Not far from the river’s edge, Rama gazed upon a great ingudi tree, lush with flowers and leaves, its branches spreading wide. Turning to his charioteer, he said, “Let us stay here, Sumantra. This is a fitting place.” He wished to behold the sacred river, revered by gods, demons, gandharvas, beasts, humans, and birds alike—a river honored and cherished by all. Lakshmana and Sumantra, hearing Rama’s gentle command, replied, “So be it,” and led the horses to the shade of the ingudi tree. Rama, the delight of the Ikshvaku line, approached the tree, and with Sita and Lakshmana, descended from the chariot. Sumantra, too, alighted, unyoked the noble horses, and with hands folded in reverence, stood near Rama, who now rested at the foot of the tree. At that moment, Guha, the mighty chief of the Nishadas and Rama’s dear friend—equal to Rama in strength and renown—approached. News had reached Guha that Rama, the tiger among men, had entered his territory. With his aged ministers and kinsmen by his side, Guha came forth to greet his friend. Seeing the king of the Nishadas standing at a respectful distance, Rama, accompanied by Lakshmana, went forward to meet him. Guha, his heart heavy with concern, embraced Rama and said with deep affection, “This land is yours as much as Ayodhya, Rama. Tell me, what can I do for you?” Guha continued, “Who would not rejoice to receive such a beloved guest? I have brought all manner of excellent food and drink. Please, accept this water for washing, and let me serve you.” He welcomed Rama warmly: “This entire land is yours, mighty-armed one. We are your servants; you are our lord. Rule over our kingdom as you see fit. Here are foods to eat and enjoy, drinks to savor, the finest beds for your rest, and fodder for your horses.” To these offerings, Rama replied with gentle gratitude, “Guha, you have honored us greatly by coming to us on foot and by your heartfelt welcome. I am truly gladdened to see you safe with your family. Is all well with your kingdom, your friends, and your wealth? As for your generous gifts, I accept your intention, but I do not partake in such comforts.” He continued, “Know me as one who now wears grass, bark, and deerskin, living on fruits and roots, devoted to righteousness, dwelling in the forest as an ascetic. I require nothing but fodder for the horses. By caring for them, you will have honored me well, for these horses are dear to my father, King Dasharatha.” Guha, understanding Rama’s wishes, immediately ordered his men to bring water and fodder for the horses. As evening descended, Rama donned his upper garment of bark and, facing west, performed the twilight rites. He took only water for his meal, brought by Lakshmana. When it was time to rest, Rama lay down on the ground. Lakshmana gently washed his feet, and then, together with Sita, stood watchful under the sheltering tree. Guha, too, with his charioteer, conversed quietly with Lakshmana. Armed and vigilant, Guha stayed awake through the night, determined to guard Rama. So it was that the wise and illustrious son of Dasharatha—unaccustomed to hardship and once surrounded by every comfort—now lay upon the bare earth, as the long night slowly passed. Listen now to the next chapter of the Ayodhya Kanda in the glorious Ramayana of Valmiki. Guha, his heart troubled with sorrow for his friend and brother, spoke to Rama, who was awake and ever honest, and to Lakshmana. “Dear prince,” he said, “this comfortable bed has been prepared for you. Please, rest upon it as you wish, and find comfort here. All these people are used to hardship, but you are accustomed to ease. We shall remain awake through the night to guard you, O Kakutstha.” Guha spoke earnestly, “Truly, there is no one on earth dearer to me than Rama. I say this with all sincerity, and I swear it by truth itself. By your favor, I hope to gain great fame, abundant righteousness, and pure prosperity in this world. Therefore, I will protect my dear friend Rama, as he lies here with Sita, bow in hand and surrounded by my kinsmen, watching on all sides.” He added, “There is nothing in this forest unknown to me; I roam here always. Even if a great fourfold army should come, we could overcome it.” Lakshmana responded, “O faultless one, since you are protecting us, we have no fear here; we see only righteousness. Yet, how could I find sleep, or even life or happiness, while the two sons of Dasharatha lie on the ground with Sita? He whom neither gods nor asuras could overpower in battle—see him now, resting on grass with Sita by his side.” He continued, “He who was obtained by mantras, austerity, and various efforts—this only son of Dasharatha, endowed with noble qualities—now dwells in exile. With him gone to the forest, the king will not survive long; surely, the earth will soon become a widow. The women, exhausted, have ceased their loud wailing; I think, dear friend, the royal palace has now fallen silent. Kausalya, the king, and my own mother—I do not expect any of them will survive this night. Perhaps my mother may live, out of concern for Shatrughna; but the sorrow that will destroy Kausalya, the mother of a hero, is grievous indeed.” Thus, in the shelter of the ingudi tree by the sacred river, Rama, Sita, Lakshmana, and their devoted friends spent the night—each heart filled with love, concern, and steadfast duty.