On the night of the auspicious rites, bards and genealogists skilled in speech praise Bharata with auspicious hymns. The drum of the watches sounds, struck with a golden stick; conches are blown by the hundred, and instruments of high and low notes. That great noise of music, as if filling the sky, pierces Bharata, already burning with grief, with fresh sorrow. Waking, Bharata stops the noise, saying “I am not king”, and says to Shatrughna: “See, Shatrughna, the great wrong Kaikeyi has done the world. King Dasharatha has gone, leaving his sorrows to me. The royal fortune of that great-souled king of dharma, rooted in dharma, now drifts like a boat without a helmsman on the water. Even our great protector, Raghava himself, has been banished to the forest by this mother of mine, casting off dharma.” Seeing Bharata lamenting so, half-conscious, all the women weep aloud pitifully.
While he laments, Vasishtha, knower of royal dharma, greatly glorious, enters the assembly hall of the lord of the Ikshvakus, golden, lovely, full of gems and jewels, as the righteous one enters Sudharma with his followers. Knowing all the Vedas, he sits on a golden seat covered with a soft cloth and instructs the messengers: “Quickly and calmly bring brahmanas, kshatriyas, warriors, ministers and leaders of the troops; we have urgent business. Bring Shatrughna with the royal attendants, glorious Bharata, Yudhajit and Sumantra, and the well-wishers who are there.” Then a great clamour arises from people arriving in chariots, on horses and elephants. As the gods welcome Indra of a hundred sacrifices, the subjects welcome Bharata as he comes, just as they welcomed Dasharatha. Like a lake full of whales and serpents, its water still, with gems, conches and sand, the assembly, graced by Dasharatha’s son, shines as it did before, as if Dasharatha himself were there.
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