← The Ramayana

Part Two — The Exile

Ayodhya Kanda — The Book of Ayodhya

Bharata's Refusal

Bharata had been away the whole time — at his grandfather’s in Kekaya, knowing nothing — and was brought back to an Ayodhya without a king, without Rama, and in mourning. When he learned what his mother had done in his name, the epic gives him a fury so total it nearly undoes the family a second time. He turned on Kaikeyi with words a son almost cannot say to a mother; he renounced her; he declared the throne she had bought for him a thing he would not touch. The Ramayana spends real force on this because Bharata is its proof that the wrong was Kaikeyi’s alone and not the house’s.

This is the chapter’s structural work, and it matters. The catastrophe could have read as a war for a throne between brothers, the way the Mahabharata’s does; the Ramayana forecloses that reading completely by making Bharata’s refusal as absolute as Rama’s acceptance. The two brothers are shown to be the same thing facing opposite ways: Rama will not take the crown because his father’s word sent him away; Bharata will not take it because it is not his and was got by a crime. Neither will grasp. The epic is building, deliberately, the inverse of every dynastic war — a contest in which each rightful claimant fights to give the kingdom to the other.

Bharata performed the funeral rites for Dasharatha, since Rama could not, and then did the thing the chapter is named for: he gathered the mothers, the priests, the army, the people, and marched the whole of Ayodhya not against Rama but to him — to Chitrakuta, to find his brother and put the kingdom back in his hands. When the company appeared on the hill, Lakshmana, seeing an army approach, assumed the worst and readied for war; Rama, the epic notes, did not, because Rama’s reading of Bharata was never in doubt. He was right. Bharata came up the slope and fell at his brother’s feet, not as a claimant but as a penitent, and begged him to come back and reign.

The debate that follows is one of the moral centres of the poem, and the Ramayana gives both sides their full strength. Bharata’s case is powerful: the boon was evil, evilly got; Dasharatha is dead and cannot be obeyed; the people want Rama; a kingdom needs its true king; surely dharma now points home. Rama’s answer does not deny the wrong. It holds to the prior thing — that the word was given while the father lived and binds beyond his death; that to come back now, however the world would cheer it, would make his father, in dying, a man whose word his son set aside the moment it was inconvenient to keep. The poem does not pretend this is comfortable. It stages it as two good men, each right, unable to move the other, because the Ramayana’s deepest subject is precisely the cases where dharma’s answer is also dharma’s wound.

Neither yielded, and the chapter ends unresolved by argument — which means it must be resolved by an act. Bharata, unable to make Rama return and unwilling to reign in his place, found a third thing to do, and it is the image the whole Ayodhya Kanda has been moving toward: not a crown on a brother’s head, and not a crown on his own, but a kingdom held in trust for an absence, ruled in the name of something Rama would leave behind on the hill.