With his face set resolutely forward, the valiant Bharata departed from the royal palace. As he journeyed on, he soon beheld the radiant waters of the Sudāmā river and crossed it. Pressing onward, the illustrious son of Ikṣvāku traversed the delightful and distant Śatadrū, a mighty river with backward-flowing, wave-laden currents and far-off banks. Continuing his journey, Bharata crossed the Ela-dhāna river, reaching its further shore. He pressed through a path strewn with stones and passed by the Agneyam, a place famed for arrow-cutting. Truthful, pure, and radiant, he gazed upon hills burdened with stones and moved over the great mountains, making his way toward the Caitra forest. His path led him to the sacred rivers Sarasvatī and Gaṅgā, which he crossed with vigor. Thereafter, he entered the northern Bhāruṇḍa forest, renowned as the land of the heroic Matsyas. Soon, he arrived at the swift-flowing Yamunā, also called Kulinga, whose waters resounded amidst the surrounding mountains. After crossing this river, Bharata reassured his weary army. The company paused to refresh themselves, bathing and drinking from the cool waters, comforting their tired horses and taking water with them as they prepared to continue. Through the vast, seldom-traveled forest, Bharata advanced nobly in his fine vehicle, moving with the swiftness of the wind across the sky. Swiftly, Rāghava approached the mighty Bhāgīrathī river, difficult to cross, at a city famed on its eastern bank. Having crossed the Gaṅgā there, he reached Kuṭikoṣṭhikā, and, gathering his forces, pressed on to Dharmavardhana. On the southern side of the city gate, he came to Jambūprastha and proceeded to the charming village of Varūtha. After resting in the pleasant forest nearby, Bharata moved forward toward the garden of Ujjihāna, where beloved trees flourished. Upon reaching the grove of sāla trees, he swiftly mounted his horses, gave the signal to his army, and hurried onward. At every ford, he paused, crossing the Uttānakā river and many other mountain streams with his swift vehicles. Eventually, he reached a hut near the back of the elephant and crossed the Lauhitya river at Kapivata. He continued over the Eka-sala, Vinata, and Gomati rivers, and, arriving at the city of Kalinga, entered the Sala forest. Exhausted by the long journey, Bharata pressed on, passing through the forest and at dawn, he finally beheld Ayodhya—the city built by King Manu—after seven nights on the road. As Ayodhya came into view, he spoke to his charioteer with concern: "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. It is a city once filled with Brahmins accomplished in virtue and skilled in the Vedas. In days past, Ayodhya bustled with sages and was protected by the best of royal seers; a great, joyful tumult always resounded there." "But today," Bharata lamented, "I do not hear the voices of men and women, for the gardens, after the day's play, are now deserted. Once, these 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, no horses to be seen." "Neither do the leading men go out or come in as before; once, the gardens were joyful and exuberant. In the past, these places overflowed with people enjoying themselves, full of the highest delights, but now they seem utterly devoid of joy. With fallen leaves along the paths and trees that seem 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 the scent of sandalwood and agaru, and enveloped in incomparable incense, are no longer heard." "Why does the auspicious wind not blow today as before, carrying the mingled sounds of drums, mridangas, and veenas? Why has that constant sound ceased, and why does the city seem so sluggish? 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. When confusion is absent, my heart seems to sink; I am despondent, my heart subdued, fearful, and my senses agitated." Bharata swiftly entered the city protected by the Ikṣvāku dynasty, passing through the Vaijayanta gate, his vehicle weary from the journey. The doorkeepers rose and asked of his victory; accompanied by them, Bharata proceeded, his heart filled with many anxieties, greeting those stationed at the gate. There, he turned to his exhausted charioteer and asked, "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 falter; I have heard such signs before, when kings met their end." "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. The shrines have lost their garlanded beauty, their courtyards are unclean, the temples are empty, and they do not shine as before." Thus, as Bharata entered his beloved city, his heart was overcome by sorrow and foreboding, for the Ayodhya he saw was not the one he had left—a city once radiant with joy, now shrouded in silence and gloom.