As dawn broke over Ayodhyā, the brahmins and ministers, each voicing their concerns separately, turned toward Vasiṣṭha, the revered royal priest, seeking his guidance. They spoke of the night that had just passed, a night so long and sorrowful it felt as if it lasted a hundred years. Grief weighed heavily upon them, for their beloved king had departed from this world, consumed by sorrow for his exiled son. They lamented: the great king had ascended to heaven; Rāma, the embodiment of virtue, had sought refuge in the forest, accompanied by his loyal brother Lakṣmaṇa. Meanwhile, Bharata and Śatrughna, both noble and ascetic in their ways, were far away in Kekaya, residing in the splendid palace of their maternal grandfather. With deep concern, they urged, “Let someone from the Ikṣvāku lineage be crowned king today, for our kingdom must not fall into ruin without a ruler.” They spoke of the dire consequences of a land bereft of a king: even thunderclouds, though they may roar, do not shower rain upon the earth; seeds are not sown, sons do not obey fathers, nor wives their husbands. Wealth disappears, and even the bonds of marriage dissolve. In such disorder, truth itself cannot survive. They continued, painting a picture of a kingdom in decline: assembly halls are not built, nor are gardens or sacred homes constructed. The twice-born, devoted to sacrifice and steadfast in their vows, do not perform sacred rites. At grand sacrifices, wealthy brahmins do not distribute gifts to the worthy. Festivals and gatherings cease, actors and dancers vanish, and prosperity fades. Businessmen fail to achieve their aims, storytellers find no delight, and adorned maidens no longer gather in gardens to play. Men do not venture into forests with swift vehicles and their beloveds. The wealthy, farmers, and cattle-keepers cannot sleep safely with their doors open. Elephants, adorned with bells and ornaments, no longer walk the royal roads. The twang of bowstrings and the sound of arrows in training grounds are silenced. Merchants fear to travel, even those who have earned much merit. Ascetics do not walk freely, nor do sages return home at dusk. Security and welfare vanish, armies cannot withstand enemies, and men do not assemble with splendid horses and chariots. Those skilled in scriptures do not prosper, garlands and offerings are not prepared for the gods, and royal princes do not shine adorned with sandalwood and perfumes. They likened a kingdom without a king to rivers without water, forests without grass, and cows without herdsmen. The king, they said, is the banner of the people, just as smoke signals fire and a banner marks a chariot—he is the sign of divinity among them. Without a king, nothing belongs to anyone; men prey upon each other like fish in a pond. Even those who break boundaries, who are atheists or filled with doubt, are kept in order by the king’s punishment. The king is the source of truth and righteousness, much like sight is essential to the body. He is truth and righteousness incarnate, the noble lineage, both mother and father, and the benefactor of all. Through his noble conduct, the king surpasses even Yama, Kubera, Indra, and Varuna. Without a king, the world would fall into utter darkness; none would know right from wrong. While the great king lived, all followed only Vasiṣṭha’s command, just as the ocean stays within its bounds. Now, they pleaded, “O best of twice-born, seeing our conduct, this kingdom is a wilderness without a king. The generous prince, son of Ikṣvāku, should be crowned by you as king here.” Thus concludes the sixty-seventh chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa in the Ayodhyā section. Hearing these heartfelt words, Vasiṣṭha addressed the friends, ministers, and brahmins gathered before him. He spoke: “Since Bharata now dwells happily in his maternal uncle’s city, in the royal palace, together with his brother Śatrughna, let swift messengers go quickly, with fast horses, to bring back those two heroic brothers. Why should we delay?” All those assembled agreed, saying to Vasiṣṭha, “Let them go.” Hearing their words, Vasiṣṭha prepared to speak again, guiding the kingdom toward its next steps in this time of uncertainty.