Bharata, his heart resolute, turned to Guha and declared, “I am going to bring back Kakutstha, who now dwells in the forest; do not entertain any other thought. Guha, I speak the truth to you.” Hearing these words, Guha’s face lit up with joy, and, delighted, he spoke again to Bharata: “Blessed are you! I see no one on earth your equal, for you wish 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 has fallen into hardship.” As Guha and Bharata conversed, the sun’s brilliance faded and night approached. Guha, satisfied after arranging the army, returned with Shatrughna, the illustrious one, to his resting place. But as darkness settled, a deep sorrow, born of anxious thought, overcame the great-souled Bharata—a grief he did not deserve, being so devoted to righteousness. Within Bharata, an inner burning took hold, tormenting him as a hidden fire scorches a tree parched by a forest blaze. Sweat, born of the fire of grief, poured from all his limbs, just as the Himalaya, heated by the sun, releases its snow. His mind became a cavern of meditation, sighs its minerals, his thoughts like dejected trees, and his fatigue and sorrow rose like mountain peaks. He was overwhelmed by the mountain of suffering, the endless force of bewilderment, the bamboo of burning pain, and the bitter herbs of distress. Sighing deeply, his mind greatly troubled and awareness confused, Bharata, the son of Kaikeyi, found no peace. He was tormented by the fever of his heart, like a bull struck down from its herd. Seeing Bharata’s deep distress, Guha—wise and compassionate—approached with his people and sought to comfort him regarding his elder brother. Now begins the eighty-sixth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Guha, the forest-dweller, began to speak to Bharata of Lakṣmaṇa’s noble character, whose virtues were immeasurable. He recounted, “I spoke to Lakṣmaṇa, who remained awake, ever vigilant, holding his excellent bow and arrows, intent always on protecting his brother. I said to him, ‘Dear one, 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. 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; even an army of four divisions we could overcome in battle.’ “But Lakṣmaṇa, great-souled and devoted to righteousness, replied, convincing us all: ‘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. When that time comes and my father is gone, all those who have achieved their aims will perform his funeral rites. ‘The city, with its beautiful squares, well-laid great roads, splendid mansions and palaces adorned with every jewel, crowded with elephants, horses, and chariots, resounding with the sound of instruments, filled with every blessing, teeming with joyful and prosperous people, complete with parks and gardens, rich in gatherings and festivals—my father’s royal city will see people moving about happily. If, together with the truthful one, we safely return when the time is fulfilled, we too shall enter that city in happiness.’ “While that great-souled prince stood there lamenting in this way, the night passed. At dawn, when the sun had risen clear, I arranged for both of them to have their hair matted here on the bank of the Bhāgīrathī, and I saw them off in comfort. Those two, wearing matted locks and bark garments, mighty as leaders of elephant herds, bearing excellent bows, arrows, and swords, supreme in asceticism, departed with Sītā, glancing back.” Now listen to the eighty-seventh sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa.