Rāma, ever attentive to the well-being of his people, inquired with deep concern about Ayodhyā, the city graced by the legacy of his ancestors. He asked whether the city, adorned with mansions of varied forms and bustling with skilled physicians, remained prosperous, joyful, and well-protected under the current rule. He wondered if Ayodhyā shone with hundreds of splendid buildings, was densely populated, and beautified by temples, rest houses, and serene ponds. Rāma’s thoughts turned to the people themselves: were the men and women of Ayodhyā cheerful and radiant, gathering in festivals, their lands well-cultivated, cattle abundant, and the city free from violence? Was Ayodhyā delightful, untouched by irreligious folk or wild beasts, free from all fears, and adorned with rich mines? He asked whether the region, safeguarded by his forebears and cleansed of wickedness, remained prosperous, with its people living in happiness. With care, Rāma inquired about the welfare of those dear to him—especially those who lived by farming and cattle-rearing—knowing that happiness in the world springs from agriculture. Had their protection and well-being been ensured, without neglect? For it is the king’s duty to safeguard all his subjects through righteousness. He also asked about the women of the realm: were they comforted and well protected? Did the king trust them, refraining from speaking of their secrets? Was the elephant forest well guarded, and were the royal herds of cows, horses, and elephants plentiful and satisfactory? Rāma wondered whether the king regularly appeared before the people, adorned and dignified, rising early each day to show himself on the great highway. He questioned whether the officials performed their duties openly, without suspicion or leaving tasks unfinished or reasons incomplete. He asked if all the fortresses were fully supplied—with wealth, grain, weapons, water, machines, and skilled archers. Was the income of the kingdom abundant and expenditure modest, ensuring the treasury was never squandered on the unworthy? Was spending directed towards the gods, ancestors, visiting Brahmins, warriors, and friends? Rāma’s sense of justice was keen: was the noble person, pure in heart, never wrongly accused of theft, nor condemned without inquiry, nor punished out of greed while innocent? Was the thief, when caught and questioned with evidence, not released out of greed for wealth? He asked if, in times of adversity or prosperity, wise ministers, impartial in judgment, looked after the king’s interests. He reminded that the tears of those falsely accused bring ruin to the sons and cattle of those who punish out of desire for favor. Rāma was concerned for the vulnerable: did the king support the aged, the young, and the foremost physicians through gifts, thought, and kind words? Did he show respect to teachers, elders, ascetics, deities, guests, all sacred shrines, the accomplished, and the Brāhmaṇas? He asked if the king used wealth to uphold righteousness, and righteousness to increase wealth, never harming either out of desire or greed. Did he, knowing the right time, serve all three—wealth, righteousness, and pleasure—dividing attention as appropriate? He wondered if the Brāhmaṇas, wise in all the scriptures, wished the king well, along with the citizens and country folk. Did the king avoid irreligion, falsehood, anger, carelessness, procrastination, disregard for the wise, laziness, and a fickle mind? Rāma questioned whether matters of state were properly considered: did the king avoid making decisions alone, consulting only the ignorant, failing to act on decisions, or neglecting to protect counsel? Did he avoid the fourteen royal faults, such as neglecting auspicious acts and failing to rise to occasions? He asked if the king truly understood the ten, five, four, seven, eight, and three groups, as well as the three branches of knowledge. Having mastered his senses, did he know the sixfold policy, the divine and human factors, the twenty types of duties, and the circle of subjects? Did the king properly approve of military expeditions, punishment, the two kinds of birth, alliances, and hostilities? Did he consult with ministers as prescribed—sometimes with four, three, or all together, or separately? Were his studies of the Vedas fruitful? Were his rituals fruitful? Were his marriages fruitful? Was his learning fruitful? Was his understanding, as described, conducive to long life, fame, and the pursuit of righteousness, desire, and wealth? Did he follow the conduct of his father and ancestors, walking the path of righteousness? Did he avoid eating delicious food alone, sharing it instead with friends who desired it? Rāma reflected that a wise king, ruling his people with justice and upholding the law, having rightfully attained the earth, departs to heaven when his time comes. Thus ended the hundredth sarga in the glorious Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the ancient and revered Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. Hearing Rāma’s words, Bharata replied with humility and sorrow, “What use is kingship to me, deprived as I am of righteousness? This is the eternal law among us, O best of men: when the eldest son is present, the younger cannot become king. Come, Rāghava, return with me to prosperous Ayodhyā, and be consecrated for the good of our lineage. They may call a king a mortal, but to me, he is as divine, whose conduct is guided by righteousness and wealth, though he is human.