In that city of Ayodhya, which had grown dark and gloomy only bats seemed to fly in freedom and no elephants roamed, no chariots thundered down its streets. The sharp rays of the sun had deprived the rivers and lakes of much of their waters. The city of the Ikshvaku's which had once competed with the Amaravathi of Indra was now desolate. Like the golden flames of a sacrificial fire momentarily lose their brilliance so too had Ayodhya .

Silent like a waveless sea, Ayodhya lay drab and dim like a meteor spent. The scent of flowers, sandalwood and the burning of incense no longer pervaded the air. Bereft of any kind of ornament, Ayodhya was reminiscent of a body neglected and ravaged by grief. Passing through this somber silence, Bharata asked of Sumantra, "Where is the fragrance of unguents and flowers that had filled the very air of the city Sumantra? Where are the clangerous noises of racing chariots, drumming hooves and trumpeting elephants? The youth no longer wear their finery and revel. The absence of Rama's presence has robbed Ayodhya of its entire splendor and gaiety. His welcome from exile will cause a glorious celebration by the ecstatic populace of Ayodhya. He will be welcomed like the rain bearing clouds on a hot summer day." Bharata entered the palace, which reminded him of the empty den of a lion.