As the time approached when King Dasharatha would leave this world, Rama reflected with sorrow that those who had fulfilled their ambitions would then perform his father’s funeral rites. He pictured the royal city—Ayodhya—its splendid squares and broad, well-laid roads, its magnificent mansions and palaces adorned with every jewel. The city was alive with elephants, horses, and chariots, echoing with the sound of musical instruments, overflowing with blessings, and bustling with happy, prosperous people. Parks and gardens flourished, and the city was rich with gatherings and festivals; everywhere, people moved about in joy. Rama mused that if he and the truthful one—Lakshmana—were to return safely when their exile was complete, they too would enter that city in happiness. As the noble prince stood there, lamenting in this way, the night passed quietly. At dawn, when the sun rose clear, arrangements were made for both Rama and Lakshmana to have their hair matted on the banks of the sacred Bhāgīrathī. Afterward, they were sent off with comfort and care. Clad in matted locks and bark garments, mighty as leaders of elephant herds, bearing excellent bows, arrows, and swords, supreme in their ascetic resolve, Rama and Lakshmana departed with Sita, glancing back as they went. Now, listen to the eighty-seventh sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Upon hearing Guha’s words, which brought deep distress, Bharata was overcome with thought, standing right where he had heard them. Though delicate in appearance, Bharata possessed great strength, with lion-like shoulders and mighty arms, eyes broad as lotuses, youthful and pleasing to behold. For a moment, he regained his breath, but overwhelmed by sorrow, he suddenly collapsed like an elephant struck in the heart by sharp goads. Seeing Bharata fallen unconscious, Guha’s face lost its color; he became deeply distressed, like a tree shaken by an earthquake. Shatrughna, who stood nearby, embraced Bharata in his grief and wept aloud, losing consciousness himself, worn down by sorrow. All the mothers of Bharata gathered there, emaciated from fasting, miserable and afflicted by their husband’s misfortune. They surrounded Bharata as he lay fallen on the ground, weeping, but Kausalya, deeply troubled, followed and embraced him. Like a loving cow embracing her calf, the ascetic Kausalya held Bharata close, weeping, her heart consumed by grief. She spoke tenderly: “My son, 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. My son, 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 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, answered Bharata, recounting everything—how he had welcomed Rama, his honored guest. “I brought for Rama a great variety of food, both fine and coarse, and many kinds of fruits for his meal. 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.” Guha continued, “Saumitri quickly brought grass himself and prepared a pure resting place for Rāghava. On that bed, Rama entered together with Sita; after washing their feet, Lakshmana withdrew. This is the root of the Ingudī tree, and this is the very grass on which Rama and Sita both spent that night. With his back restrained, fingers on the bowstring, quivers full of arrows, Lakshmana, having set his great bow, stood watchfully around them throughout the night. 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.” Here ends the eighty-eighth sarga in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. Having heard everything in detail, Bharata, together with his counselors, approached the root of the Ingudī tree and gazed upon Rama’s resting place. He said to all the mothers, “Here, that great-souled one spent the night on the ground; this is the mark where he lay. Born to the illustrious and wise Dasharatha, Rama, of noble lineage and great fortune, does not deserve to sleep on the earth. How does the tiger among men, who once slept on beds covered with the finest animal skins and luxurious bedding, now lie on the bare ground? He always dwelled in the highest palaces, on golden, silver, and jeweled floors, upon the best of beds. Among heaps of flowers, fragrant with sandalwood and agaru, in chambers bright as white clouds, resounding with the cries of parrots.” Thus, the sorrow and reverence for Rama’s sacrifice and the pain of separation filled the hearts of all who loved him, as they beheld the humble place where the prince had rested, far from the comforts of his royal home.