Kausalya, her heart heavy with longing and sorrow, gazed upon Bharata and spoke with trembling voice, “My son, it is only by seeing you that I endure, even as Rama and his brothers have departed. With King Dasharatha gone from this world, you alone remain as our protector. Tell me, my child, have you heard any ill news of Lakshmana, who went with his wife into the forest? For to a mother who has only one son, Lakshmana too is as dear as a son.” Bharata, deeply moved, struggled to compose himself. After a moment, though tears still glistened in his eyes, the illustrious prince found his voice. He gently comforted Kausalya, then turned to Guha, the king of the Nishadas, who stood nearby. “Tell me, Guha,” Bharata asked, “where did my brother Rama spend the night? Where were Sita and Lakshmana? On what kind of bed did they sleep, and what did they eat? I beg you, tell me all you know.” Guha, loyal and true-hearted, recounted everything to Bharata, describing how he had received Rama as a most honored guest. “I brought for Rama a great variety of food—both fine and simple—and many kinds of fruits to offer him a meal,” Guha explained. “But Rama, steadfast in truth and valor, would not accept any of it. He remembered the duty of a warrior and declined all gifts. ‘We must not accept gifts, my friend, though we should always give,’ the great-souled one gently told us. “Afterwards, Lakshmana brought water, and Rama drank, observing the fast together with Sita. With the water that remained, Lakshmana performed the evening rituals. The three of them, restraining their speech, devoutly observed their worship. Then Saumitri—Lakshmana—quickly gathered grass with his own hands and prepared a pure resting place for Rama. Rama and Sita lay down together on that simple bed, and after washing their feet, Lakshmana withdrew to stand guard. “Here, beneath the root of the Ingudī tree, and upon this very grass, Rama and Sita spent the night. Lakshmana, with his back straight and fingers ready on the bowstring, his quivers full of arrows, kept watch all through the night, ever vigilant. I too, armed with my bow and arrows, stood with Lakshmana. With my own kinsmen, all alert and armed, we guarded Rama, as carefully as mighty Indra himself.” Having heard this vivid account, Bharata, his counselors by his side, approached the root of the Ingudī tree and gazed upon the very spot where Rama had rested. He turned to the queens and said, “Here, this is the place where the great-souled one spent the night on the ground. Here is the mark where he lay. Rama, born to the illustrious and wise Dasharatha, of noble lineage and great fortune, does not deserve to sleep upon the bare earth. “How does the tiger among men, who once slept upon beds covered with the finest skins and luxurious bedding, now lie on the ground? He dwelled in the highest palaces, on floors of gold, silver, and jewels, 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, he lived in the finest, coolest, and most fragrant palaces, like those on Mount Meru, with walls adorned in gold. “Always, he was awakened by songs and the music of instruments, by the jingling of splendid ornaments, and the deep tones of the best drums. At the proper hour, bards and many sūtas and māgadhas praised him with fitting songs and hymns, for he was the scorcher of foes. “But now, this seems unbelievable—it hardly feels real to me. My mind is bewildered; perhaps I am dreaming. Surely, there is no force greater than fate, for Rama, son of Dasharatha, must sleep thus on the ground. And Sita, the beloved daughter of the king of Videha, dear to the eye and Dasharatha’s cherished daughter-in-law, lies on the bare earth as well. “This is my brother’s bed—see how it has been turned over. The grass on this hard ground is pressed down by his limbs. I think Sita, adorned with her ornaments, slept here too, for golden drops are still visible, clinging here and there. Here, her upper garment is caught, its silken threads clearly seen entangled. “I hope this bed was at least comfortable for my brother, and that the young, ascetic, delicate Maithili, though virtuous, did not feel hardship. Alas! I am truly cruel, for it is because of me that Raghava lies on such a bed with his wife, as if without support. Born in a royal lineage, bringing happiness to all people, beloved by all, he has abandoned the most cherished kingdom. “How is it that Raghava, dark as a blue lotus, red-eyed, delightful to behold—who deserves happiness and no suffering—lies on the ground? Truly blessed and most fortunate is Lakshmana, of auspicious marks, who follows Rama, his brother, in this difficult time. Indeed, Vaidehi has attained her purpose, following her husband to the forest, but we are all left behind, uncertain and deprived of that great soul. “The earth itself seems empty and bereft of its streams, now that Dasharatha has gone to heaven and Rama dwells in the forest. No one even desires the kingdom, though Rama is in the forest, for it is protected by the strength of his arms. The council chambers are empty, the horses and elephants roam unrestrained, the city gates are open, and the royal treasury is unguarded.” Thus, Bharata, overwhelmed by sorrow and love for his brother, lamented the fate that had befallen Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana, and the kingdom of Ayodhya itself.