After Bharata had spoken his intentions, his attentive ministers responded, "So be it," and immediately arranged the army, each contingent stationed in its proper place. The army, splendid with its shining armor and banners, was arrayed along the great river Ganga. There, Bharata remained with his noble followers, his mind dwelling on the hope of bringing Rama back. As the vast army encamped by the Ganga, the king of the Nishadas, Guha, quickly addressed his kinsmen. Gazing upon the immense host, radiant as the ocean, Guha admitted that even after much thought, he could not see its end. He recognized Bharata himself among them, his chariot bearing a banner with the kovidāra tree. Guha pondered anxiously: perhaps Bharata had come to bind or even kill the Nishadas. Or, since Rama, son of Dasharatha, had been exiled by his father, perhaps Bharata, son of Kaikeyi, sought the kingship for himself and was coming to kill Rama. But Guha’s loyalty was clear—Rama was both his lord and his friend. For Rama’s sake, he instructed all those devoted to him to stand ready on the Ganga’s bank. He called upon the strong and able Nishadas living along the river to guard its shores, sustaining themselves on meat, roots, and fruits. He ordered five hundred well-armed and youthful boatmen to stand prepared, a hundred for each hundred boats, ready for any need. Guha declared that if Bharata was satisfied with Rama, then the army, blessed by fortune, would be allowed to cross the Ganga that very day. Having spoken thus, Guha gathered gifts of fish, meat, and honey, and approached Bharata. As Guha drew near, Sumantra, the wise and courteous charioteer, informed Bharata, "This is Guha, the chief, surrounded by a thousand kinsmen, skilled in the Dandaka forest, elder, and your brother’s friend. Let Guha see you, descendant of Kakutstha; without doubt, he knows where Rama and Lakshmana are." Hearing these auspicious words, Bharata quickly said, "Let Guha see me." With permission granted, Guha, delighted and surrounded by his kinsmen, approached Bharata and bowed before him. He said, "This place is a settlement, and we too have been unsettled; we all inform you—stay within your own community of servants. Here are roots and fruits brought by the Nishadas, fresh and dried meat, and abundant wild food of every kind. I hope your army, having eaten, will spend this night here, honored and with every need met. Tomorrow, you may depart with your troops." Thus addressed, Bharata, wise and discerning, replied with words filled with reason and purpose. "Indeed, your wish, O friend of my teacher, has been fulfilled; for you alone desire to honor such an army of mine." The illustrious Bharata, radiant in might, then asked Guha, "By which path shall I go to the hermitage of Bharadvāja, O Guha? This region is dense, and the bank of the Ganga is hard to cross." Guha, knowing the forest ways, responded with joined palms, "The servants, skilled with bows, will accompany you; and I too will follow you, prince of great fame. Yet, surely you do not go with evil intent toward Rama, whose deeds are blameless; this great army of yours causes me some doubt." With gentle words, clear as the sky, Bharata replied, "Let there never be such a time of misfortune; you should not suspect me. Raghava is my elder brother, equal to my father. I am going to bring back Kakutstha, who dwells in the forest; do not think otherwise—Guha, I speak the truth to you." Hearing these words, Guha’s face lit up with joy. Delighted, he said, "Blessed are you; I see no one on earth equal to you, who wish to renounce a kingdom that has come to you without effort. Surely your fame will follow you through the worlds, for you wish to bring back Rama, who has fallen into hardship." As Guha and Bharata thus conversed, the sun lost its brilliance and night approached. Guha, satisfied with the arrangements for the army, returned with Shatrughna to his resting place. But as darkness fell, a sorrow born of anxious thought overcame the great-souled Bharata, who, though so devoted to righteousness, did not deserve such grief. An inner burning tormented him, as a hidden fire scorches a tree parched by the forest blaze. Sweat, born of the fire of sorrow, flowed from all his limbs, just as the Himalaya, heated by the sun’s rays, releases its snow.