भरद्वाजाश्रमागमनम्

When the fourteenth year was complete, on the fifth day of the lunar fortnight, Lakṣmaṇa's elder brother reached Bharadvāja's hermitage and, with all restraint, saluted the sage. The timing matters: Rāma had kept his vow to the letter, and the term of his exile was fulfilled without a single day short. So he did not enter Ayodhyā before his vow was done, but stopped at Bharadvāja's hermitage. Bowing to that sage, rich in austerity, he asked him: “Lord, have you heard whether there is plenty and good health in the city? Is Bharata attentive to the care of the people? Are my mothers still living?” The order of his questions is worth noting: first the people's food and health, then Bharata's duty as ruler, and last his mothers' lives, for a king's concern begins with his subjects. The great sage Bharadvāja smiled and answered the best of the Raghus joyfully, and his smile and delight already told that the news was good: “Bharata lives under your command and waits for you with matted hair. He sets your sandals before him and does everything in their name. All is well in your home.” Bharata, in other words, was not king himself but only Rāma's deputy, and the sandals recall the scene in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa when Bharata took Rāma's sandals home to rule in their name.

“Long ago,” the sage went on, “I saw you entering the great forest dressed in bark, with only your wife and your brother for company, cast out of your kingdom, wanting nothing but dharma; on foot, having given up everything, obeying your father's command, stripped of every comfort like an immortal fallen from heaven, bound by Kaikeyī's words and living on wild roots and fruit. Then, conqueror in battle, my heart was full of pity for you. But now I see you with your purpose achieved, surrounded by friends and kinsmen, your enemies conquered, and my joy is great. All the joys and sorrows, great as they were, that came to you while you lived in Janasthāna are known to me, Rāghava.” Bharadvāja sets two pictures side by side: Rāma going into exile, penniless, on foot, with only his brother and his wife, like a god fallen from heaven; and Rāma now, victorious, surrounded by friends and an army, seated in a divine aerial car. Then there had been only three of them; now there were helpers by the thousand. The sage's pity and his joy are both unselfish: he grieved in Rāma's grief and rejoiced in his joy. And the image of the immortal fallen from heaven hints again at Rāma's divinity: he is a god on earth. This recalls Rāma's first visit to Bharadvāja's hermitage in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa, when the sage showed him the way to Citrakūṭa, so that the same sage witnesses both the beginning and the end of the exile.

“While you were serving the brāhmaṇas and protecting all the ascetics, this blameless wife of yours was carried off by Rāvaṇa. How you saw Mārīca and Sītā was taken; how you met Kabandha and came to Pampā; your friendship with Sugrīva, when you killed Vālin; the search for Vaidehī and the deed of the Wind-god's son; how, once Vaidehī was found, Nala built the causeway, and the rejoicing monkey chiefs set Laṅkā on fire; how Rāvaṇa, proud of his strength, was killed in battle with his sons, kinsmen and ministers, his army and his mounts; and how, when that thorn in the gods' side was dead, you met the gods and were granted a boon — all this I know through the power of my austerities, you who love dharma. And my disciples, called Pravṛtti, go to and fro between here and the city.” In brief, Bharadvāja tells the heart of the Rāmāyaṇa from the Araṇya Kāṇḍa to the end of the Yuddha Kāṇḍa, a summary of Rāma's victory and a proof of the sage's divine sight. The disciples' name can be read two ways: either they are messengers who bring the news, or Pravṛtti is simply what they are called; either way the sage's knowledge is twofold, beyond the natural by his austerities and ordinary through his disciples. Calling Rāvaṇa the thorn of the gods means his death was for the good of every world, and the boon recalls the meeting with Brahmā and Indra described in the sargas before.

“I too will grant you a boon here, finest of warriors. Accept this guest-offering; tomorrow you will go to Ayodhyā.” By saying “tomorrow,” Bharadvāja kept Rāma at the hermitage for the night, so that the fourteen years were exactly fulfilled. Accepting his words with bowed head, the glorious prince, delighted, said, “So be it,” and asked for his boon: “Lord, along the road as I go to Ayodhyā, let every tree bear fruit out of season and flow with honey, and let there be many kinds of fruit smelling of nectar.” Once again Rāma's boon was not for himself: he asked for fruit for the monkeys, just as he had asked Indra before. No sooner had the sage promised “So be it” than the trees there became like the trees of heaven, like wish-granting trees: those without fruit bore fruit, those without flowers were covered in blossom, and withered trees were clothed in leaves and dripped with honey, for three leagues on every side of the travellers. Long before, in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa, Bharadvāja had used the power of his austerities to entertain Bharata's army with heavenly hospitality; now he did the same for Rāma's army. And those bulls among monkeys, delighted, ate their fill of divine fruits by the thousand, as happy as those who have won heaven; having won their war, they now tasted the joys of heaven as their reward.