In the absence of a king, the land falls into disarray. Even when thunderclouds rumble mightily across the sky, they do not release their life-giving rain upon the earth. Without a sovereign to guide them, people no longer sow seeds into the soil, sons cease to heed their fathers, and wives disregard their husbands. Wealth disappears, and even the bonds of marriage lose their meaning; where such disorder prevails, truth itself cannot be found. Without a king, men do not gather to build assembly halls, nor do they joyfully create beautiful gardens or sacred homes. The twice-born—those steadfast in self-control and vows—no longer perform their sacrificial rites. At great sacrifices, the wealthy brahmins do not distribute generous gifts to the worthy. The land is devoid of actors and dancers, and festivals or prosperous gatherings no longer flourish. Merchants striving for success find their efforts fruitless, and lovers of stories no longer delight in pleasant tales. Maidens, adorned in their finery, do not gather in gardens to play as evening falls. Men no longer venture into the forests in swift vehicles, accompanied by their beloveds. The wealthy, the farmers, and those who keep cattle cannot sleep safely with their doors open. Elephants, once adorned with bells and ornaments, do not parade along the royal roads in their old age. The vibrant twang of bowstrings and the release of arrows in the training grounds are no longer heard. Merchants who once travelled far and wide cannot journey safely, no matter how much merit they have accumulated. Even solitary ascetics do not feel secure enough to wander in contemplation, nor do sages return home at dusk. Security and welfare vanish; armies cannot stand firm against their enemies. Men do not gather swiftly, splendidly arrayed with horses and chariots. Those skilled in the scriptures lose their prosperity, whether dwelling in forests or groves. Garlands, sweets, and offerings are not prepared for the worship of the gods, even by the disciplined. Royal princes, once radiant with sandalwood, aloe, and perfumes, no longer shine like blossoming trees in spring. A kingdom without a king is like rivers without water, forests without grass, and cows without a herdsman—bereft and desolate. Just as a banner marks a chariot and smoke reveals fire, so does the king stand as the banner of the people, attaining a divine stature among them. In such a land, nothing truly belongs to anyone; like fish in water, people prey upon one another. Even those who have broken boundaries, who are skeptical or full of doubts, are brought to order under the king’s authority. Just as sight guides the body, the king is the very source of truth and righteousness for the realm. He is truth and righteousness incarnate, the noble lineage, both mother and father, and the benefactor of all. Through his great conduct, the noble king surpasses even Yama, Kubera, Indra, and mighty Varuna. Without a king, the world would be shrouded in darkness, with no way to distinguish good from bad. While the great king lives, all follow his command, just as the ocean remains within its bounds. Therefore, O best of the twice-born, seeing the state of our conduct, this kingdom has become like a wilderness without a king. The generous prince, son of Ikshvaku, should be crowned by you as king. Thus concludes the sixty-seventh chapter, and now begins the sixty-eighth in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, within the Ayodhyā section. Hearing these words, the sage Vasiṣṭha addressed all the friends, ministers, and brahmins, saying: “Since Bharata is now living contentedly in his maternal uncle’s city, residing in the royal palace together with his brother Śatrughna, let swift messengers be dispatched at once, with fast horses, to bring back those two heroic brothers. Why should we delay?” All present agreed with Vasiṣṭha’s proposal. Then Vasiṣṭha spoke again: “Come, Siddhārtha, Vijaya, Jayanta, Aśoka, and Nandana—listen to what must be done. Go swiftly to the city and the royal palace with the fastest horses, leaving sorrow behind. Say this to Bharata on my behalf: ‘The chief priest and all the ministers send you their greetings. Depart at once with haste; an urgent matter awaits you.’ But do not tell him that Rāma has gone into exile, nor that his father has died; simply convey this summons to the house of the Raghus. Quickly take fine silk garments and splendid ornaments for the king and for Bharata, and be on your way.