Auspicious omens occurred to all; they had propitious throbbings in their eyes and arms. Bharata and all his retinue rejoiced at the thought that they would see Rama and that their consuming grief would come to an end.

Each indulged in his own fancy, and all marched on, drunk with the wine of love, their limbs languid, their feet unsteady on the ground, their voices inarticulate from excess of emotion.

Just then Rama’s friend (Guha) pointed out a rocky hill, the crest-jewel of mountains (Kamadagiri) in all its great natural beauty, in the vicinity of which, on the ban of the bank of the Payasvini, the two heroes (Rama and Lakshmana) and Sita had made their home.

When they saw it, they all fell prostrate on the ground with the cries of ‘Glory to Rama, the life of Janaki!’ The royal company was as overwhelmed with emotion as though Raghunatha had turned back towards Ayodhya.

Not even Shesha can describe the extent of Bharata’s love at that moment; it is as far beyond the poet as the supreme transcendental joy is beyond those tarnished by egotism and attachment.

All were so enfeebled by their love for Ramachandra that they covered a distance of only four miles by sunset and halted when they perceived a suitable site for their encampment with water close by. At the close of night, Raghunatha’s beloved brother sallied forth again.

Meanwhile, Rama awoke while it was still night, and Sita told him what she had seen in a dream that night: ‘It seemed to me that Bharata had come with his retinue, his body burning with a fever caused by separation from his lord.