भरद्वाजदर्शनं भरतस्य प्रतिनिवर्तनं च

In the previous sarga Rāma had given Bharata the gold-adorned sandals and sent everyone away. This sarga tells of the journey back. Bharata placed the sandals on his head and joyfully mounted his chariot with Śatrughna. Carrying them on his head was the mark of his humility, for they now stood in the king's place; and he was "joyful" because, though Rāma had not come, he had at least gained his sandals, which gave his mind some comfort. Vasiṣṭha, Vāmadeva, Jābāli of firm vows and all the ministers honoured for their counsel went ahead; with the ministers leading, the journey was now a royal progress, not a suppliant's. Then, making a reverent circuit of the great mountain Citrakūṭa, they went east to the lovely Mandākinī; circling the mountain was an act of worship, for the mountain where Rāma lived was itself worthy of reverence. Gazing at thousands of beautiful ores of every kind, Bharata passed with his army along the mountain's flank. The poet describes the beauty of the way instead of grief: Bharata's heart was with Rāma, but his eyes took in the coloured rocks of the mountain.

Not far from Citrakūṭa Bharata saw the hermitage where the sage Bharadvāja had made his home. Coming to it, the valiant joy of his line stepped down from his chariot, as was proper on entering a hermitage, and saluted the sage's feet. Bharadvāja, delighted, said to him: "Dear one, has your errand been accomplished? Did you meet Rāma?" The question has two parts, success and meeting, for Bharata had rested at this same hermitage on his way out, and the sage had then asked his purpose. Its answer is bitter: the errand had failed, though the meeting had taken place. Addressed so by the wise Bharadvāja, Bharata, who loved righteousness, answered him; though defeated, he followed righteousness, not anger, and the sage's delight is itself a witness to his conduct. Through this exchange the poet briefly retells what happened in the previous sarga, a well-known habit of Vālmīki's by which the joints of the story are made firm.

Bharata said: "Though our guru and I both entreated him, Rāghava, firm in his resolve, was well pleased and said to Vasiṣṭha: 'I shall keep my father's promise exactly as it stands — the fourteen years my father pledged.' At that the wise Vasiṣṭha, who knows the weight of words, gave the eloquent Rāghava a weighty answer: 'Wise one, gladly give these gold-adorned sandals and be the guardian of Ayodhyā's welfare.' So addressed by Vasiṣṭha, Rāghava stood facing east and gave me these golden sandals for the kingdom." Then he concluded: "Dismissed with the leave of great-souled Rāma, I have turned back, and I am going to Ayodhyā carrying these auspicious sandals." "For the kingdom" is poignant: the kingdom was in Bharata's name, but the authority lay with the sandals. Bharata did not hide his own plea and reported Rāma's resolve exactly; truthfulness is the ornament of this sarga. Rāma stood facing east, the direction prescribed for a gift, so the giving of the sandals was not only an act of affection but a formal handing over of the kingdom.

Hearing Bharata's auspicious words, the sage Bharadvāja spoke words more auspicious still: "It is no wonder, tiger among men, best of those who know character and conduct, that nobility should dwell in you; as water poured out runs to low ground, so all good qualities come to you of themselves." The image speaks of nature: virtues come to him without effort, as water flows downhill. Then he praised their father too: "Your father, mighty-armed Daśaratha, is free of all debt, since he has a son like you, righteous and devoted to righteousness." A father's debt is paid through his son's virtue — the same truth the seers had spoken in the previous sarga. Bharadvāja's words were a remedy for Bharata's grief: what he had failed to win was no lack in his virtues. When the wise sage had spoken, Bharata folded his hands, clasped his feet and began to take his leave.

Then, walking reverently round Bharadvāja again and again, illustrious Bharata set out for Ayodhyā with his ministers. With carriages and carts, horses and elephants, that great army turned back again and followed Bharata; the army that had set out to bring Rāma home was now returning empty-handed. They crossed the divine Yamunā, garlanded with waves, and all saw once more the Gaṅgā with her auspicious waters — the same river Bharata had crossed on his way out. Crossing her too, brimming with lovely water, he entered pleasant Śṛṅgaverapura with his kinsmen and soldiers, the town where Rāma had met Guha. On the return journey the poet shows in order the very places through which Bharata had travelled full of hope; now they only remind him of his disappointment. At Śṛṅgaverapura the memory of Guha must have risen in his mind, for it was there he had first heard news of Rāma.

Setting out again from Śṛṅgaverapura, he saw Ayodhyā once more — a city now bereft of his father and his brother. Daśaratha had gone to heaven and Rāma to the forest, so both the city's supports were gone. Seeing her so, Bharata, burning with sorrow, said to the charioteer: "Look, charioteer! Ayodhyā is ruined; she gives no light. She is shapeless, joyless, wretched, and all her sounds are struck dumb." "Struck dumb" points to the city's silence: where once there were music, the chanting of the Vedas and the bustle of people, there is now only silence. "Ruined" does not mean physical destruction but the loss of splendour: the palaces stand, but their brightness is gone. With four epithets the poet shows the city's fourfold loss — of form, of joy, of prosperity and of sound. So this sarga carries Bharata's whole journey back from Citrakūṭa to Ayodhyā, and it ends on these lines; the next sarga will extend this chain of images.