‘Of the period on whose end I had set my hope there remains but one day.’ The thought filled Bharata’s mind with unutterable grief. ‘Why has the Lord not come?’ he said to himself. ‘has he cast me out of his mind, knowing me to be crooked?

Ah, how blest and fortunate is Lakshmana, who is truly devoted to Rama’s lotus feet! The Lord knew me to be guileful wicked, and that is why he refused to take me with him.

If the Lord were to consider my doings, there would be no redemption for me for tens of millions of ages. But the Lord regards not the offences of his servants, for he is the friend of the humble and most tender-hearted.

I have firm conviction in my heart that Rama will come, for the omens are so propitious. But if my life holds out after the term once expires, who in the world would be so despicable a wretch as I?

While Bharata’s mid was thus drowning in the sea of separation from Rama, the Son of the Wind came disguised as a Brahman, like a boat come to his rescue.

Hanuman saw Bharata seated on a mat of kusha grass, with a crown of knotted hair and emaciated frame, ever repeating, ‘Rama, Rama, Raghupati,’ with his lotus eyes streaming with tears.

When he saw Bharata, Hanuman was overjoyed; his body trembled with emotion and tears of love poured from his eyes. With his heart filled with rapture he addressed Bharata in words sweet as nectar to the ear: