ayodhya gathered to discuss the fate of the kingdom. The confluence of family, sages, ministers, and the people brought hope of a resolution in harmony with dharma. This moment, filled with wisdom and devotion, promised to stand as a timeless example for future generations—a milestone in the annals of the royal lineage, aligned with the divine design of fate.
