Bharata, wise and discerning, responded thoughtfully to Guha, the lord of the Niṣādas, whose respectful words revealed both concern and loyalty. “Your wish, O friend of my teacher,” Bharata said, “has truly been fulfilled; for you alone desire to honor such an army as mine.” After expressing his gratitude, Bharata, radiant in strength, addressed Guha once more with excellent words: “By which path shall I go to the hermitage of Bharadvāja, O Guha? This region is dense, and the bank of the Gaṅgā is difficult to cross.” Guha, knowledgeable in the ways of the forest, listened intently to the wise prince and replied with joined palms, “The servants, skilled with bows, will accompany you; and I too will follow, O prince of great fame.” Yet, Guha’s heart was troubled, and he voiced his concern: “Surely you do not go with evil intent toward Rāma, whose deeds are blameless; this great army of yours causes me some doubt.” Bharata answered gently, his words clear as the sky, “Let there never be such a time of misfortune; you should not suspect me. Rāghava is my elder brother, equal to my father. I go 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 sincere words, Guha’s face brightened with joy. He spoke again, delighted, “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 Rāma, who has fallen into hardship.” As Guha and Bharata conversed, the sun lost its brilliance and night approached. Guha, having arranged the army, felt satisfied and, together with Shatrughna, returned to his resting place. Yet, a sorrow born of anxious thought settled upon the great-souled Bharata, who did not deserve such grief, being so devoted to righteousness. An inner burning tormented Bharata, as a hidden fire scorches a tree parched by the forest blaze. Sweat, born from the fire of grief, flowed from all his limbs, just as the Himalaya, heated by the sun’s rays, releases its snow. His mind became a mountain of meditation, his sighs its minerals, surrounded by dejected trees and peaks of sorrow and fatigue. Overwhelmed by the great mountain of suffering, by the endless force of bewilderment, by the bamboo of burning pain and the herbs of distress, the son of Kaikeyi was utterly consumed. He sighed deeply, his mind greatly troubled, his awareness confused, fallen into dire misfortune, finding no peace, tormented by the fever of his heart, like a bull struck down from its herd. Seeing Bharata in such distress, Guha, wise and accompanied by his people, approached him and sought to comfort him regarding his elder brother. Now begins the eighty-sixth sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Guha, who dwelt in the forest, spoke to Bharata about the noble character of Lakṣmaṇa, whose virtues are immeasurable. “I spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, who remained awake, ever vigilant and holding his excellent bow and arrows, intent on protecting his brother. ‘Dear one,’ I said, ‘here is a comfortable bed prepared for you; be at ease and rest upon it happily, O delight of the Raghus. All these people are accustomed to hardship, but you are worthy of comfort. We shall keep watch for the sake of protecting this righteous one.’” Guha continued, “There is no one on earth dearer to me than Rāma; do not be anxious—I say this truly before you. By his favor, I hope for great fame in this world, for the attainment of righteousness, and for abundant and pure prosperity. Thus, I shall protect my dear friend Rāma as he sleeps with Sītā, bow in hand, together with all my kinsmen. There is nothing in this forest unknown to me as I wander here; even an army of four divisions we could overcome in battle.” Guha recalled, “Thus addressed by the great-souled Lakṣmaṇa, who looked only to righteousness, we were all persuaded. But Lakṣmaṇa said, ‘How could I possibly find sleep, or even life or happiness, while Rāma, son of Daśaratha, lies on the ground with Sītā? He whom not even all the gods and demons together could overpower in battle—see, Guha, how he now rests on grass with Sītā. This only son of Daśaratha, equal to him in every virtue, was obtained through great asceticism and many hardships. With him exiled, the king will not live long; surely the earth will soon become a widow. The women, exhausted, have ceased their loud wailing; surely today the royal palace is silent. Neither Kausalyā, nor the king, nor my own mother—I do not expect that any of them will survive this night. My mother may survive, watching over Śatrughna, but Kausalyā, grieving for her heroic son, will perish. My father, having let slip the chariot of his mind and not installing Rāma in the kingdom, will pass away.’” Thus, Guha revealed to Bharata the depth of Lakṣmaṇa’s devotion and the sorrow that had befallen the royal family, painting a vivid portrait of loyalty, suffering, and the bonds of kinship.