In the great endeavor to prepare the royal path for Bharata’s journey, many strong and able men set to work. Some broke through dense thickets of reeds and cleared difficult, uneven terrains, making the way passable. Others filled up wells and deep pits with sand, while some leveled the low-lying areas that surrounded the route. Every obstacle was addressed: what needed binding was bound, what needed clearing was cleared, and places that required breaking open were broken apart. The workers labored swiftly, and soon, many water channels of varied shapes and vastness, as immense as the sea, were created. In dry regions, they dug excellent wells, each adorned with platforms of different designs. The path itself was splendid, with floors carefully plastered, blossoming trees lining the way, the calls of intoxicated birds filling the air, and flags fluttering in the breeze. To further enhance the beauty, sandal water was sprinkled along the route, and a profusion of flowers decorated the way, making the army’s path shine as if it were a celestial road leading to heaven. The appointed officials, following their orders, selected delightful places rich with sweet fruits for rest and settlement. The area desired by the noble Bharata was adorned even more, sparkling like a precious jewel. Expert astrologers, choosing auspicious stars and moments, established the settlement for the great-souled Bharata. It was surrounded by moats heaped high with sand, with posts resembling Indra’s divine machinery, and splendid main gates. Rows of palaces stood, enclosed by mansions and walls adorned with flags, and broad, well-constructed roads ran throughout. Tall buildings soared, their upper stories seeming to glide through the sky, making the settlement appear like the city of Indra himself. At last, they reached the sacred Ganges, its banks filled with groves of trees, with cool, pure waters teeming with great fish. The royal road, delightful and skillfully built, shone in succession, just as the spotless night sky shines adorned with the moon and stars. Now begins the eighty-first sarga in the Ayodhya Kanda of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. During the auspicious night, bards and minstrels gathered to praise Bharata, offering words of blessing and songs filled with good omens. The hour-drum, rimmed with gold, resounded; hundreds of conches were blown, and musical instruments played notes both high and low. Yet the sound, grand as it was, only deepened Bharata’s sorrow, for he was consumed by grief. Awakened by the commotion, Bharata halted the noise and declared, “I am not king,” addressing Shatrughna. He spoke with anguish, “See, Shatrughna, what great harm Kaikeyi has done to the people. King Dasharatha has departed, leaving me to sorrow.” He lamented that the royal fortune of their righteous father, rooted in dharma, now wandered aimlessly like a rudderless boat on water. Even Rama, their mighty protector, had been banished to the forest by Bharata’s own mother, who had abandoned righteousness. Seeing Bharata thus distraught and pitiable, all the women present wept aloud. As Bharata grieved, the illustrious Vasishta, knower of royal duty, entered the assembly hall of the Ikshvaku lord. The hall was splendid, made of polished clay, adorned with gems and jewels, resembling Sudharma and filled with attendants. Vasishta, knower of all the Vedas, sat upon a golden throne covered with the finest cloth and gave instructions to the messengers: “Bring here quickly and without delay the Brahmins, Kshatriyas, warriors, ministers, and leaders of the people, for we have urgent business. Bring Shatrughna, loyal to the king, the illustrious Bharata, Yudhajit, Sumantra, and all those loyal people present.” A great tumult arose as people arrived in chariots, on horses, and on elephants. As Bharata entered, the people welcomed him as the gods would welcome Indra, just as they had once welcomed Dasharatha. The assembly, adorned by Dasharatha’s son, shone like a lake filled with mighty aquatic creatures, its waters still and its banks studded with gems, shells, and pebbles—just as it had once shone with Dasharatha himself. Here begins the eighty-second sarga in the Ayodhya Kanda of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. Bharata, wise in understanding, saw the assembly hall filled with noble elders, like a night brightened by the full moon. As the elders entered and took their seats in due order, the hall appeared like a night illuminated by the full moon after clouds had cleared. The splendid assembly, filled with learned men, shone just so. When all the royal counselors, experts in righteousness, had assembled, the chief priest gently addressed Bharata: “Dear child, King Dasharatha has gone to heaven, having upheld righteousness, after giving you the prosperous earth, rich in wealth and grain. Rama, steadfast in truth and resolve, remembering the duty of the virtuous, did not abandon his father’s command, just as the moon does not forsake its light when risen. The kingdom, now free of thorns, was given to you by your father and brother; enjoy it with joyful ministers and quickly perform the consecration.