Guha, the king of the Nishadas, gazed with wonder and sorrow at Rama, who now lay resting on a simple bed of grass beside Sita. He spoke with reverence, saying, “Behold, Bharata, this is the same Rama whom not even all the gods and demons together could defeat in battle. Now he sleeps humbly on the forest floor with Sita at his side.” Guha continued, his voice heavy with emotion, “Rama, the only son of Dasharatha, equal to his father in every virtue, was born after great penance and many hardships. With Rama exiled, the king will not live long; surely the earth itself will soon become a widow. The women of the palace, exhausted from their ceaseless wailing, have now fallen silent; the royal halls must be shrouded in stillness this very day. I do not expect that Kausalya, the king, or even my own mother will survive this night. Perhaps my mother will endure, watching over Shatrughna, but Kausalya, grieving for her heroic son, will surely perish. My father, having let slip the reins of his mind and failing to install Rama as king, will not survive. When that moment comes and my father is gone, those who have achieved their aims will perform his funeral rites.” He painted a picture of Ayodhya in Bharata’s mind: “The city, with its beautiful squares, great roads, splendid mansions and palaces adorned with every jewel; crowded with elephants, horses, and chariots; resounding with music, filled with prosperity and joy; complete with parks, gardens, and festivals—this royal city will see its people moving about in happiness. And if, together with the truthful one, we safely return when the time is fulfilled, we too shall enter that city in joy.” As Guha lamented thus, the night slowly passed. With the coming of dawn and the sun rising clear in the sky, Guha arranged for Rama and Lakshmana to have their hair matted on the bank of the Bhagirathi, and he saw them off with care and 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 one last time. Now, listen to the eighty-seventh sarga of the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, in the Ayodhya Kanda. Hearing Guha’s words, which were deeply distressing, Bharata fell into deep thought right where he stood. Delicate yet immensely strong, with lion-like shoulders and mighty arms, his eyes broad as lotuses, youthful and pleasing to behold, Bharata was overcome. After regaining his breath for a moment, overwhelmed by sorrow, he suddenly collapsed, like an elephant struck in the heart by goads. Seeing Bharata fallen unconscious, Guha’s face turned pale; shaken and distressed, he stood like a tree in an earthquake. Shatrughna, standing nearby, embraced Bharata in his grief and wept aloud, himself losing consciousness, worn down by sorrow. Bharata’s mothers, emaciated from fasting and miserable from 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 with her calf, her heart consumed by grief. Through her tears, Kausalya spoke gently, “My son, I hope no illness afflicts your body; for now, the life of this royal house depends on you. Seeing you, I continue to live, though Rama and his brothers have departed. With King Dasharatha gone, you alone are our protector now. My son, I hope you have heard nothing unpleasant about Lakshmana, who went to the forest with his wife. For 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 then turned to Guha, asking, “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, recounted everything to Bharata—how he had received Rama, his dear and honored guest. “I brought for Rama a great variety of food, both fine and coarse, and many kinds of fruit for his meal. But Rama, steadfast in truth and valor, declined all of it, remembering the duty of a warrior. He said, ‘We must not accept gifts, my friend, though we should always give,’ and thus gently persuaded us, O King. “After Lakshmana brought water, Rama drank and then observed the fast, together with Sita. With the water that remained, Lakshmana too performed the ritual, and the three of them, their speech restrained, devoutly observed the evening worship. Then Saumitri quickly brought grass himself and prepared a pure resting place for Raghava. On that bed, Rama entered together with Sita, and after washing their feet, Lakshmana withdrew. Here is the root of the Ingudi tree, and here is the very grass on which Rama and Sita spent that night. “With his back straight, fingers on the bowstring, quivers full of arrows, Lakshmana, having set his great bow, stood guard throughout the night, watchful and alert. I too, bearing an excellent bow and arrows, stood there with Lakshmana, and with vigilant kinsmen armed with bows, we guarded him, like mighty Indra himself.” Thus, Guha spoke, and the hearts of Bharata and all present were moved with sorrow and awe at the steadfastness and devotion of Rama and his companions.