The noble Bharatha, that scion of the Raghu race, felt his soul throb with the thought: “Today I shall behold mine elder, my sovereign, my Rama, after the long tide of fourteen years.” The tidings of Rama’s victories stirred in him a bliss beyond earthly bounds, fulfilling the ancient wisdom of the sages—that whoso liveth with virtue and patience shall, even if for a hundred years, taste moments of rapture unmeasured. “I have lived for this holy hour,” thought he. Yet mingled with his joy was a wondering curiosity—how came Rama to be joined with the vanaras? “Tell me truly,” said Bharatha, “the manner of this alliance.”
Then Hanuman, the wise and valorous, spoke in crisp and noble words: “O Bharatha, prince of piety and might, thou knowest the tale of Queen Kaikeyi’s boons—the exile of Rama, the sorrow of thy sire which tore his soul to death, and how thou, summoned from the court of thy grandsire, refused the throne with resolute heart. Advised by rishis and counsellors, thou journeyed to Chitrakuta, supplicated Rama to return; but he, loyal to the word once given, would not. Thou returned with Rama’s blessed sandals—emblem of his sovereignty—and governed Ayodhya in his name.
Now hear what followed. When thou didst depart, Rama and Lakshmana journeyed further into forests wild and dense, filled with beasts, birds, and herds untamed. They entered the dread Dandaka, haunted by lions, tigers, and tusked elephants. There they encountered the rakshasa Viradha, roaring fierce, who raised his mighty arms—but Rama and Lakshmana, like gods in flesh, cast him into a pit and slew him. Thereafter, they came to the hermitage of sage Sarabhanga, who ascended to heaven before their eyes. Rama paid homage to the forest sages and made way to Janasthana.
There came the demoness Surpanakha, vile and lustful, who sought Rama. By Rama’s command, Lakshmana defaced her, and she fled wailing. Soon came a horde of fourteen thousand rakshasas, led by Khara, Dushana, and Trisiras—fell generals of wrath—but Rama, alone, slew them all in the space of one and a half muhurthas. In doing so, he restored peace to the rishis and protected their sacred rites.
Surpanakha, shamed and crazed, fled to Lanka and filled Ravana’s ears with her tale of woe. That vile king, driven by lust and pride, sent Maricha in the guise of a golden deer to lure Sita. She, enraptured by its beauty, begged Rama to capture it. He chased it, and with a shaft of piercing truth, struck it down. As Rama pursued the phantom, Ravana seized the moment and came cloaked as a mendicant. Like cruel Mars eclipsing Rohini, he stole Sita away.
The divine bird Jatayu rose in valor to halt the rakshasa, but Ravana wounded him mortally. With Sita in arms, the demon king soared in the Pushpaka Vimana, and the vanaras on mountain-tops beheld the abduction in awe. Ravana brought Sita to Lanka and offered her throne and jewels, but she deemed him lower than a straw and sat weeping beneath the Ashoka trees.
Rama returned, found the Ashram empty, and discovered Jatayu dying. The noble bird uttered Sita’s tale and ascended to heaven from Rama’s arms. Thereafter, the brothers wandered along the banks of the Godavari, where they met the demon Kabandha. Freed from his curse by Rama’s arrows, Kabandha counseled them to seek Sugreeva at Rishyamuka Hill.
Rama and Sugreeva met in mutual respect. Sugreeva, exiled by his brother Vali, found an ally in Rama. Rama slew Vali with a single shaft, restored Sugreeva’s kingdom, and received his solemn vow to aid in the search for Sita. By command, ten crore vanaras scoured all directions. We headed southward to the Vindhya Hills and lost our way. There, the elder brother of Jatayu, Sampati, told us that Sita was in Lanka.
Then I, Hanuman, leaped across the vast ocean, lifted by wind and will, to free my brethren from grief. In Lanka, I beheld Sita in the Ashoka grove, pale and worn, yet devout in mind and chaste in thought. I spoke with her, gave her Rama’s ring, received her jewel in token, and returned.
Rama, upon hearing her news, felt as though nectar had touched his lips. He resolved to destroy Lanka. At his word, Nala the engineer raised a bridge of rocks over the sea, and the simian host crossed into Lanka. Neela slew Prahastha; Lakshmana vanquished Indrajit; Rama struck down Kumbhakarna and, at last, Ravana himself. In that triumph, the gods rejoiced. Varuna and Brahma bestowed their grace; Shiva came with sages and thy late father, Dasaratha, to bless Rama.
Then Rama boarded the Pushpaka Vimana, that divine chariot wrought by Viswakarma and once gifted to Kubera by Brahma. Swift as thought, gleaming like the moon, it carried Rama, Lakshmana, Sita, Sugreeva, Vibhishana, and the vanaras to Kishkindha, and now it rests at Bharadwaja’s Ashram by the Ganga. Soon, O Bharatha, thy eyes shall feast upon Rama.
Bharatha, his heart a vessel of ecstasy, bowed low to Hanuman and said, “The longing of years is at last fulfilled.” Then, with haste, he instructed Shatrughna: “Let all temples resound with pure worship. Let singers and dancers, musicians and scholars, assemble in delight. Let men and women prepare to receive Rama. Level the road from Nandigrama to Ayodhya; sprinkle it with scented waters, strew it with blossoms and parched grain. Hang garlands of mango leaves, raise flags high upon homes, and scatter hues of powdered joy across the royal path. Let the four squares and three squares be adorned with fragrant wreaths.”
At his word, Shatrughna summoned the ministers—Drushti, Jayantha, Vijaya, Siddhartha, Ardha-sadhaka, Ashoka, Mantrapala, and Sumatra. With eager hearts, they mounted festooned elephants, caparisoned steeds, and regal chariots. The cavalry advanced with pennants and spears, while the women of the palace, led by Queen Kausalya, followed in joy, with Sumitra and Kaikeyi in their train, toward Nandigrama.
By the grace of Sage Bharadwaja, the trees bowed heavy with fruit, stirring joy among the vanaras, whose cries of delight filled the woods with peace. Bharatha beheld the dust rising like golden pollen and said, “The vanaras frolic among the sala groves. Behold! A moon-like glow! The Pushpaka chariot glides—a marvel wrought by Viswakarma, granted to Rama, conqueror of Ravana. It flies at thought’s command and now bears the noble ones to us.”
The people cried aloud in triumph. Children, elders, and women all strove for a glimpse of Rama. Dismounting their steeds, they gazed skyward as if beholding the moon amidst stars. Rama stood resplendent like Indra in heaven, and Bharatha bowed as if the sun himself had descended from Meru’s peak.
The chariot touched earth with stately grace. Rama stepped forth and embraced Bharatha. Then he approached Lakshmana and Sita, saluting them with love. He greeted Sugreeva, Jambavan, Angada, Mainda, Dvivida, Neela, and Rishabha with reverence. To Sushena, Gavaksha, Nala, Gandhamadana, Sharabha, Panasa, and others, he offered equal honor.
Then the shape-shifting vanaras assumed human form and bowed to Bharatha and the assembled. Bharatha embraced Sugreeva and declared, “You are our fifth brother. Through friendship alone are true allies born; enemies serve only to injure.” To Vibhishana he said, “Fortune favors you, for by your aid Rama accomplished the impossible.”
Then Bharatha, humble as the earth, bent to touch the feet of Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita. Rama, moved by filial love, went to his mother Kausalya, whose frame had grown frail with grief, but now bathed in tears of joy. He bowed to Sumitra, Kaikeyi, and the noble Vasishta, the revered guide of the Ikshvaku line.
All gathered greeted Rama with folded hands, smiles radiant with bliss. The people of Ayodhya, rows upon rows, looked like lotuses blooming on a tranquil lake. Bharatha, ever devoted, brought forth Rama’s sandals and said, “Here I return what you entrusted to me. The kingdom awaits its true monarch. My life’s longing is fulfilled in your coronation.”
The affection of Bharatha moved Vibhishana to tears. Then Rama turned to the celestial chariot and spoke: “O Pushpaka, faithful bearer of the gods, return to Kubera, thy master. I release thee.” And at his word, the chariot rose skyward and vanished northward.
Rama, reverent and wise, bowed at Vasishta’s feet as Indra bows to Brihaspati, and then took his seat. Thus was completed a tale not of conquest alone but of courtesy, kinship, noble conduct, and steadfast love—a chronicle of values, a garland of grace. Let even a portion of this tale be understood by each generation, and peace shall dwell among men, untroubled by division, crowned with trust and joy everlasting.
