When my exile in the forest is over and I am freed from my duty to the king, Rama assured, I will see you again, together with my mother and father. His eyes reddened with tears, his right arm raised, his face sorrowful, Rama then addressed the people of Janapada who had gathered around him. “You have shown me compassion and kindness as was fitting,” he said, “but long suffering is worse than evil. Go now, so that your purpose may be fulfilled.” Having paid their respects to the great-souled Rama and walking around him in reverence, the people, overcome with grief, stood here and there, lamenting terribly. Their hearts unsatisfied in longing, they watched as Rama, the descendant of Raghu, departed from their sight—like the sun vanishing at the approach of night. As Rama journeyed on, he beheld prosperous villages filled with grain and wealth, inhabited by generous and virtuous people, free from fear, beautiful and surrounded by sacrificial posts. These villages were adorned with gardens and mango groves, blessed with abundant water, crowded with healthy, contented folk, and served by herds of cattle. The tiger among men, Rama, passed through the distinguished lands of the kings, where the air resounded with the chants of Brahmins, traveling in his chariot. Amidst this joyful, flourishing, and beautiful land—crowded with lovely gardens—the best among the steadfast journeyed through a kingdom truly fit for the enjoyment of kings. There, Rama beheld the divine Ganga, flowing in three streams: holy, pure, free from weeds, and frequented by sages. The sacred river was adorned by splendid hermitages nearby and graced by joyous Apsarases at the proper time; lakes attended her. The Ganga was beautified by the presence of gods, Dānavas, Gandharvas, and Kinnaras, and was constantly attended by the wives of Nāgas and Gandharvas. Her banks were crowded with hundreds of divine playgrounds and adorned with tens of thousands of celestial gardens, famed as the divine lotus-lake, ascending 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 in other spots, adorned with swirling eddies. In some stretches she was calm and deep, elsewhere agitated by swift currents; here she resounded with a profound roar, there with a terrifying noise. In certain places, 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 with blooming lotuses, and in some spots crowded with clusters of lotus plants. In other places, she was beautified by clusters of kumuda buds; sometimes 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 her finest ornaments, she was beautiful even without embellishment. She was 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. The mighty-armed Rama approached the Ganga, queen of rivers, whose banks echoed with the cries of cranes and waterfowl, as he neared the city of Shringibera. Seeing the river swirling with waves and eddies, Rama, the great chariot-warrior, said to Sumantra, “Let us stay here tonight.” He pointed out, “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, “So be it,” and brought the horses to that ingudi tree. Rama, the joy of the Ikshvakus, approached the lovely tree with his wife and Lakshmana and 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. At that time, Guha, the king of the Nishadas—Rama’s friend equal to himself, renowned as chief of his people and a man of great strength—approached. Hearing that Rama, the tiger among men, had entered his territory, Guha, surrounded by his aged ministers and accompanied by his kinsmen, came forth. Seeing the king of the Nishadas standing at a distance, Rama and Saumitri (Lakshmana) approached Guha. Distressed, Guha embraced Rama and said, “This land is yours as much as Ayodhya, Rama; what can I do for you?” 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: “Welcome to you, mighty-armed one! This entire land is yours. We are your servants; you are our lord. Rule our kingdom well. Here are foods to eat, to enjoy, to drink, and to taste, as well as the finest beds and fodder for your horses.” To Guha, who was speaking thus, Rama replied, “We have indeed been honored and made joyful by you in every way—by your coming to us on foot and by your affectionate welcome.” Pressing Guha with his well-formed arms, Rama spoke with affection, “It is by good fortune, Guha, that I see you safe and well with your relatives.