Along the banks of the sacred Ganga, a wondrous scene unfolded. The air was alive with the calls of swans and cranes, mingled with the cries of chakravaka birds, while intoxicated birds filled the river’s edges with their joyful songs. In some stretches, riverside trees adorned the banks like garlands; elsewhere, blooming lotuses and thick clusters of lotus plants covered the water’s edge. In certain places, clusters of kumuda buds lent their own beauty, and in others, the river seemed almost intoxicated herself, scattered with the golden pollen of countless flowers. The Ganga flowed pure and clear, shining like a string of jewels, unsullied by mud. Her banks drew wild elephants and the finest tuskers from the forests and all directions. At times, the divine trumpeting of these mighty elephants echoed through the forests, filling the air with their majestic presence. Yet, even without ornament, Ganga’s beauty was like that of a beloved woman, radiant and unadorned. The river teemed with fruits, flowers, and tender shoots, her shores thick with thickets and birds. Within her waters lived porpoises, crocodiles, and serpents. She was the divine Ganga, sprung from the very feet of Vishnu, sinless and the destroyer of sin, fallen from the matted locks of Shankara, blazing with the radiance of the ocean itself. It was toward this queen of rivers, whose banks still echoed with the cries of cranes and waterfowl, that mighty-armed Rama drew near as he approached the city of Shringibera. Gazing upon the swirling waves and eddies of the river, the great chariot-warrior said to his charioteer Sumantra, “Let us stay here tonight.” He pointed out a great ingudi tree, lush with flowers and leaves, standing not far from the river. “Let us stay right here, charioteer,” Rama said. “We will behold the best of rivers, sacred and honored by all, whose waters are revered by gods, demons, gandharvas, beasts, humans, and birds alike.” Lakshmana and Sumantra agreed, and they brought the horses to the ingudi tree. Rama, the joy of the Ikshvakus, approached that beautiful tree, and with his wife Sita and his brother Lakshmana, he descended from the chariot. Sumantra too dismounted, unyoked the noble horses, and, with hands joined in reverence, stood near Rama at the foot of the tree. At that moment, Guha, the chief of the Nishadas and Rama’s friend—renowned for his strength—approached. Hearing that Rama, the tiger among men, had entered his territory, Guha gathered his aged ministers and kinsmen and came forth. Seeing the king of the Nishadas standing at a distance, Rama and Lakshmana went to meet him. Distressed and moved, Guha embraced Rama and said, “This land is yours as much as Ayodhya, Rama; what can I do for you?” He added, “Who could hope for such a beloved guest as you?” Guha quickly brought various kinds of excellent food and drink, offered water for washing, and spoke warmly: “Welcome, O 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’s generous words, 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.” Embracing Guha with his strong arms, Rama 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 in spirit, 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 Dasharatha. By providing well for these horses, I shall feel honored.” Guha immediately ordered his men to bring water and fodder for the horses. Then, Rama, wearing an upper garment of bark, performed the evening twilight rites facing west. For his meal, he took only water, brought by Lakshmana. When Rama lay down on the ground, Lakshmana washed his feet, and then, together with Sita, stood nearby, taking shelter under a tree. Guha, too, with his charioteer, conversed with Lakshmana and, remaining vigilant and armed with a bow, stayed awake to guard Rama. Thus, as that wise and illustrious son of Dasharatha—unacquainted with suffering and accustomed to comfort—lay there, the long night slowly passed. Now, listen to the next chapter of the Ayodhya Kanda of the glorious Ramayana of Valmiki. Guha, tormented by sorrow for the sake of his brother, spoke to Rama, who was awake and sincere, and to Lakshmana: “Dear prince, this comfortable bed has been prepared for you; rest well upon it as you wish, and take comfort here. All these people are accustomed to hardship, but you are suited for comfort; we will remain awake through the night to guard Kakutstha. Truly, there is no one on earth dearer to me than Rama; I say this truthfully, and I swear to you by truth itself. By your favor, I hope to gain great fame in this world, to attain abundant righteousness, and to acquire pure prosperity. Therefore, I will protect my dear friend Rama, as he lies here with Sita, holding my bow in hand, together with my kinsmen, on all sides.