As the sun shone over the encampment along the banks of the sacred Gaṅgā, Guha, the king of the Niṣādas, gazed upon the vast army spread before him. The multitude of soldiers, glimmering like the ocean under the sky, seemed endless to his searching eyes. He pondered deeply, unable to fathom where this great host began or ended. Guha soon recognized Bharata himself at the head of the army, his chariot adorned with a banner bearing the crimson blossoms of the kovidāra tree. A sense of unease stirred in Guha’s heart. He wondered aloud to his kinsmen, “Perhaps Bharata has come to bind us, or even to kill us. Or, since Rāma, son of Daśaratha, was exiled by his own father, Bharata—the son of Kaikeyī—may now be seeking the rare fortune of kingship and has come to slay his brother.” But Guha’s heart remained loyal to Rāma, whom he considered both his lord and his friend. Resolute, he instructed his followers: “Let all those devoted to Rāma stand ready on the riverbank. All the strong and able Niṣādas who dwell along the Gaṅgā should remain here, guarding the river and sustaining themselves on meat, roots, and fruits.” He then ordered five hundred youthful and well-armed boatmen to stand prepared, each group of a hundred ready for a hundred boats. “When Bharata has met with Rāma and is satisfied, then this fortunate army may cross the Gaṅgā today,” Guha declared. With these preparations made and bringing gifts of fish, meat, and honey, Guha, lord of the Niṣādas, went to approach Bharata. As Guha neared, Sumantra, the wise and courteous charioteer, informed Bharata, “Here comes Guha, chief of the Niṣādas, surrounded by a thousand kinsmen, skilled in the ways of the Dandaka forest, elder, and a true friend of your brother.” Sumantra added, “Let Guha see you, O descendant of Kakutstha; he surely knows where Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa are.” Hearing these auspicious words, Bharata quickly agreed, “Let Guha come before me.” Delighted at being permitted, Guha, surrounded by his people, approached Bharata, bowed reverently, and addressed him: “This settlement is ours, yet we too have been unsettled by all that has transpired. We inform you honestly—please remain within your own community of servants. Here are roots and fruits gathered by the Niṣādas, fresh and dried meat, and abundant wild foods of every kind. May your army eat and spend this night here, honored and with every need fulfilled. Tomorrow, you may depart at your will with your troops.” Bharata, wise and discerning, replied to Guha with words both reasonable and purposeful: “O friend of my teacher, your wish has been fulfilled; you alone have desired to honor such a great army as mine.” Having spoken thus, the illustrious Bharata, radiant in his might, addressed Guha again: “By which path shall I proceed to the hermitage of Bharadvāja, O Guha? This region is dense, and the bank of the Gaṅgā is difficult to cross.” Guha, who knew the forest well, answered with joined palms, “My servants, skilled with the bow, will accompany you, and I too will follow you, O prince of great fame. Yet, surely you do not come with evil intent toward Rāma, whose deeds are blameless. The sight of your great army causes me some doubt.” To this, Bharata replied gently, his words clear and sincere: “Let there never be such a time of misfortune; do not suspect me. Rāghava is my elder brother, equal to my father. I come only to bring back Kakutstha, who dwells in the forest. Do not entertain any other thought—Guha, I speak the truth to you.” Hearing Bharata’s heartfelt words, Guha’s face lit up with joy. He spoke again, delighted: “Blessed are you! I see no one on earth your equal, who wishes to renounce a kingdom that has come to you without effort. Surely your fame will follow you through all the worlds, for you wish to bring back Rāma, who now suffers in hardship.” As Guha and Bharata conversed, the sun’s brilliance faded and night approached. Guha, satisfied after arranging for the army’s care, returned with Shatrughna, the illustrious prince, to his own resting place. Yet as darkness settled, a sorrow born of anxious thought came upon the great-souled Bharata. Though so devoted to righteousness, he was consumed by a grief he did not deserve. An inner fire tormented him, like a hidden blaze scorching a tree in a forest fire. Sweat, born from the heat of his anguish, streamed from all his limbs, just as the Himalaya, warmed by the sun’s rays, releases its snow. Within the cavern of his mind, heavy with meditation and sighs, surrounded by the dejected multitude and the peaks of sorrow and fatigue, Bharata was overwhelmed by the towering mountain of suffering, by the relentless force of confusion, by the burning pain of longing, and by the bitter herbs of distress—the son of Kaikeyī, weighed down by grief for his beloved brother.