Hear now the story as told in the seventy-first chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, within the Ayodhyā section. Bharata, that valiant prince, turned his face forward and departed from the royal palace, resolute in his journey. Soon, he beheld the radiant waters of the Sudāmā river and crossed it with determination. Advancing further, the illustrious son of Ikṣvāku traversed the delightful and distant Śatadrū river, whose waves flowed backward and whose opposite bank gleamed invitingly. Continuing his journey, he crossed the Ela-dhāna river and, upon reaching its far shore, pressed on along a stony path that led through Agneyam, a place known for its arrow-cutting. Truthful, pure, and radiant, Bharata gazed upon the stone-laden hills and, passing over those great mountains, made his way toward the Caitra forest. He came upon the sacred Sarasvatī and Gaṅgā rivers, and with vigor, crossed both, entering the northern Bhāruṇḍa forest, famed as the land of the heroic Matsyas. Soon, he arrived at the swift-flowing Yamunā, called Kulinga, whose waters resounded amidst the surrounding mountains. Crossing this river as well, Bharata turned to reassure his army. There, at the riverbank, they cooled their weary limbs, comforted the tired horses, bathed, and drank deeply of the pure waters. Revitalized, they filled their vessels and pressed onward. Through the vast, seldom-frequented forest, the noble prince advanced in a fine vehicle, moving as swiftly as the wind coursing through the sky. Rāghava soon approached the mighty Bhāgīrathī, the great river renowned for its challenging crossing, at a famed city upon its eastern bank. After successfully crossing the Gaṅgā there, he reached the town of Kuṭikoṣṭhikā, and, together with his forces, continued on to Dharmavardhana. On the southern side of the city gate, he arrived at Jambūprastha, and the son of Daśaratha proceeded to the charming village of Varūtha. Resting for a time in the pleasant forest there, he moved forward once more, heading toward the garden of Ujjihāna, where beloved trees flourished. At last, reaching the grove of sāla trees, Bharata quickly mounted his horses, gave his army permission to follow, and hastened onward. At every ford, they paused; he crossed the Uttānakā river and traversed many other mountain streams in swift vehicles. Journeying on, he reached a hermitage near the back of the elephant-shaped hill—a tiger among men, he crossed the Lauhitya river at Kapivata. He then crossed the Eka-sala, the Vinata, and the Gomati rivers, and, arriving at the city of Kalinga, entered the Sala forest. Though his vehicle was thoroughly exhausted, Bharata pressed onward and, after passing through the forest, arrived at his destination at dawn. Seven nights had passed upon the road when, at last, he beheld the city of Ayodhya—the city built by King Manu, radiant and storied. As Ayodhya came into view, Bharata spoke to his charioteer with a troubled heart: “This city, famed for its sacred gardens, does not appear familiar to me.” He continued, “Ayodhya is seen from afar, O charioteer, its earth now pale, though once filled with Brahmins accomplished in virtue and learned in the Vedas.” He recalled, “Once, Ayodhya was crowded with sages and protected by the best of royal seers; in that city, a great, tumultuous sound always filled the air. But today, I do not hear, all around, the voices of men and women; the gardens, after the day’s play, are now deserted.” “Formerly, the gardens shone all around with people running about, but today they seem to lament, abandoned by those who once delighted in them. O charioteer, the city appears to me like a wilderness; for here, no vehicles, no elephants, no horses are to be seen.” He observed with sorrow, “Neither do the leading men go out or come in as before; once, the gardens appeared joyful and exuberant. In the past, these gardens were filled with people enjoying themselves, full of the highest delights; but now I see them utterly devoid of joy.” “With fallen leaves along the paths and trees seeming to cry out, even now no sound is heard of intoxicated beasts or birds. The sweet, gentle voices that once spoke many words, mingled with sandalwood and agaru, and enveloped in incomparable incense, are no longer heard.” He wondered, “Why does the auspicious wind not blow today as before, carrying the mingled sounds of drums, mridangas, and veenas struck at the corners? Why has the sound, once constant, ceased today, 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, when confusion is absent, my heart seems to sink; I am despondent, my heart is subdued, I am fearful, and my senses are agitated.” With these heavy thoughts, Bharata swiftly 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 about his victory; accompanied by them, Bharata proceeded, his heart filled with many anxieties, greeting those stationed at the gate. There, Raghava spoke to his charioteer, who was exhausted from driving 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 nature seems to be falling apart; I have heard such signs before, when kings met their end.” He continued, “O charioteer, I see all those signs here: the streets are unswept, and I notice harshness 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. I see households whose families have not eaten, people lacking vitality, and homes bereft of fortune.” Thus, Bharata entered Ayodhya, his heart weighed down by the city’s silence and the many signs of sorrow, anxiously pondering the fate that had befallen his beloved home and kin.