As Rāma journeyed onward, he beheld the lands through which he passed: they were adorned with gardens and flourishing mango groves, blessed with abundant, pure water. The people there were content and healthy, and herds of cattle grazed peacefully across the countryside. Rāma, the tiger among men, rode in his chariot through these distinguished realms of noble kings, where the air resounded with the sacred chants of Brahmins. In the midst of this joyful, thriving, and beautiful land—rich with lovely gardens and fit for royal enjoyment—the steadfast Rāma continued his journey. Amidst this splendor, Rāghava’s eyes fell upon the divine Gaṅgā, flowing in three holy streams. The sacred river glistened, pure and untainted by weeds, her waters frequented by sages. Along her banks stood splendid hermitages, and at the proper times, the river was graced by the joyous Apsarases. She was further adorned by tranquil lakes. The Gaṅgā was beautified by the presence of gods, Dānavas, Gandharvas, and Kinnaras, and she was constantly attended by the wives of Nāgas and Gandharvas. Her banks were crowded with countless divine playgrounds and tens of thousands of celestial gardens. Renowned as the divine lotus-lake, the river seemed to ascend to the heavens for the sake of the gods themselves. In some places, the Gaṅgā laughed with the crashing of her waters, her smile as pure as foam. Elsewhere, her waters were braided or adorned with swirling eddies. Sometimes she was calm and deep, in other places agitated by swift currents; here she roared with a profound sound, there she thundered with a terrifying noise. At certain stretches, the gods bathed in her waters, and she shone with spotless lotuses. Sometimes she spread out in broad sandbanks, elsewhere her shores were covered in pure, white sand. Her banks echoed with the calls of swans and cranes, and the cries of chakravaka birds. Joyful songs of intoxicated birds filled the air. In some places, riverside trees garlanded her banks; in others, blooming lotuses and clusters of lotus plants crowded the water’s edge. Here she was beautified by clusters of kumuda buds; there she seemed almost intoxicated, scattered with the pollen of countless 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 forests and the four directions. Often, the Gaṅgā echoed with the trumpeting of divine elephants, her forests resounding with their calls. Like a beloved woman not yet adorned with her finest ornaments, she was beautiful even without embellishment. Her waters teemed with fruits, flowers, and tender shoots, her thickets alive with birds. Porpoises, crocodiles, and serpents inhabited her depths. This was the divine Gaṅgā—sprung from the feet of Viṣṇu, sinless and the destroyer of sin, fallen from the matted locks of Śaṅkara, blazing with the radiance of the ocean itself. As the mighty-armed Rāma approached the queen of rivers, whose banks echoed with the cries of cranes and waterfowl, he neared the city of Śṛṅgivera. Seeing the river 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.” Lakṣmaṇa and Sumantra replied, “So be it,” and led the horses to that ingudi tree. Rāma, the joy of the Ikṣvākus, approached the lovely tree, and together with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, descended from the chariot. Sumantra also dismounted, unyoked the noble horses, and, with hands joined in reverence, stood near Rāma, who had gone to the foot of the tree. At that moment, the king named Guha—Rāma’s own friend and the renowned chief of the Niṣādas, a man of great strength—approached. Hearing that Rāma, the tiger among men, had entered his territory, Guha, surrounded by his aged ministers and kinsmen, came forth to greet him. Seeing Guha standing at a respectful distance, Rāma, together with Saumitri (Lakṣmaṇa), approached him. Distressed and moved, Guha embraced Rāghava and said, “This land is yours as much as Ayodhyā, Rāma; what can I do for you? Who could hope for such a beloved guest as you?” 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 spoke thus, Rāghava 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 in a warm embrace, Rāma continued, “It is by good fortune, Guha, that I see you safe and well with your relatives. Is all well with your kingdom, your friends, and your wealth? As for what you have kindly prepared for us, I accept it all, but I do not engage in receiving gifts. Know me as one who wears grass, bark, and deerskin, who lives on fruits and roots, devoted to righteousness, and dwelling in the forest like an ascetic. I only require fodder for the horses, nothing else. By this alone, I shall be well honored by you here. For these horses are dear to my father, King Daśaratha. By providing well for these horses, I shall feel honored.” Guha then ordered his men to quickly bring water and fodder for the horses. As evening fell, Rāma, clad in an upper garment of bark, performed the twilight rites facing west. He took only water for his meal, brought to him by Lakṣmaṇa himself, thus honoring his vows as he prepared to spend the night on the sacred banks of the Gaṅgā.