Guha, the noble chief of the Niṣādas, approached Rāma with concern and affection, asking, “Is all well with your kingdom, your friends, and your wealth?” He wished to ensure Rāma’s welfare, and offered whatever comforts and gifts he had prepared for them. Rāma, with gentle gratitude, accepted Guha’s hospitality but made it clear, “I do not engage in receiving gifts. Know me as one who wears grass, bark, and deerskin, living on fruits and roots, devoted to righteousness, dwelling in the forest like an ascetic.” Rāma explained that he needed nothing for himself, only fodder for the horses. “By this alone, I shall be well honored by you here,” he said. “These horses are dear to my father, King Daśaratha. By providing well for them, I shall feel honored.” Guha, eager to please Rāma, immediately instructed his men to bring water and fodder for the horses. As evening descended, Rāma, clad in his bark garment, performed the twilight rites facing west. For his meal, he accepted only water, brought by Lakṣmaṇa. When Rāma lay down upon the ground, Lakṣmaṇa lovingly washed his feet, then stood nearby with Sītā, taking shelter under a tree and keeping vigil. Guha, too, stayed awake through the night, conversing with Saumitri and remaining vigilant with his charioteer, bow in hand, guarding Rāma. Thus, the wise and illustrious son of Daśaratha, unaccustomed to hardship and luxury, lay on the earth, and the long night slowly passed. Now begins the fifty-first chapter in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. Guha, tormented by sorrow for Rāma’s sake, spoke to Rāghava and Lakṣmaṇa, who were awake and sincere. “Dear prince, a comfortable bed has been prepared for you; rest well upon it as you wish, and take comfort here. All these people with me are used 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 by truth itself. By his favor, I hope to gain great fame in this world, attain abundant righteousness, and 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.” While the great-souled prince, afflicted with sorrow and lamenting, remained there, the night passed by. As Lakṣmaṇa spoke with heartfelt devotion for the people’s welfare, Guha, overwhelmed by love for his noble friend, shed tears, stricken with grief like an ailing elephant tormented by pain. Now begins the fifty-second sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. When the night had passed and morning had come, the illustrious Rāma spoke to Saumitri, Lakṣmaṇa of auspicious marks: “The time of sunrise has come, the blessed night has gone; look, dear one, the dark-plumed cuckoo is calling.