As Rāma, accompanied by Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, arrived at Guha’s domain, Guha welcomed him warmly, saying, “Welcome to you, mighty-armed one! This entire land is yours. We are your servants; you are our lord. Rule our kingdom well.” With great affection, Guha offered all manner of hospitality—foods to eat and enjoy, drinks, delicacies, the finest beds, and fodder for the horses. Rāma listened to Guha’s words and 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, Rāma spoke with gratitude, “It is by good fortune, Guha, that I see you safe and well with your relatives.” He then asked, “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, eager to please, immediately ordered his men to bring water and fodder for the horses. As evening descended, Rāma, clad in bark, performed the twilight rites facing west. For his meal, he accepted only water, brought by Lakṣmaṇa. When Rāma lay down upon the earth, Lakṣmaṇa washed his feet, and then, together with Sītā, stood nearby under a tree, keeping watch. Guha, too, with his charioteer, remained vigilant, conversing with Lakṣmaṇa and holding his bow, determined to guard Rāma through the night. Thus, the wise and illustrious son of Daśaratha, unacquainted with suffering and accustomed to comfort, lay upon the ground as the long night slowly passed. Now, listen to the fifty-first chapter in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. Tormented by sorrow for Rāma’s sake, Guha spoke to Rāma, who was awake and without deceit, and to Lakṣmaṇa: “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 Kākutstha. Truly, there is no one on earth dearer to me than Rāma; I say this truthfully, and I swear to you by truth itself. By his 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 Rāma, as he lies here with Sītā, holding my bow in hand, together with my kinsmen, on all sides. There is nothing unknown to me in this forest where I always roam; even if a great fourfold army came, we could overcome it.” Lakṣmaṇa replied, “O faultless one, since we are being protected by you, we have no fear here; we see only righteousness. How could I find sleep, or even life or happiness, while the two sons of Daśaratha lie on the ground with Sītā? He whom neither gods nor asuras could overpower in battle—see him now, lying comfortably on grass with Sītā. He who was obtained by mantras, austerity, and various efforts—this only son of Daśaratha, possessing noble qualities. With him gone to the forest, the king will not last long; surely, the earth will soon become a widow. The women, exhausted, have ceased their loud wailing; I think, dear one, that the royal palace has now fallen silent. Kausalyā, the king, and likewise my own mother—I do not expect that any of them will survive this night. Perhaps my mother may live, out of concern for Śatrughna; but the sorrow that will destroy Kausalyā, the mother of a hero, is grievous indeed. That city, once filled with devoted people and bringing joy to those who beheld it, will perish, afflicted by the king’s misfortune. How will the great king’s life-breath remain, when he cannot see his eldest, beloved, noble son? When the king is lost, Kausalya will perish afterwards; and then my mother too will meet her end. Having failed to fulfill his cherished wish, having not installed Rama in the kingdom, my father will perish. When my father has passed away and that time has come, all those whose desires are fulfilled will perform the funeral rites for the king. The city, with its lovely crossroads, well-divided great roads, mansions and palaces, and adorned by the finest courtesans, crowded with chariots, horses, and elephants, resounding with the noise of musical instruments, filled with every auspicious thing, and teeming with joyful, prosperous people, rich in gardens and parks, abundant in gatherings and festivals—the people will move about happily in my father's royal city. If only King Dasharatha might live, and after our return from the forest, we might see that great-souled, virtuous man again. If, together with the truthful and unharmed one, we might enter Ayodhya again after the forest exile is ended.” Thus, through the night, sorrow and hope mingled in the hearts of Rāma’s companions, as they kept watch over the exiled prince, longing for the day when they might return to the beloved city of Ayodhya.