As the sun set and darkness descended, Ayodhya seemed to lose its very heart. The city was like the sky without the sun, or the night stripped of stars—when day abruptly ends and night rushes in. The grief was so deep that, except for the king’s own son, none of the gathered friends could bring themselves to consent to the cremation. Instead, they placed the departed king gently upon his bed, pondering the mystery of his unfathomable presence, unable to comprehend the emptiness left behind. Ayodhya itself appeared bereft of its great soul, as if the sun had vanished from the sky. The streets and squares, usually bustling, were now silent and empty, not even filled with the cries of those mourning. Men and women gathered in groups, their voices raised in reproach against Bharata’s mother, Kaikeyi, whose actions had led to the king’s demise. The city, with its beloved king gone, was plunged into distress, and no comfort could be found. That night, as sorrow enveloped Ayodhya, the cries of its people echoed through its empty streets. The city was joyless, and tears choked the throats of all who dwelled there. Eventually, the night gave way to dawn, and as the sun rose, the royal priests and wise twice-born men assembled and made their way to the council chamber. Among them were Markandeya, Maudgalya, Vamadeva, Kashyapa, Katyayana, Gautama, and the illustrious Jabali. These revered brahmins, together with the king’s ministers, each spoke in turn, their voices directed toward Vasiṣṭha, the foremost of royal priests. They lamented, “This night has felt as long as a hundred years, passing in sorrow since the king departed from this world, overwhelmed by grief for his son. The great king has gone to heaven; Rāma has taken refuge in the forest, and Lakṣmaṇa has gone with him. Bharata and Śatrughna, both noble and ascetic, are far away in Kekaya, in the palace of their maternal grandfather. Today, we must enthrone someone from the Ikṣvāku lineage, for our kingdom cannot be left without a ruler, lest it fall into ruin.” They spoke of the consequences of a land without a king: “When there is no king, even thunderclouds, though they resound, do not rain upon the earth. Seeds are not sown, sons do not obey their fathers, nor wives their husbands. Wealth disappears, and even wives are lost; where disorder reigns, truth cannot exist. No assembly halls are built, nor do people construct gardens or sacred homes. Sacrificial rites are neglected, and wealthy brahmins do not distribute gifts at great ceremonies. Actors and dancers vanish, festivals and gatherings cease, and those who conduct business lose their purpose. Storytellers find no delight, maidens do not gather in gardens, and men do not venture to the forests with their beloveds. The wealthy and farmers no longer sleep safely with their doors open. Elephants, adorned with bells and ornaments, do not walk the royal roads. The sound of bowstrings and arrows is absent from the training grounds. Merchants fear to travel, no matter their merit. Even ascetics do not walk freely, nor do sages return home at dusk. Security and welfare vanish, and armies falter against enemies. Men no longer assemble swiftly, adorned with splendid horses and chariots. Those skilled in the scriptures lose their prosperity, whether in forests or groves. Offerings and garlands are not prepared for the gods. Royal princes do not shine, adorned with sandalwood, aloe, and perfumes, like trees in spring. Rivers without water, forests without grass, cows without herdsmen—all are like a kingdom without a king.” They continued, “The banner is the sign of the chariot, smoke is the sign of fire; among us, the king is our banner, now gone to divinity. In a land without a king, nothing belongs to anyone; men devour one another, as fish do. Even those who break boundaries, who are atheists or full of doubts, are brought to order by the king’s punishment. Just as sight guides the body, so the king is the source of truth and righteousness for the kingdom. The king is truth and righteousness, the noble lineage, both mother and father, the benefactor of all. Yama, Kubera, Indra, and Varuna—all are surpassed by the noble king through his great conduct.” Thus, in the sixty-seventh chapter of the Ayodhyākāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the elders and priests of Ayodhya, overwhelmed by grief and the absence of their king, gathered to affirm the need for a ruler, understanding that the king is the very heart and guiding force of the kingdom.