The very same night that the envoys entered the city, Bharata saw an
evil dream. And seeing that evil dream during the short hours, the son
of that king of kings exceedingly burned in grief. And rinding him
aggrieved, his sweet speeched associates, endeavouring to chase the
heaviness, began to converse on a variety of subjects. Some played on
instruments; some for the purpose of pacifying his mind, danced (the
courtezans); others performed scenes variously fraught with the
sentiment of mirth. But although his friends intending to allay his
agitation set about enacting passages calculated to amuse family
circles, that magnanimous descendant of Raghu did not indulge in
laughter. Then a dear friend addressed Bharata, as he sat surrounded by
his friends, "Surrounded by your friends, why do you not, my friend,
join in the mirth?" Thus asked by his friend, Bharata answered, "Listen
why this depression has overtaken me. In a dream I beheld my father,
pale, with his hair loosely flowing about, plunging from the summit of a
mountain into a dirty pool filled with cow-dung. And I saw him floating
on a sink of cow-dung, and yet with a momentary laugh drinking oil by
means of his joined hands. Then feeding on rice mixed with sessame, he
again and again hanging his head down, dives into oil with his limbs
rubbed with oil. And in my dream I saw the ocean dried up, and the moon
fallen on the earth, and the earth as if invaded by enfolding darkness,
and the tusk of the elephant on which the monarch rides falling in
fragments, and flaming fire suddenly extinguished, and the earth rent,
and the trees withered, and all the mountains befching smoke. . And I
saw the king seated on a sable seat of iron, clad in a sable garb; and
women black and yellow beating him. And bearing a garland of red
flowers, with his body daubed with red sandal, he was fast proceeding to
the south in a car yoked with asses. And women clad in red garment were
laughing at him, and a grim-visaged Rakshasa was seen by me as dragging
him. This was the dream that I saw this terrible night. Either I, or
Rama, or the king, or Lakshmana is to breathe our last. The smoke of the
funeral pyre of him will be shortly visible that goes in the car yoked
with asses. It is for this reason that I am poor of spirit, and that I
do not respond to your words. Further, my throat is parched, and my mind
ill at ease. Ground of fear find I none, yet am I subject to fear. My
voice is untuned, and my grace fled, and I begin to despise my life, nor
know I the reason why. Bringing to mind this various-looking dream which
I had not thought of before, and remembering the king of
incomprehensible presence, this fear goeth not from my heart."