Journeying on the southern side of the city gate, Bharata, son of King Dasharatha, came to Jambūprastha and then continued to the delightful village of Varūtha. There, after spending time in the pleasant forest, he pressed onward toward the gardens of Ujjihāna, where trees dear to the heart grew in abundance. Upon reaching the grove of beloved sāla trees, Bharata quickly mounted his horses, gave his army permission to follow, and hastened forward. At each ford, he paused, and after crossing the Uttānakā river, he traversed many other mountain streams with his swift vehicles. Reaching the hermitage near the back of the elephant-shaped rock, that tiger among men crossed the Lauhitya river at Kapivata. He then crossed the rivers Eka-sala, Vinata, and Gomati, and, arriving at the city of Kalinga, entered the forest of Sala trees. Though his chariot and horses were thoroughly exhausted, Bharata pressed on with urgency. After passing through the forest, he arrived at dawn, and, after seven nights on the road, finally beheld Ayodhya—the glorious city built by King Manu. Seeing Ayodhya in the distance, Bharata spoke to his charioteer: “This city, renowned for its sacred gardens, does not appear familiar to me.” He continued, “Ayodhya is visible from afar, O charioteer, with its pale earth, filled with Brahmins accomplished in virtue and skilled in the Vedas. Once, Ayodhya was crowded with sages and protected by the best of royal seers; the city always echoed with a great, tumultuous sound. But today, I do not hear, all around, the voices of men and women, for the gardens, after the day’s play, are now deserted by the people. Formerly, the gardens shone with people running about, but now they seem to mourn, abandoned by those who once delighted in them.” He observed with sorrow, “O charioteer, the city appears to me like a wilderness; there are no vehicles, no elephants, no horses to be seen. The leading men neither go out nor come in as before; once, the gardens were 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 subdued, I am fearful, and my senses are agitated.” With these heavy thoughts, Bharata entered the city protected by the Ikshvaku dynasty, passing through the Vaijayanta gate, his vehicle weary from the long journey. The doorkeepers rose and asked about his victory; accompanied by them, he proceeded, his heart filled with many anxieties, greeting those stationed at the gate. There, Bharata said to the 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. 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. Offerings to the gods are scattered, and the sacrificial enclosures are in such a state; in the flower markets, neither garlands nor other wares are seen today. Even merchants are not seen here as before; their hearts are troubled with anxious thoughts, and their businesses have come to a halt. In the temples and shrines, even the flocks of birds appear dejected. I see men and women in the city, unkempt, their eyes full of tears, thin, absorbed in thought, and overcome with longing.” Having spoken thus, Bharata, his mind distressed after witnessing these inauspicious signs in Ayodhya, went to the royal palace. He saw the city, bright as Indra’s own, but with empty towers, deserted mansions, and dusty red gates and doors. Overwhelmed with sorrow, he observed many unpleasant things, never seen before in his city. The great-souled prince, his head bowed, mind dejected and joyless, entered his father’s house. But there, in his father’s house, Bharata did not find his father. So he went to see his mother, in her own residence. When Kaikeyi saw her son, returned from exile, she rose up joyfully, leaving her golden seat behind.