# Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa 106 — Bharata returns without Rāma *Ayodhyā resembles an extinguished fire and deserted altar, he laments its emptiness and reaches Daśaratha’s residence* Portion: Rāma’s sandals and rule at Nandigrāma · Verses: 24 · Ref format: 2.106. ## Sequence - Bharata enters the city (106.1) - the narrative pauses over its emptiness through a series of comparisons: an extinguished fire, a defeated army, an abandoned altar, a damaged watering place, and a sky without its familiar lights (106.2–18) - Bharata asks why the music, pleasant scents, traffic, horses, elephants, and well-dressed crowds of former days are gone (106.19–23) - lamenting Rāma's absence, he reaches Daśaratha's residence, now empty of the King (106.24). ## Verses **2.106.1** snigdhagambhīraghoṣeṇa syandanenopayān prabhuḥ ayodhyāṃ bharataḥ kṣipraṃ praviveśa mahāyaśāḥ Approaching in a chariot of smooth, deep rumble, the mighty and greatly renowned Bharata swiftly entered Ayodhyā — **2.106.2** biḍālolūkacaritām ālīnanaravāraṇām timirābhyāhatāṃ kālīm aprakāśāṃ niśām iva — (a city) roamed by cats and owls, its men and elephants withdrawn indoors, overwhelmed by gloom, black and lightless like the night; **2.106.3** rāhuśatroḥ priyāṃ patnīṃ śriyā prajvalitaprabhām graheṇābhyutthitenaikāṃ rohiṇīm iva pīḍitām like Rohiṇī, the beloved wife of the Moon (foe of Rāhu), blazing with radiant beauty yet, all alone, afflicted by an assailing planet; **2.106.4** alpoṣṇakṣubdhasalilāṃ gharmottaptavihaṃgamām līnamīnajhaṣagrāhāṃ kṛśāṃ girinadīm iva like a shrunken mountain-stream, its scant water warm and troubled, its birds scorched by heat, its minnows, fish, and crocodiles lurking hidden; **2.106.5** vidhūmām iva hemābhām adhvarāgnisamutthitām havirabhyukṣitāṃ paścāc chikhāṃ vipralayaṃ gatām like a smokeless, gold-hued flame risen from the sacrificial fire, then, sprinkled over with oblation, sunk to extinction; **2.106.6** vidhvastakavacāṃ rugṇagajavājirathadhvajām hatapravīrām āpannāṃ camūm iva mahāhave like an army in a great battle, its armor shattered, its elephants, horses, chariots, and banners broken, its champions slain, brought to ruin; **2.106.7** saphenāṃ sasvanāṃ bhūtvā sāgarasya samutthitām praśāntamārutoddhūtāṃ jalormim iva niḥsvanām like an ocean-wave that, having risen foaming and roaring, once the wind that raised it was stilled, fell silent; **2.106.8** tyaktāṃ yajñāyudhaiḥ sarvair abhirūpaiś ca yājakaiḥ sutyākāle vinirvṛtte vediṃ gataravām iva like an altar deserted, when the soma-pressing hour is over, by all its sacred implements and its comely priests, its clamor gone; **2.106.9** goṣṭhamadhye sthitām ārtām acarantīṃ navaṃ tṛṇam govṛṣeṇa parityaktāṃ gavāṃ patnīm ivotsukām like a cow, mate of the herd, standing distressed in the midst of the pen, not grazing the fresh grass, forsaken by the bull and full of longing; **2.106.10** prabhākarālaiḥ susnigdhaiḥ prajvaladbhir ivottamaiḥ viyuktāṃ maṇibhir jātyair navāṃ muktāvalīm iva like a new pearl-strand robbed of its finest genuine gems — dazzling with light, well-polished, as if ablaze; **2.106.11** sahasā calitāṃ sthānān mahīṃ puṇyakṣayād gatām saṃhṛtadyutivistārāṃ tārām iva divaś cyutām like a star fallen from the sky, suddenly dislodged from its station, come down to earth at the exhaustion of its merit, its spread of radiance drawn in; **2.106.12** puṣpanaddhāṃ vasantānte mattabhramaraśālinīm drutadāvāgnivipluṣṭāṃ klāntāṃ vanalatām iva like a forest-creeper at spring's close, decked with blossoms and graced by drunken bees, scorched by a rushing wildfire and withered; **2.106.13** saṃmūḍhanigamāṃ sarvāṃ saṃkṣiptavipaṇāpaṇām pracchannaśaśinakṣatrāṃ dyām ivāmbudharair vṛtām the whole city with its trade-roads bewildered and its markets and shops shut up, like the sky veiled by rain-clouds, its moon and stars concealed; **2.106.14** kṣīṇapānottamair bhinnaiḥ śarāvair abhisaṃvṛtām hataśauṇḍām ivākāśe pānabhūmim asaṃskṛtām strewn with broken cups drained of their finest drink, like an untended tavern-ground in the open, its topers struck down; **2.106.15** vṛkṇabhūmitalāṃ nimnāṃ vṛkṇapātraiḥ samāvṛtām upayuktodakāṃ bhagnāṃ prapāṃ nipatitām iva like a fallen, broken watering-shed, its floor torn up and sunken, littered with shattered vessels, its water all used up; **2.106.16** vipulāṃ vitatāṃ caiva yuktapāśāṃ tarasvinām bhūmau bāṇair viniṣkṛttāṃ patitāṃ jyām ivāyudhāt broad and outstretched, like the bowstring of mighty men — its loop made fast — severed by arrows and fallen from the bow to the ground; **2.106.17** sahasā yuddhaśauṇḍena hayāroheṇa vāhitām nikṣiptabhāṇḍām utsṛṣṭāṃ kiśorīm iva durbalām like a weak young mare ridden hard all at once by a battle-avid horseman, then, its trappings cast off, turned loose; **2.106.18** prāvṛṣi pravigāḍhāyāṃ praviṣṭasyābhra maṇḍalam pracchannāṃ nīlajīmūtair bhāskarasya prabhām iva like the radiance of the sun that, when the rains are at their height, has entered the mass of clouds and is hidden by dark thunderheads. **2.106.19** bharatas tu rathasthaḥ sañ śrīmān daśarathātmajaḥ vāhayantaṃ rathaśreṣṭhaṃ sārathiṃ vākyam abravīt But the illustrious Bharata, Daśaratha's son, seated in his chariot, spoke these words to the charioteer who was driving that finest of cars: **2.106.20** kiṃ nu khalv adya gambhīro mūrchito na niśamyate yathāpuram ayodhyāyāṃ gītavāditraniḥsvanaḥ “Why is it that today the deep, swelling sound of song and instruments is not heard in Ayodhyā, as it used to be? **2.106.21** vāruṇīmadagandhāś ca mālyagandhaś ca mūrchitaḥ dhūpitāgarugandhaś ca na pravāti samantataḥ The heady scents of wine, the pervading fragrance of garlands, and the smoky perfume of burning aloe-wood no longer waft on every side. **2.106.22** yānapravaraghoṣaś ca snigdhaś ca hayaniḥsvanaḥ pramattagajanādaś ca mahāṃś ca rathaniḥsvanaḥ nedānīṃ śrūyate puryām asyāṃ rāme vivāsite The rumble of fine carriages, the gentle neighing of horses, the trumpeting of rutting elephants, and the great din of chariots — none of it is heard now in this city, with Rāma sent into exile. **2.106.23** taruṇaiś cāru veṣaiś ca narair unnatagāmibhiḥ saṃpatadbhir ayodhyāyāṃ na vibhānti mahāpathāḥ No longer do the great avenues of Ayodhyā shine, once thronged by young men, handsomely attired and stately in their gait. **2.106.24** evaṃ bahuvidhaṃ jalpan viveśa vasatiṃ pituḥ tena hīnāṃ narendreṇa siṃhahīnāṃ guhām iva Lamenting thus in many ways, he entered his father's dwelling, bereft of that lord of men — like a cave bereft of its lion.