Guha, the king of the Nishadas, spoke with deep devotion, “I shall protect my dear friend Rama as he sleeps here with Sita, bow in hand, surrounded by all my kinsmen. There is nothing in this forest unknown to me, for I wander its depths daily; even if an army of four divisions were to attack, we could overcome them in battle.” Lakshmana, steadfast in righteousness and great of soul, addressed us all with such confidence that we were persuaded by his words. Yet, his heart was restless. “How could I possibly find sleep, or even life or happiness,” he lamented, “while Rama, son of Dasharatha, lies on the bare ground with Sita? He, whom not even the combined might of all the gods and demons could overpower in battle, now rests on mere grass with his beloved Sita. This only son of Dasharatha, equal to him in every virtue, was obtained by the king through great asceticism and hardship. With Rama exiled, the king will not live long; surely the earth itself will soon become a widow.” Lakshmana’s sorrow deepened as he thought of Ayodhya. “The women, exhausted, have ceased their loud wailing; surely today the royal palace is silent. Neither Kausalya, nor the king, nor my own mother—I do not expect that any of them will survive this night. My mother may endure, caring for Shatrughna, but Kausalya, grieving for her heroic son, will perish. My father, having lost the reins of his mind and failing to install Rama as king, will pass away. When that time comes, and my father is gone, those who have achieved their aims will perform his funeral rites.” He remembered the glory of Ayodhya: “The city, with its beautiful squares, well-laid roads, splendid mansions and palaces adorned with every jewel, crowded with elephants, horses, and chariots, resounding with the music 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.” Thus, while the great-souled prince stood there lamenting, the night slowly passed. At dawn, when the sun rose clear, Guha arranged for Rama and Lakshmana to have their hair matted on the bank of the Bhagirathi, and he saw them off with all comfort. Rama and Lakshmana, now wearing matted locks and bark garments, mighty as leaders of elephant herds, bearing excellent bows, arrows, and swords, supreme in asceticism, departed with Sita, glancing back as they went. Now, listen to the eighty-seventh sarga of the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda. Hearing Guha’s words, which were deeply distressing, Bharata was overcome with sorrow and fell into deep thought right there. Delicate yet strong, with lion-like shoulders and mighty arms, his eyes broad as lotuses, youthful and pleasing to behold, Bharata—after regaining his breath for a moment—suddenly collapsed, overwhelmed by grief, like an elephant struck in the heart by goads. Seeing Bharata fallen unconscious, Guha’s face lost its color; he became distressed, like a tree shaken by an earthquake. Then Shatrughna, standing nearby, embraced Bharata in his sorrow and wept aloud, losing consciousness himself, worn down by grief. All the mothers of Bharata, emaciated from fasting, miserable, and afflicted by their husband’s misfortune, gathered around him as he lay on the ground, weeping. Kausalya, deeply troubled, followed and embraced him, holding him close like a loving cow embracing her calf, her heart consumed by grief. “My son,” Kausalya wept, “I hope no illness afflicts your body; for now, the life of this royal house depends on you. Seeing you, my son, I live on, though Rama with his brothers has departed; with King Dasharatha gone, you alone are our protector now. I hope you have heard nothing unpleasant about Lakshmana, who went to the forest with his wife, for to a mother with only one son, he too is a son.” After a moment, regaining his composure though still weeping, the illustrious Bharata comforted Kausalya and spoke to Guha: “Where did my brother spend the night? Where were Sita and Lakshmana? On what bed did they sleep, and what did they eat? Tell me, Guha.” Guha, king of the Nishadas, answered Bharata truthfully, recounting all that had happened and how he had received Rama as his honored guest. “I brought for Rama a great variety of food, both fine and coarse, and many kinds of fruits for his meal. Yet Rama, steadfast in truth and valor, declined all of it; he did not accept, remembering the duty of a warrior. ‘We must not accept gifts, my friend, though we should always give,’ the great-souled one gently persuaded us, O King. After Lakshmana brought water, the illustrious Rama drank and then observed the fast, together with Sita. Then, with the water that remained, Lakshmana also performed the ritual; the three of them, their speech restrained, devoutly observed the evening worship. Afterward, Saumitri quickly brought grass himself and prepared a pure resting place for Raghava.” Thus Guha described the night of Rama’s exile, the devotion of Lakshmana, and the deep sorrow of Bharata and his family.