Protected by his army and accompanied by ministers of the highest standing, noble Bharata—taking with him the valiant and enemyless Śatrughna—departed from his home as if leaving Indra’s own celestial realm. Now, hear the seventy-first chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā section. With his face set resolutely forward, Bharata left the royal palace. Soon, he beheld the radiant Sudāmā river and crossed its flowing waters. The illustrious son of Ikṣvāku then traversed the delightful, distant, and wave-laden Śatadrū river, which flowed backward and had banks far apart. Moving onward, he crossed the Ela-dhāna river and, reaching the far side, made his way over a path strewn with stones and through the Agneyam, a place marked by arrow-cutting. Truthful, pure, and illustrious, Bharata gazed upon hills burdened with stones and pressed on, passing over great mountains toward the Caitra forest. He reached the sacred Sarasvatī and mighty Gaṅgā rivers, crossing them with vigor before entering the northern Bhāruṇḍa forest, land of the heroic Matsyas. Arriving at the swift-flowing Yamunā, known as Kulinga and ringed by mountains, he crossed its resounding waters, then paused to reassure his weary army. There, at the Yamunā’s edge, they cooled their limbs, comforted their tired horses, bathed, drank deeply, and filled their vessels with water before journeying onward. Through a vast and seldom-traveled forest, the prince advanced nobly in a fine vehicle, moving with the swiftness of the wind across the sky. Quickly, Rāghava approached the Bhāgīrathī—the great Gaṅgā—difficult to cross, at a renowned city upon its eastern bank. Having crossed to the far side, he arrived at Kuṭikoṣṭhikā; pressing on with his forces, he reached Dharmavardhana. On the southern side of the city gate, he came to Jambūprastha, and then the son of Daśaratha proceeded to the charming village of Varūtha. After resting in the pleasant forest there, Bharata moved forward toward the garden of Ujjihāna, where beloved trees flourished. Upon reaching the beautiful sāla trees, he quickly mounted his horses, gave his army leave to proceed, and hurried onward. At every ford, he paused, crossing the Uttānakā river and traversing many other mountain streams with his swift vehicles. At last, reaching a hermitage near the back of a great elephant, that tiger among men crossed the Lauhitya river at Kapivata. He forded the Eka-sala, Vinata, and Gomati rivers, and after arriving at the city of Kalinga, entered the dense Sala forest. With his vehicle thoroughly exhausted, Bharata pressed on quickly, passing through the forest and arriving at dawn. After seven nights on the road, Bharata—tiger among men—finally beheld Ayodhya, the splendid city built by King Manu. As the city came into view, he turned to his charioteer and said, “This city, renowned for its sacred gardens, does not appear familiar to me. Ayodhya is seen from afar, O charioteer, its earth pale, filled with Brahmins accomplished in virtue and skilled in the Vedas.” He continued, “Once, Ayodhya thronged with sages and was protected by the best of royal seers; a great, tumultuous sound always filled the air. But today, all around, I do not hear the voices of men and women. The gardens, once lively after the day’s play, are now deserted.” “Formerly, the gardens shone with people running about, but today they seem to mourn, abandoned by those who once delighted in them. O charioteer, the city appears to me like a wilderness; there are no vehicles, no elephants, and no horses to be seen. The leading men no longer go out or come in as before. Once, the gardens were joyful and exuberant, filled with people enjoying themselves, but now I see them utterly devoid of joy.” “With fallen leaves along the paths and trees seeming to cry out, even now there is no sound of intoxicated beasts or birds. The sweet, gentle voices that once filled the air—mingled with sandalwood and agaru, wrapped in incomparable incense—are no longer heard.” “Why does the auspicious wind not blow as before, carrying the mingled sounds of drums, mridangas, and veenas played at every corner? Why has the constant music ceased, and why does the city seem to move so sluggishly? I see many unfavorable and evil omens.” “Because of these inauspicious signs, my mind is troubled; surely, O charioteer, well-being among my relatives is hard to find. Indeed, even when confusion is absent, my heart seems to sink. I am despondent, subdued in spirit, fearful, and my senses are agitated.” Swiftly, Bharata entered the city protected by the Ikṣvāku dynasty, passing through the Vaijayanta gate, his vehicle weary from the long journey. The doorkeepers rose to greet him and inquired after his victory; accompanied by them, he proceeded, his heart heavy with anxieties, greeting those stationed at the gate. There, Raghava spoke to his charioteer, who was exhausted from guiding the horses: “O faultless one, for what reason have I been brought here in such haste? My heart is seized by ominous foreboding, and my very nature seems to be falling apart. I have heard such signs before, when kings met their end.” “O charioteer, I see all those signs here: the streets are unswept, and harshness is everywhere. The gates are not properly closed, all splendor is absent, rituals of offering are neglected, and the air is heavy with smoke from burnt incense.