After performing the sacred act of circumambulating all the consecration materials, Bharata, steadfast in his resolve, turned to the assembled people and spoke from his heart. “Kingship,” he declared, “has always belonged to the eldest in our family. Wise men such as yourselves should not speak otherwise to me. Rāma is our elder brother—he alone is to be king of the earth. As for me, I will dwell in the forest for fourteen years.” With conviction, Bharata continued, “Let a great and mighty fourfold army be made ready. I myself will go and bring back my elder brother, the noble Rāghava, from the forest. All the consecration materials, fully prepared, shall be taken before us. I will journey to the forest for Rāma’s sake. There, in that very place, I will have that tiger among men consecrated with all the proper rites, and I shall bring Rāma back, just as the sacred fire is brought forth from the sacrifice. I will not fulfill the wishes of my mother, who has been led by selfish motives. Instead, I will dwell in the harsh forest, and Rāma will be king. “Let the craftsmen make the road, whether the way is smooth or rough, and let skilled guards, adept at traversing difficult paths, accompany us.” As Bharata spoke thus, his words filled with devotion to Rāma, the people responded with voices full of beauty and praise, blessing him: “May the goddess of fortune, Lakṣmī, ever be with you as you speak these noble words, wishing to return the earth to your elder brother, the prince.” Overcome with joy at Bharata’s selflessness, noble men wept tears of happiness that streamed down their faces. The ministers and the assembly, their sorrow dispelled by Bharata’s resolve, joyfully assured him, “By your command, the devoted people and the group of craftsmen have already been instructed regarding the road.” Then, at Bharata’s order, those skilled in the land—experts in measuring and marking, devoted to their work, brave diggers, and engineers—set out. Alongside them went foremen, men skilled with machines, carpenters, road-makers, and tree-cutters. Well-diggers, plasterers, those who worked with bamboo, and surveyors—all proceeded ahead, eager and joyful, like the swelling sea under the full moon. Taking up their assigned tasks, the road-workers advanced with all manner of tools. They cut through creepers, bushes, shrubs, and even stones, clearing the path and felling various trees. In places barren of trees, some planted new ones, while others, with axes and sickles, cut down those that stood in the way. Strong men broke through dense thickets of reeds, clearing the difficult terrain. Some filled wells and deep pits with sand, while others leveled low-lying areas all around. They bound what needed binding, cleared what needed clearing, and broke open what required breaking. In a short time, they created many water channels, vast and varied like the sea. In dry regions, they dug excellent wells, adorned with platforms of many shapes. The road was splendid, with plastered floors, blossoming trees, the calls of intoxicated birds, and flags fluttering in the breeze. Sprinkled with sandal water and decorated with flowers, the army’s route shone, like a path to heaven. The appointed officials, following their orders, chose delightful places rich with sweet fruits. The settlement desired by noble Bharata was further adorned with ornaments, sparkling like a jewel. Experts, consulting auspicious stars and moments, established the settlement for the great-souled Bharata. It was surrounded by moats piled high with sand, with posts like Indra’s machinery and splendid main gates. Rows of palaces stood, enclosed by mansions and walls adorned with flags, with broad, well-constructed roads. The tall buildings, with upper stories seeming to glide in the sky, made the settlements appear like the city of Indra himself. At last, they reached the Ganges, whose banks were filled with groves of trees, whose waters were cool and pure, teeming with great fish. Just as the spotless sky shines at night, adorned with the moon and stars, so too did the royal road, delightful and skillfully built, shine in succession. As night fell, bards and minstrels sang Bharata’s praises, blessing him with auspicious words and songs filled with good omens. The hour-drum, edged in gold, resounded; hundreds of conches were blown, and instruments played notes both high and low. Yet, the great sound of music, as if filling the very sky, only deepened Bharata’s sorrow, for his heart was already heavy with grief. Awakened by the sound, Bharata halted the music and declared, “I am not king.” He then turned and spoke these words to Shatrughna, his sorrow and steadfastness clear for all to see.