Rama, the ocean of compassion, saw the people disquieted by their love and by the potent deception of the king of heaven. The assembly, Janaka, the guru, the Brahmans and the ministers were all under the spell of Bharata’s devotion and in something of a dilemma.

Like figures drawn in a painting they gazed on Rama, diffidently uttering words which they seemed to have learnt by rote. Bharata’s affection, courtesy, modesty and nobility were pleasing to hear but difficult to describe.

Seeing only the tiniest particle of his devotion, the host of sages and the king of Mithila were drowned in love; how, then, can I, Tulasidasa, speak of his glory? It is his devotion and noble sentiments that have inspired sublime wisdom in the poet’s heart.

But the poet’s mind, realizing its own triviality and the greatness of Bharata’s majesty, shrinks from the task out of respect for the dignity of the race of poets. Though greatly enamoured to his perfections, it cannot express them; it has become as helpless as an infant’s speech.

Bharata’s unsullied fame is like the spotless moon and the poet’s brilliant wit is lie an unfledged partridge that looks with fixed gaze upon it, risen in the spotless sky of a votary’s heart.

Not even the Vedas can easily grasp Bharata’s noble disposition; wherefore O poets, pardon the frivolities of my poor wit. Who that hears or tells of Bharata’s magnanimity will not enamoured of the feet of Sita and Rama?

Is there anyone so unblest as the man who is not easily inspired with love for Rama by the very though of Bharata? Seeing the plight of all the people and reading what was in the mind of his votary (Bharata),