The great king had departed this world and ascended to heaven. Rāma, the beloved prince, had taken refuge in the forest, and his mighty brother Lakṣmaṇa had faithfully gone with him. Meanwhile, Bharata and Śatrughna—renowned for their asceticism—were living far away in the delightful royal palace of their maternal grandfather, in the land of the Kekayas. In the absence of a ruler, the ministers and elders of the Ikṣvāku line gathered together, deeply concerned for their kingdom. They spoke with urgency: “Let someone from the Ikṣvāku dynasty be made king today, for our kingdom must not fall into ruin without a sovereign.” They reflected on the consequences of a land without a king. “In such a place, even when thunderclouds roar, no rain falls to nourish the earth. Seeds are not sown, sons do not heed their fathers, nor do wives honor their husbands. Without a king, wealth disappears—even the bonds of marriage do not hold, and truth itself cannot endure amidst such disorder. “In a kingdom without a ruler, no assembly halls are built, nor do people joyfully make gardens or sacred homes. The twice-born, devoted to sacrifice and firm in their vows, no longer perform rituals. At great sacrifices, the generous brāhmaṇas do not bestow abundant gifts upon the worthy. Actors, dancers, festivals, and gatherings that bring prosperity vanish. Merchants fail in their ventures, and those who delight in stories find no joy in tales. Maidens, adorned in their finery, no longer gather in gardens for play at dusk. Men do not venture into the forests with swift vehicles, accompanied by their beloveds. “The wealthy, the farmers, and cattle-keepers cannot sleep safely with open doors. Elephants, adorned with bells and ornaments, no longer walk the royal roads in their prime. The sound of bowstrings and arrows in the training grounds is silenced. Merchants, even those who have earned much merit, cannot travel the roads in safety. Solitary ascetics no longer walk freely, nor do sages return home at dusk without fear. Security and welfare do not prevail, and the army cannot withstand enemies in battle. Men no longer assemble in splendor with horses and chariots. Those learned in the scriptures do not prosper, whether in forests or groves. Garlands, sweets, and offerings are not prepared for the gods by the disciplined. Royal princes lose their luster, no longer adorned with sandalwood, aloe, and perfumes, like trees bereft of spring. “A kingdom without a king is like a river without water, a forest without grass, or cows without a herdsman. Just as the banner marks the chariot and smoke signals fire, so the king is our banner, a divine presence among us. In a land without a king, nothing belongs to anyone; men prey upon each other like fish. Even those who break boundaries, who are faithless or filled with doubt, are restrained only by the king’s justice. “The king is to the kingdom what sight is to the body—he is the very source of truth and righteousness. He embodies truth and virtue, is the lineage’s upholder, and is both mother and father to his people—their greatest benefactor. By his noble conduct, the king surpasses even Yama, Kubera, Indra, and Varuna. Without a king, the world would be plunged into darkness, and nothing would be known; no one could distinguish good from evil. “While the great king lived, we all followed your command alone, just as the ocean remains within its bounds. Now, O best of the twice-born, seeing our plight, this kingdom has become like a wilderness without a ruler. The generous prince, son of Ikṣvāku, should be crowned king by you.” Thus ends the sixty-seventh chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā section. Hearing these heartfelt words, the sage Vasiṣṭha addressed all the friends, ministers, and learned Brāhmaṇas gathered there. He said, “Since Bharata is now living contentedly in his maternal uncle’s city, together with his brother Śatrughna, let swift messengers be dispatched at once, with the fastest horses, to bring back those two heroic brothers—why should we delay?” All present agreed with Vasiṣṭha’s counsel, saying, “Let them go.” Then Vasiṣṭha spoke again, “Come, Siddhārtha, Vijaya, Jayanta, Aśoka, and Nandana—listen carefully, for I will tell you what must be done.