रामेण लक्ष्मणस्य रोषशमनम्

In the previous sarga Lakṣmaṇa, seeing Bharata's army, had vowed to kill him; this sarga opens with that anger being calmed. Lakṣmaṇa was in a fury against Bharata and beside himself with rage, so Rāma first soothed him and only then spoke: "What need is there here of a bow, or of a sword and shield? Bharata, so mighty and so full of spirit, has come in person; there is no call for weapons at all." The poet sets two acts in order, first comfort and then argument, because a mind stunned by anger will not take advice. "In person" is the core of Rāma's reasoning: a man who comes as an enemy does not come himself, he sends an army; Bharata's coming in person is itself proof of his innocence. In calling him mighty and full of spirit, Rāma reminds his brother of Bharata's virtues, not his faults. In the last sarga Lakṣmaṇa called Bharata "the enemy"; here Rāma calls him mighty and spirited — two portraits of one man, differing with the eyes that see him.

Then Rāma laid bare his own deepest resolve: "I have promised to keep my father's word. What should I do with a kingdom won by killing Bharata in battle, a kingdom under reproach? Wealth that comes from the ruin of kinsmen or friends I would no more accept than poisoned food. Righteousness, wealth, pleasure, the earth itself — I want them only for your sakes, Lakṣmaṇa; this I promise you. It is to hold my brothers together and to make them happy that I would want even the kingdom; I lay my hand on my weapon and swear it by my truth. This earth in its robe of ocean is not beyond my reach, gentle brother, but I would not want even Indra's throne if it came by unrighteousness. Giver of honour, if any happiness should come to me without Bharata, you and Śatrughna, let fire burn it to ashes." These words sum up Rāma's whole character: the kingdom is not an end but a means of holding his brothers together. To swear by his truth with his hand on his weapon is the firmest oath a warrior can take. And the image of poisoned food is sharp: a kingdom won by killing kin looks like a meal but takes the eater's life.

Next Rāma explained for himself why Bharata had come. "I believe Bharata, who loves his brothers and is dearer to me than my own life, has returned to Ayodhyā and, remembering the duty of our house, has heard that I was sent into exile in matted hair and bark with Jānakī and with you. His heart overcome with love and his senses shaken with grief, he has come simply to see us, and for nothing else. He has been angry with mother Kaikeyī and spoken harshly to her, he has won our father round, and now noble Bharata has come to give me the kingdom. It is only right that he should want to see us now; he would not do us the least harm even in thought." This reading is not only a defence of his brother but a fine knowledge of human nature: one who remembers the duty of his house does not come to kill his elder brother. Lakṣmaṇa saw a banner and imagined an enemy; Rāma remembered Bharata's character and saw a brother. "Dearer than my own life" shows Rāma's love; "for nothing else" shows his trust.

Then Rāma silenced Lakṣmaṇa with questions of his own: "What wrong has Bharata ever done you? Where does this fear come from, that you suspect him today? You must not say a harsh or unkind word to Bharata; if Bharata is treated unkindly, it is I who am spoken to unkindly. Whatever the extremity, how could sons kill their father? How could a brother kill a brother who is his very life, Saumitri? If you are speaking like this for the kingdom's sake, then when I see Bharata I shall tell him: let the kingdom be given to Lakṣmaṇa. And when I say it, Bharata will simply answer, 'So be it.'" The last blow was the sharpest: if the kingdom is really the reason, take it yourself; I am ready to hand it over. This uproots Lakṣmaṇa's whole argument. His anger had never sprung from greed for the kingdom, yet Rāma's words point straight at that possibility. And the words "if Bharata is treated unkindly, it is I who am spoken to unkindly" make the two brothers one: Rāma cannot be honoured while Bharata is scorned.

Spoken to like this by his righteous brother, whose only concern was his good, Lakṣmaṇa seemed to shrink into his own limbs for shame, as though he would hide inside his body. Hearing those words he answered, abashed: "I think it is our father Daśaratha himself who has come to see you." Seeing him abashed, Rāma replied: "I too think it is our strong-armed father who has come here to see us. Or rather, I am sure of it: thinking that we two are used to comfort, and brooding on our life in the forest, he will take us home. And my noble father will take Vaidehī too, who has known nothing but ease, away from the forest with him." Lakṣmaṇa's suspicion had now turned to affection: a moment ago he saw an enemy army, and now he imagined his father's coming. Rāma agreed, for in both their hearts the hope of seeing their father was still alive. But the reader knows Daśaratha will not come, and that is the pathos of the passage. The image of Lakṣmaṇa shrinking into his own limbs marks his change finely: the man who stood tall at the top of the sāla is now drawn into himself.

From high in the sāla Lakṣmaṇa described the scene again: "There are those two splendid horses of good stock, swift as the wind, coming into view. And that huge elephant swaying at the head of the column is Śatruṃjaya, the old elephant of our wise father. But I do not see our father's white parasol, famous through the world and divine; that makes me doubt, noble brother." The missing parasol was the first sign that the king was not coming, but neither brother grasped what it meant. Then righteous Rāma said to him: "Come down from the tree, Lakṣmaṇa; do as I say." Lakṣmaṇa, victor in battle, came down from the sāla, folded his hands and stood at Rāma's side. The descent is itself an image: from a high perch of suspicion he returned to the ground and to his brother's side. The folded hands show his anger fully spent. The epithet "victor in battle" is placed here with purpose: he who conquers in battle has now conquered his own anger, and the poet suggests that this is the true victory.

Now the eye moves from the mountain down to the army. Bharata had ordered that there should be no crowding, and the army made its camp all round the mountain. The Ikṣvāku host, thick with elephants, horses and men, spread over a league and a half beside the mountain and settled there. In the last verse the poet changes to a longer metre, as he often does at the end of a sarga in this kāṇḍa, to mark the close of the scene: brought to Citrakūṭa by Bharata, putting righteousness first and shaking off its pride, led by a man wise in policy in order to win over Raghu's son, the army was a splendid sight. "Putting righteousness first and shaking off pride" is the heart of this sarga: the army that looked hostile to Lakṣmaṇa had in truth laid aside its pride and come, with righteousness at its head, only to win Rāma's favour. Bharata's order against crowding shows the same spirit — the peace of the hermitage forest was not to be broken. So the sarga ends with suspicion calmed and the army at rest.