वसिष्ठाज्ञया दूतानां राजगृहगमनम्

In the previous sarga Mārkaṇḍeya and the other brahmins had described at length the evils of a kingless land and begged Vasiṣṭha to consecrate some prince of Ikṣvāku's line himself. Now Vasiṣṭha gave his answer to the friends, ministers and brahmins gathered there. “Bharata, to whom the kingdom has been given, is living happily in his maternal uncle's house, delighted to be with his brother Śatrughna. So let swift messengers go at once on fast horses to bring the two heroic brothers back. What more is there for us to consider?” Vasiṣṭha opened no debate; he simply followed the rightful succession: the one to whom the kingdom had been given was the one to be summoned. “Let them go,” they all said, and Vasiṣṭha turned to the messengers themselves: “Come, Siddhārtha, Vijaya, Jayanta, Aśoka, Nandana — hear what must be done. I am speaking to all of you.” By naming five messengers the poet signals the weight of the errand. And it is worth noting that Vasiṣṭha ordered no one's consecration; he arranged only for Bharata to be brought, judging that the decision should wait until he came.

Vasiṣṭha's orders fell into three parts: where to go, what to say, and what not to say. “Ride on the swiftest horses to the city of Rājagṛha, let no grief show on your faces, and give Bharata this message from me.” That no grief should show even on the messengers' faces mattered greatly. The message itself was this: “The chaplain and all the ministers ask after your welfare. Set out in haste; there is urgent business here that needs you.” And what they were not to say he spelled out plainly: “Do not tell him that Rāma has gone into exile, nor that his father is dead. Do not go and speak to him of the ruin that has fallen on the Raghus.” Had Bharata heard on the road of his father's death and Rāma's exile, he might have collapsed with grief and the journey been delayed; that was the reason for the secrecy. Last, he ordered gifts: “Take silk garments and fine ornaments at once for the king of Kekaya and for Bharata, and be on your way.” So the embassy was shown to be conducted with courtesy as well as policy. And there is a quiet irony here: Vasiṣṭha sends word asking after Bharata's welfare when nothing in Ayodhyā is well, and in that lies the pathos of the message.

Having received their orders and been given provisions for the road, the messengers went each to his own house, mounted well-chosen horses and made ready for the journey to the Kekayas. They performed the rites of departure, finished whatever else remained to be done, took leave of Vasiṣṭha and set out in all haste; even in their hurry they did not neglect the auspicious rites before a journey. Here the poet begins his description of the route, one of the well-known pieces of geography in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. First they kept to the skirt of Aparatāla and the northern side of Pralamba, following the river Mālinī that flows between the two mountains. Then they crossed the Gaṅgā at Hastinapura, turned westward, reached the Pāñcāla country and passed through the middle of Kurujāṅgala. The direction of the journey is clear: north-west from Ayodhyā, across the Gaṅgā and through the lands of the Pāñcālas and the Kurus toward the Kekayas. By naming place after place the poet makes the listener feel both the speed of the messengers and the length of their road.

On the way they looked at lakes in full flower and rivers of clear water, yet they pressed on quickly because of their errand; they saw the beauty but did not linger over it. They came at speed to the lovely river Śaradaṇḍā, clear, brimming and alive with birds of every kind, and crossed it. On its western bank stood a divine tree known as the tree whose boon never fails, because any prayer made there comes true. They went up to it, saluted it with reverence and entered the city of Kuliṅgā. Then, reaching Abhikāla and leaving Tejo'bhibhavana behind, they forded the holy Ikṣumatī, the river of their king's fathers and forefathers; the phrase reminds us that Daśaratha's ancestors had frequented this river, so that even the messengers' road is bound up with the memory of the Ikṣvāku line. They saw there brahmins who had mastered the Vedas and lived on no more than a palmful of water, and passed on through the land of the Bāhlīkas and by Mount Sudāman. Holy places, trees, rivers and ascetics all add to the sanctity of the road, and scholars value this sarga, with its wealth of place-names, as an important witness to the routes of ancient India.

From the summit of Sudāman they gazed at the footprint of Viṣṇu, and they reached the Vipāśā and the Śālmalī. Looking at rivers, step-wells, tanks, pools and lakes, and at lions, tigers, deer and elephants of many kinds, they travelled that very long road, eager to carry out their master's command. The poet stretches a single sentence across two verses, so that the reader too feels the length of the way. Their mounts grew tired on that long road, yet it was untroubled, and they came quickly and without mishap to Girivraja, finest of cities. For their master's pleasure, for the protection of the royal house and to secure the succession of his line, the messengers pressed on without complaint or resentment, their long toil borne in a spirit of service, and in their haste they entered the city that very night. That last line prepares the next sarga: on the very night they arrived, Bharata saw an evil dream.