Bharata and his mighty army with its horses and elephants and chariots departed for the city. Soon after they had left the pleasant surroundings of Sṛngaverapura, Bharata saw Ayodhyā in the distance. ‘Look how dark and silent Ayodhyā lies!’ said Bharata sadly to his charioteer. ‘All joy and brightness have deserted the city!’
Travelling quickly in his chariot that rumbled like thunder, Bharata entered Ayodhyā. Cats and owls prowled the streets but there were no men or women to be seen anywhere. The city was shrouded in a darkness deeper than the black nights during the dark fortnight of the moon. ‘How sad that the city stands silent today,’ sighed Bharata. ‘It used to be filled with music and song! The sweet smells of unguents and flower garlands and liquor no longer fill the air. Now that Rāma is gone, there are no sounds of elephants trumpeting, horses neighing and chariot wheels rumbling.’ Deeply depressed, Bharata entered his father’s apartments that were now like a mountain cave without a lion.
Though he was still very upset, Bharata said to his ministers and advisors, ‘I ask your permission to leave. I am going to Nandigrāma. Bereft without Rāma, I shall live there with my grief! The king has died and my older brother is in the forest. I shall wait for his return for he is the rightful king.’ Bharata honoured his mothers and with a lighter heart, climbed into his chariot with Śatrughna.
As Bharata left, he was followed by his priests and ministers and the entire army with its horses and elephants and chariots as well as by all the citizens who came along unbidden. Holding Rāma’s sandals on his head and filled with love for his brother, honourable Bharata soon reached Nandigrāma.
‘This kingdom has been entrusted to me by my brother,’ said Bharata to the elders after he had dismounted. ‘His sandals, adorned with gold, shall guarantee the welfare of the kingdom until he returns! I shall place them on his feet myself when he comes back.
‘I shall lay down the burden of kingship when I am reunited with Rāma and serve him as an elder brother should be served. Only when I have returned the sandals as well as the kingship that has been entrusted to me shall I be free of this terrible shame. When Rāma has been crowned in front of his rejoicing people I shall be four times as happy as I could ever have been as king!’
Bharata matted his hair and put on the clothes of an ascetic. He lived in Nandigrāma with his army and his ministers and ruled from there with the authority bestowed upon him, waiting for his beloved brother’s return so that his pledge could be fulfilled.
After Bharata returned to the city, Rāma continued to live in Citrakūṭa. Soon, however, he noticed signs of discomfort among the ascetics who lived there under his protection. They would raise their eyebrows, give him sidelong glances and whisper amongst themselves with great agitation. Rāma wondered if he had offended them in some way and so he went to their master and bowed before him.
‘Have the ascetics noticed some change in my behaviour which makes them act differently towards me?’ he asked deferentially. ‘I trust that Lakṣmaṇa has not acted indifferently through carelessness. Has Sītā, in her devotion to me, slighted you all in a way that is not appropriate for women?’
The master was an old man who had aged further by the practise of severe austerities. Trembling, he replied, ‘Not at all! How could virtuous Sītā ever fail in her duties towards ascetics? The ascetics whisper among themselves because your presence here makes them fear an attack by rākṣasas. Khara, Rāvaṇa’s younger brother, lives close by and he wants to throw all the ascetics out of Janasthāna. He is cruel and crude, and impossible to defeat in battle. Arrogant and wicked, he is a man-eater and he does not like you at all, my child!
‘Ever since you came to live here, the rākṣasas have been tormenting the ascetics. They appear in unnatural shapes and in disgusting and terrifying forms. They turn their malicious gaze on us. They throw impure things at the ascetics who are performing sacred rituals and frighten others by suddenly appearing before them. They hide all over the place and take great pleasure in harassing us. When it is time for us to perform our rituals, they throw our sacrificial vessels around. They pour water on our sacred fires and break our pots.
‘The ascetics want to leave the area these vile creatures have desecrated and move to another place. We must leave here before the rākṣasas inflict bodily harm on us. There is a pleasant wooded area not far from here, full of roots and fruits. I plan to live there with my followers. You can come with us if you like, before Khara begins to torment you. You have to be doubly alert at all times because your wife is with you. Even though you are capable of looking after yourself, it will not be easy for you to live here.’
The ascetics were so disturbed by the rākṣasas’ behaviour that Rāma could not persuade them to stay. They honoured Rāma and left with their master to form a new settlement.
After the ascetics had left, Rāma was disinclined to continue living there for a number of reasons. ‘This is the place where I last saw Bharata, my mother and all the people of Ayodhyā. I am constantly reminded of them and this makes me sad,’ he thought. ‘It has also been spoiled by pitched tents, trampled grasses and horse and elephant droppings. We should go on to another place.’
Rāma, Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa set off for the hermitage of the sage Atri who welcomed them as if they were his own children. He presented them to his wife, Anusūyā, who was so virtuous that she was honoured by all people.
‘For ten long years,’ said Atri, ‘the world was scorched by a terrible drought. Anusūyā, known for her awesome austerities and rigid discipline, forced the Gangā to flow and made roots and fruits appear. She practised severe penances for ten thousand years and by the strength of her vows, she was able to remove all obstacles to the sacred practices of the sages. Intent on helping the gods, she compressed ten days into a single night.
‘She will be like a mother to you, Rāma. Let Sītā serve this virtuous woman who has controlled her anger and is worshipped by all creatures!’ Rāma instructed Sītā to do as the sage had said, for Anusūyā was renowned in the world for her deeds.
Anusūyā was old and wrinkled. Her hair was white and she was so enfeebled by age that she shook like a slender banana tree in a high wind. Sītā touched her feet and stood before her with her head bowed and her palms joined in respect.
‘You are truly virtuous, Sītā,’ said Anusūyā kindly. ‘You have given up your family and friends, splendour, wealth and adoration, to follow your husband into the forest. Women who love their husbands no matter whether they live in the city or the forest, whether they be wicked or virtuous, are the ones that go to heaven. Even if a husband be immoral, or lustful or a pauper, he is the supreme divinity to a noble woman. A husband is the best companion in any situation, like the imperishable fruits of penance.
‘There are some women whose hearts are filled with a lust for power. They dominate their husbands and choose between right and wrong for themselves. They are ruled by vice and they fall from propriety, becoming notorious because of that. But you are not like that, Sītā. You are virtuous and there is a place for you in heaven.
‘Here is a flower garland worthy of the gods and clothes and jewels and rare unguents and ointments for your body! Take these and adorn yourself for they shall never fade or wither. You shall add to your husband’s glory by using these, as Śrī enhances the glory of Viṣṇu!’ Sītā accepted the affectionate gift with due respect.
‘Now the sun has set,’ continued Anusūyā, ‘ushering in the lovely night. Birds that have flown all over in search of food chatter as they settle down to sleep in their nests. Ascetics walk back together from their evening baths with their pots of water, their clothes still wet. Smoke, grey as pigeon feathers, rises from the sacred fires of the sages and is scattered by the gentle wind. The trees around us appear like clumps of darkness and nothing is visible in any direction. Look how the deer lies down beside the sacrificial altar. It is time for the creatures of the night.
‘Sītā, the night has arrived adorned with stars and the moon fills the sky with a veil of light. Go to Rāma and take care of him. I have derived much happiness from your company. I have been waiting for you to adorn yourself with these ornaments. Let me have the pleasure of seeing you wear them all!’
Sītā adorned herself with the jewels and garlands and was as beautiful as a daughter of the gods. She bowed to Anusūyā and went to Rāma. Rāma was delighted with the affection that the old woman had shown Sītā and both Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa were gratified with the honour done to Sītā, an honour rare in the world of men.
Rāma spent a pleasant night at the hermitage, honoured and entertained by the ascetics. The next morning, after the rituals had been completed, the mighty warriors prepared to depart. The ascetics told them how the rākṣasas created obstacles to their movements in the forest. ‘This is the path that the sages take when they go into the forest to collect fruit,’ they said. ‘Take the same path, Rāma!’
The ascetics called blessings upon Rāma as he entered the forest with his wife and Lakṣmaṇa as the sun enters a circle of clouds.