In the world, hunting in the forest is arranged for the pleasure of royal sages, and is sought after by those skilled with the bow at the proper time. Understanding this tradition, the descendant of Ikṣvāku, Rama, spoke gently to his charioteer and set out on the path, giving careful instructions. Thus concluded a chapter of their journey. Having traversed the delightful and vast Kosala, Rama, the wise elder brother of Lakṣmaṇa, with palms joined in reverence, spoke to the charioteer as they journeyed toward Ayodhyā. “I take leave of you, O best of cities, protected by the Kakutstha lineage, and of the deities who guard and dwell within you. When my exile in the forest is completed, free from debt to the king, I will see you again, together with my mother and father.” His eyes reddened with tears, Rama raised his right arm, his face full of sorrow, and addressed the people of Janapada: “You have shown me compassion and kindness as was fitting; but long suffering is worse than evil—go now, so that your purpose may be fulfilled.” The people, lamenting terribly, saluted the great soul and circumambulated him, standing here and there, hearts heavy with grief. As they lamented, unsatisfied in their longing, Rāghava departed from their sight, like the sun at the approach of night. Rama’s journey took him past prosperous villages, filled with grain and wealth, inhabited by generous and virtuous people, free from fear, beautiful and surrounded by sacrificial posts. He saw gardens and mango groves, blessed with abundant water, crowded with contented and healthy people, and served by herds of cattle. Passing through distinguished lands of kings, resounding with the chants of Brahmins, Rama rode in his chariot. Amidst this joyful, flourishing, and beautiful land, crowded with lovely gardens, the steadfast prince journeyed through a kingdom fit for the enjoyment of kings. There, Rāghava beheld the divine Gaṅgā, flowing in three streams, holy and pure, free from weeds, and frequented by sages. The river was adorned by splendid hermitages and graced by joyous Apsarases at the proper time, attended by lakes. She was beautified by gods, Dānavas, Gandharvas, and Kinnaras, and constantly attended by the wives of Nāgas and Gandharvas. Crowded with hundreds of divine playgrounds and tens of thousands of celestial gardens, famed as the divine lotus-lake, the river ascended to the heavens for the sake of the gods. In some places the river laughed with the crashing of water, her smile pure as foam; elsewhere, her waters were braided and adorned with swirling eddies. In some places she was calm and deep, elsewhere agitated by swift currents; here she resounded with a profound roar, there with a terrifying noise. In some stretches, gods bathed in her waters, and she shone with spotless lotuses; at times she spread out in broad sandbanks, elsewhere her shores were covered in pure sand. Her banks echoed with the calls of swans and cranes, and the cries of chakravaka birds; she was always filled with the joyful songs of intoxicated birds. In some places she was adorned by riverside trees like garlands; elsewhere she was covered by blooming lotuses, and in some spots crowded with clusters of lotus plants. In some places she was beautified by clusters of kumuda buds; in others, she appeared as if intoxicated, scattered with the pollen of many flowers. Free from muddy gatherings, she shone with the clarity of jewels; her banks were frequented by wild elephants and the finest tuskers of the directions and the forest. Often, she echoed with the trumpeting of divine elephants, her forests resounding; like a beloved woman not yet adorned with the finest ornaments, she was beautiful even without embellishment. Filled with fruits, flowers, and tender shoots, with thickets and birds, she was inhabited by porpoises, crocodiles, and serpents. This was the divine Ganga, sprung from Vishnu's feet, sinless and destroyer of sin; fallen from the matted locks of Shankara, blazing with the radiance of the ocean. Rama, mighty-armed, approached the Ganga, queen of rivers, whose banks echoed with the cries of cranes and waterfowl, as he neared the city of Shringibera. Seeing her swirling with waves and eddies, the great chariot-warrior said to Sumantra, “Let us stay here tonight. Not far from the river stands a great ingudi tree, abundant with flowers and leaves; let us stay right here, charioteer. We will behold the best of rivers, sacred and honored by all, whose waters are revered by gods, demons, gandharvas, beasts, humans, and birds.” Lakshmana and Sumantra replied to Raghava, “So be it,” and brought the horses to that ingudi tree. Rama, the joy of the Ikshvakus, approached the lovely tree, and together with his wife and Lakshmana, descended from the chariot. Sumantra also dismounted, unyoked the noble horses, and, with hands joined in reverence, stood near Rama who had gone to the foot of the tree. There, Guha, king of the Nishadas, Rama’s friend equal to himself and renowned as their chief, approached, accompanied by his aged ministers and kinsmen, having heard that Rama, the tiger among men, had entered his territory. Seeing Guha standing at a distance, Rama, together with Saumitri, approached him. Distressed, Guha embraced Rāghava and said, “This land is yours as much as Ayodhyā, Rama; what can I do for you? For who, O mighty-armed one, would gain such a beloved guest as this?” Then, bringing various kinds of excellent food and drink, Guha quickly offered water for washing and spoke these words of welcome.