DAY FOUR
With folded hands, let us begin by remembering Lord Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, and then let us bow to the great Adi Kavi, Sage Valmiki, through whose compassion and spiritual vision the Ramayana came into the world.
Let us first recite this beautiful invocation:
ಕೂಜಂತಂ ರಾಮ ರಾಮೇತಿ ಮಧುರಂ ಮಧುರಾಕ್ಷರಮ್ |
ಆರುಹ್ಯ ಕವಿತಾಶಾಖಾಂ ವಂದೇ ವಾಲ್ಮೀಕಿ-ಕೋಕಿಲಮ್ ॥
"I bow to Sage Valmiki — the cuckoo perched upon the branch of poetry — who sweetly sings Rāma, Rāma in melodious and charming syllables."
What a beautiful image this is.
Just as a cuckoo sits on a branch and sings with sweetness, Valmiki Maharshi, seated on the branch of poetry, sang the name of Rama.
And that song became the Ramayana.
The syllable 'Ra' burns away sins. The syllable 'Ma' grants liberation.
Thus 'Rāma' is the Taraka Mantra — the mantra that helps us cross the ocean of worldly existence.
"When the story of Rama is narrated with sincerity, even the most restless being becomes still." — Sri Bannanje Govindacharya
Rama’s Compassionate Wisdom in Exile
As Rama, Sita, Lakshmana, and Sumantra journeyed toward the forest, they paused for the night. At some distance, the citizens of Ayodhya—deeply devoted to Rama—also rested, determined to follow him into exile and share his fate.
In the stillness of midnight, while everyone slept, Rama gently awakened Sumantra, Lakshmana, and Sita. With quiet resolve, he expressed his concern: the people of Ayodhya should not be made to suffer exile because of him.
He then devised a thoughtful plan. Rama asked Sumantra to drive the chariot in reverse for some distance, creating the illusion that they had turned back toward Ayodhya. Afterward, he instructed him to take an unfamiliar route and proceed swiftly, so that the citizens would lose their trail.
Sumantra carried out Rama’s instructions faithfully.
At dawn, the citizens awoke to find Rama and his companions gone. They saw the chariot tracks leading toward Ayodhya and, filled with relief and joy, believed that Rama had chosen to return. With hopeful hearts, they began their journey back, eager to share what they thought was wonderful news.
In truth, Rama had quietly continued his path into exile—choosing hardship for himself, but sparing his people from it.
Moral: True leadership is not about being followed in suffering, but about protecting others from it. Compassion often acts silently, placing the well-being of others above one’s own path.
The Kingdom of Nishadha
Rama, Lakshmana, Sita, and their charioteer Sumantra travel through familiar lands and enter the kingdom of Nishadha — located near the banks of the Ganga, near what is today Prayagraj in Uttar Pradesh. The king of this land is Guha — a Nishada king, a devoted ally, and a personal friend of Rama.
Guha had heard that Rama was coming. He came out to receive them — along with his citizens — carrying milk, flowers, fresh fruits, dry fruits, and all manner of hospitality. His face shone with joy when he finally saw Rama, and the two of them embraced each other warmly — the prince of Ayodhya and the king of a forest people, holding each other like brothers.
Guha invited them to come to his capital Shringverpur and stay with him — to eat food fit for a king, to rest in comfort. He was prepared to give them everything he had.
Rama smiled gently and declined. He was in exile. Enjoyment was not his dharma now. They would rest in the forest — with Guha's permission. Guha pleaded. Rama would not agree. And then — notice this. Rama's very first concern, even in his own exile, was not for himself. He turned to Guha and said: the chariot horses are exhausted from carrying us such a long distance. They are hungry and tired. Please make sure they are well fed.
Guha gladly agreed. The horses were fed fresh hay. Rama, Sita, Lakshmana, and Sumantra rested in the forest through the night. Guha and his ministers stayed with them — keeping quiet, respectful company — unwilling to leave their beloved Rama alone in the dark.
True greatness lies not in status, but in character. Rama, though a prince, embraced Guha—the forest king—as an equal, showing that genuine relationships transcend social boundaries. At the same time, even in exile, Rama remained anchored in dharma—renouncing comfort, honoring his vow, and showing compassion to all beings, even the weary horses. This teaches us that humility, discipline, and empathy are the marks of true nobility, not power or position.
Farewell to Sumantra
At dawn, as Rama had requested, Guha arranged boats for the crossing of the sacred Ganga. It was here, at the river’s edge, that Rama turned to Sumantra and gently asked him to return to Ayodhya.
Sumantra was overcome with emotion. He pleaded to stay, saying that life in Ayodhya held no meaning without Rama. He feared that the people would blame him and scorn him for carrying Rama into exile.
Rama, with calm wisdom, gave him two compelling reasons.
First, he said, King Dasharatha would be consumed by grief and anxiety. Sumantra must return and assure him that they were safe, that they had crossed the Ganga, and would soon reach the ashram of Sage Bharadwaja.
Second, Rama foresaw the political consequences. If Sumantra did not return, Kaikeyi might grow suspicious and imagine that Rama had been secretly taken to an allied kingdom to gather support for a return. Such doubts could create unrest and danger for Ayodhya.
Understanding Rama’s deeper vision and sense of duty, Sumantra, though heartbroken, bowed in obedience. With tears in his eyes, he turned the chariot back toward Ayodhya.
Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita then crossed the Ganga and continued their journey toward the ashram of Sage Bharadwaja near Chitrakoota.
True wisdom sees beyond personal emotion to the greater good. Rama teaches that duty is not only about sacrifice, but also about foresight—acting in a way that protects others, preserves harmony, and prevents future conflict, even when the heart longs for a different path.
Sumantra's Return — Dasharatha's Three Questions
When Sumantra approached the palace, Dasharatha was already watching at the window and at the door. Dasharatha was afraid to speak aloud — was Kaikeyi nearby? When Sumantra confirmed she was in her own palace, Dasharatha allowed himself to ask.
His first question: How is my Rama? Sumantra smiled: Do not worry. Rama sends you his love. He says please take care of your health. He says fourteen years will pass quickly, and he will be back.
His second question: What did Lakshmana say? Sumantra said gently: you know he is young and passionate. He said that he disowns you and Kaikeyi as his father and mother, and that he will never see your faces again.
Dasharatha bore it. His third question — and his voice broke as he asked it: How is my beautiful Sita? What did she say?
Sumantra paused. And then he said: She said nothing. She was silent. And she wept profusely when I left.
Dasharatha broke down, crying: because of that stubborn Kaikeyi — because of my own foolishness — what have I done?
The consequences of our choices often reveal themselves when it is too late to undo them. Dasharatha’s anguish shows that even a moment of misplaced judgment, driven by attachment or pressure, can lead to deep and irreversible sorrow. At the same time, the responses of Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita reflect three paths—calm acceptance, emotional reaction, and silent endurance—reminding us that in the face of hardship, true strength lies in mastering our actions, our words, and even our silence.
Dasharatha's Death — Alone
In the days that followed, Dasharatha sat alone, consumed by grief. He could not eat. He could not rest. He could not stop thinking about Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana walking in the forest.
And in the night, the old emperor finally succumbed. He died — alone — in his own palace, with no one by his side. Look at how unfortunate this ending was. The great Emperor Dasharatha — who had ruled for thousands of years, who had performed the greatest yagnas, who was beloved by all — died without a single beloved face beside him. Without his sons. Without even a hand to hold.
When the servants came in the morning, they found him gone. The ministers gathered and made an immediate decision: do not spread this news yet. Enemies may attack while Ayodhya is without leadership. They sent trusted, fast messengers to King Ashwapathi's palace. The instructions were careful: do not tell Bharata his father has died. Tell him only that his father urgently wishes to see him.
Power, wealth, and long reign cannot shield one from the consequences of past actions. Dasharatha’s lonely end reminds us that attachment, unfulfilled duties, and moments of weakness can return with profound force. True fulfillment in life lies not in external greatness, but in inner clarity, righteous decisions, and the strength to uphold dharma at the right time—before regret becomes inevitable.
Bharata's Dreams — The Night Before the Messengers Arrived
The night before the royal messengers arrived, Bharata had terrible dreams. In the Vedic tradition, dream omens carried deep meaning. Bad omens included: seeing the color red — red lotus, red garland, blood; seeing oneself walking south — the direction of Yama, the lord of death; covering oneself with gingelly oil. Good omens included: seeing a fair woman dressed in white, white flowers, walking north or east, bathing after applying gingelly oil.
In his sleep, Bharata saw his father covered in gingelly oil, wearing a red garland, walking toward the south. He woke with a heavy heart, deeply unsettled, sensing something was terribly wrong. When the messengers arrived and told him his father urgently wished to see him, Bharata asked them directly: how is my father? And — is my stubborn mother causing trouble? The messengers deflected. Bharata and Shatrughna left immediately for Ayodhya.
A sensitive and righteous heart often perceives truth even before it is revealed. Bharata’s dreams reflect the inner awareness that arises from purity and connection to dharma. At the same time, this episode reminds us that while signs and omens may warn us, they cannot change destiny—what matters is how we respond when truth finally unfolds, with courage, clarity, and righteousness.
Bharata's Return to Ayodhya
Bharata felt something was deeply wrong but could not know what. He sought permission from his maternal grandfather Ashwapathi, and both he and Shatrughna left immediately for Ayodhya.
By the time they were traveling, the news of Dasharatha's death had already begun to spread through the kingdom. The citizens Bharata passed on the road were saddened and subdued. But no one spoke to him directly — he was to be the new emperor. They were waiting.
Bharata and Shatrughna went straight to Kaikeyi's palace and after doing Sastranga Namaskara’s asked why is everyone sad and what has happened.
Bharata Confronts Kaikeyi
Kaikeyi received Bharata and told him plainly: what happens to everyone happened to your father — he is dead. And as for your brother Rama — I made the emperor fulfill my two boons. Rama is in exile along with Lakshmana and Sita. You will be coronated tomorrow.
Bharata was struck as if by lightning. He fell to the ground. When he regained himself, he stood and looked at his mother — and said words that no son has perhaps ever had to say. He said: It is a shame you are my mother. Know this — in a kingdom where Bharata is emperor, there is no place for women like you. You have three choices. First: hang yourself. Second: jump into the cremation fire that engulfs your husband's body. Third — and only if you wish to live — go to my brother Rama. He is the only person generous enough to forgive you. He will take care of you with love and affection.
Shatrughna, equally enraged, had grabbed Manthara by the hair and dragged her before them: she is the cause of all of this — I will put her to the sword right now. Bharata stopped him firmly. He said: even if I can forgive this, Rama would never excuse us if we harm Manthara. Do not do this in Rama's name.
Kaikeyi, overwhelmed by shame, wept uncontrollably and begged Bharata's forgiveness. She said: I will come with you to fetch Rama. I will myself beg him to return. Bharata agreed.
True righteousness is revealed not in comfort, but in moments of moral crisis. Bharata shows that dharma stands above blood ties—he does not hesitate to condemn wrongdoing, even when it comes from his own mother. Yet, in the same breath, he upholds restraint and compassion, preventing Shatrughna from acting in anger. This teaches us that justice must be guided by integrity, but also tempered with self-control, for true dharma is not driven by rage, but by wisdom.
Bharata and Kausalya
Bharata went to Queen Kausalya and fell at her feet in Sashtanga Namaskara. Kausalya stepped back, saying: your wish has come true, Bharata. Rama is gone. Go happily and be coronated. Bharata was wounded to the core. He said: Mother — is this truly all you know of me? I was not here. I did not know anything. It was my cruel, stubborn biological mother Kaikeyi who did this when I was absent. Let us go together and bring Rama home. Kausalya's heart softened — and she asked his forgiveness.
Misunderstanding can arise even among the purest hearts when pain clouds judgment. Bharata’s humility and sincerity reveal that truth must be spoken with clarity, and intentions must be proven through action. This episode teaches us that genuine character shines through in times of doubt—healing mistrust not through argument, but through humility, honesty, and a commitment to what is right.
The Grand March to Chitrakoota
After Dasharatha's cremation and the sacred rites, Bharata carefully placed Rama's golden Padukas upon his own head and addressed all who had gathered: the three queens, ministers including Jabali, Brahmarishi Vasishtha, notable citizens, and a protective army. He said: let us go bring Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita home. Let us anoint Rama as our ruler and enjoy the Rama Rajya this kingdom deserves. The entire retinue set out for Chitrakoota — the grieving queens, the ministers, the guru, the soldiers — with Bharata carrying his brother's sandals on his head.
On the way through the Nishadha Kingdom, King Guha was alarmed — a large army was approaching. He suspected Bharata had come to harm Rama. He marshaled his forces, ready to fight. When Bharata showed his grief and explained his purpose, Guha was ashamed. He arranged boats to cross the Ganga.
At Sage Bharadwaja's ashram, the great sage himself questioned Bharata sharply: are you not satisfied with sending Rama to exile — have you now come to kill them? Bharata was deeply hurt a second time. He said: even you have misunderstood me. And then he said the words that would be remembered forever: I have two pious and righteous mothers — Kausalya and Sumitra — like the sacred rivers Ganga and Yamuna flowing purely beside each other. And my biological mother Kaikeyi — she is like a filthy drain flowing between the two noble rivers.
Sage Bharadwaja, moved, gently asked Bharata not to rebuke his mother. He apologized for his suspicion, embraced Bharata, and showed him the way.
When intentions are pure, they may still be misunderstood—but steadfast integrity ultimately reveals the truth. Bharata’s journey shows that true devotion is not in words, but in action—carrying Rama’s Padukas on his head, renouncing power, and enduring suspicion without anger. This episode teaches us that righteousness requires patience, humility, and unwavering commitment to dharma, even when the world questions our motives.
The Meeting at Chitrakoota, Lakshmana's Alarm — and Rama's Calm
Bharata left the army at the base of the hill and climbed only with the queens, ministers, and Vasishtha. Lakshmana was keeping watch from a treetop. He scrambled down to Rama: Brother — get ready! Bharata has come with an army to kill us! Rama smiled and said: Brother, why do you always think this way? Bharata would never do such a thing. He has come to ask us to return to Ayodhya. Do not be so impulsive.
Bharata arrived, offered his respects, and told Rama of their father's death. Rama was in deep sorrow. He wept. He performed the Pinda Pradhana for his deceased father — the sacred ancestral offering — immediately.
A restless mind often sees threat where none exists, while a steady mind sees truth with clarity. Lakshmana’s impulsive reaction contrasts with Rama’s calm trust, teaching us that wisdom lies in restraint and faith in the character of others. At the same time, Rama’s immediate response to his father’s passing reminds us that, even in grief, one must uphold dharma—for true strength is the balance of emotional depth and disciplined action.
The True Meaning of Pinda Pradhana — Jabali's Question and Rama's Answer
Then Chief Minister Jabali tried an unusual argument. He said: your father is gone. Who truly knows where the deceased soul goes? And when you offer Pinda — the size of two closed fists — how can a soul tinier than a subatom consume it? What is the use of it?
Rama listened. Then he asked quietly: Jabali — are you saying this because you truly believe it, or to persuade me to return? Jabali fell at Rama's feet: forgive me. I believe in God and in the sacred rites. I was simply trying to find a way to bring you home.
And Rama explained the true meaning of Pinda Pradhana. The soul does not directly consume the Pinda in any physical sense.
There are 7 primary groups of Pitra Ganas who function as the "divine ancestors" and are overseen by the three primary lords: Yama, Soma, and Kavyavaha.
These seven groups are divided into two main categories based on whether they have a physical form:
1. The 3 Incorporeal (Amurtayah) Ganas
These "formless" beings are the highest classes of ancestors:
· Vairajas: Ancestors of great ascetics like Sanaka-kumara.
· Agnishvattas: Often linked to those who did not maintain sacrificial fires.
· Barhishadas: Ancestors associated with the preservation of household fires.
2. The 4 Corporeal (Samurtayah) Ganas
These ancestors possess form and are often associated with the progenitors (Prajapatis) of specific communities:
· Sukalas: Worshipped by Brahmanas.
· Bhaswaras (or Angirasas): Associated with the Sun's rays and worshipped by Kshatriyas.
· Susvadhas: Worshipped by Vaishyas.
· Somapas: Worshipped by Shudras.
The group of Pitra Ganas have numerous assistants, when you give Pinda, you are not offering to your forefathers but to the seven groups of Pitru Ganas.
When we offer the Pinda — to our father in the Vasu rupa, to our grandfather in the Rudra rupa, to our great-grandfather in the Aditya rupa — we are offering to the Pitru Ganas themselves. We are asking them: if there are obstacles blocking noble souls on their ascent to higher planes, please remove those obstacles. For souls that are wandering, please direct them — help them fulfill their remaining karma and be reborn with dignity.
Every Shraddha — every ancestral rite — is a conversation between the living and the divine custodians of the dead. It is not superstition. It is a precise and compassionate technology of the soul.
True understanding goes beyond appearances and questions rooted only in logic. Rama teaches that sacred traditions are not empty rituals, but expressions of deeper truths that connect the visible and invisible worlds. Faith, when guided by knowledge, reveals purpose where doubt sees none. This episode reminds us that wisdom lies in honoring both reason and tradition—recognizing that not all truths can be measured, but many can be realized through humility, inquiry, and trust in dharma.
Bharata's Fast — and Rama's Quiet Answer
Bharata pleaded. Kaikeyi begged forgiveness and withdrew her boons. Kausalya and Sumitra pleaded. Brahmarishi Vasishtha himself made his request. Each time, Rama gave the same gentle, loving, immovable answer: a father's promise is sacred. An emperor's word cannot be broken. My role is to set an example.
Finally Bharata said in despair: then I will sit here and fast unto death until you come. Rama looked at him and replied quietly: alright — I will come. Bharata's eyes lit up with hope. Rama completed the sentence: I will come — after fourteen years. And Bharata, you are the reason I agreed at all. I had been telling Sita that the forest is so peaceful, so free from court politics, that perhaps we should simply stay here forever.
True dharma is not swayed by emotion, pressure, or even the love of those closest to us. Rama’s firmness shows that righteousness requires unwavering commitment, even when the heart is moved by affection and pleading. At the same time, his gentle response to Bharata reveals that duty need not be harsh—one can remain resolute while still honoring love. This teaches us that the highest integrity lies in balancing compassion with principle, never abandoning truth even in the face of deep personal bonds.
The Golden Padukas
Bharata made his final request. He said: please place your feet on these golden sandals — your Padukas —walk in them a few steps, and give them to me. I will place these Padukas on the throne of Ayodhya. Every decision of the kingdom will be made in their name — not mine. I am only a regent, acting on your behalf. When you return, I will remove the Padukas from the throne and place them on your feet — and you will take your rightful position.
Rama agreed. He wore the Padukas, walked a few steps, and returned them to Bharata. The entire retinue — the queens, the ministers, Vasishtha, Shatrughna, Guha — watched in silence, tears running freely. Then one by one, they bid farewell and began the long quiet walk back to Ayodhya.
For the next fourteen years, Bharata lived not in the palace — but in a forest hut at the city gates of Nandigrama. He wore only bark and matted hair. He ate no food cooked on fire. He refused every royal comfort. He ruled Ayodhya only in Rama's name — looking each day toward the south, waiting for the day the Padukas would be returned to their owner.
Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita understood that now the citizens knew their location, they would keep coming. They took leave of Sage Bharadwaja, turned south, and walked deeper into the great Dandaka Forest.
True leadership is rooted in humility, not possession. Bharata shows that power is not meant to be claimed, but to be held in trust for what is right. By placing Rama’s Padukas on the throne, he transforms kingship into service—proving that devotion, restraint, and integrity are greater than authority itself. This teaches us that the highest form of loyalty is to uphold dharma faithfully, even when one has the power to choose otherwise.