As the day drew to a close, Saumitri—Lakṣmaṇa—swiftly gathered fresh grass and prepared a pure, humble resting place for his elder brother Rāma. On this simple bed at the root of the Ingudī tree, Rāma and Sītā washed their feet and settled down together to spend the night. Lakṣmaṇa, having completed his service, respectfully withdrew. That very spot beneath the Ingudī tree, with the grass carefully laid out, became the place where Rāma and Sītā passed the night. Lakṣmaṇa, ever vigilant, stood nearby with his back straight and his fingers poised on the bowstring, his quivers full of arrows. He kept a constant watch, circling the area, his great bow always at the ready, protecting his beloved brother and sister-in-law through the darkness. Not alone in this duty, I too stood guard with Lakṣmaṇa, bearing my own excellent bow and arrows. Our kinsmen, all armed and alert, joined us in our watch, encircling Rāma like mighty Indra’s guardians, determined that no harm should come to him. Thus ended that night, and with it, another chapter in the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. The next morning, Bharata, having heard in detail all that had transpired, approached the root of the Ingudī tree, accompanied by his counselors. He gazed upon the very spot where Rāma had rested. Turning to all the mothers who had come with him, Bharata said, “Here is where that great-souled one spent the night on the bare ground; here are the marks where he lay.” Moved by sorrow, Bharata reflected aloud, “Rāma, born to the illustrious and wise Daśaratha, of noble lineage and great fortune, does not deserve to sleep upon the earth like this. How can the tiger among men, who once reclined on beds covered with the finest skins and luxurious fabrics, now lie on the hard ground? He lived always in the highest palaces, on golden, silver, and jeweled floors, and slept upon the best of beds. His chambers were piled with flowers, fragrant with sandalwood and agaru, bright as white clouds, and filled with the calls of parrots. He dwelled in the finest, cool, and perfumed halls, like palaces on Mount Meru, their walls gleaming with gold. “Each morning, he was awakened by sweet songs and the music of instruments, by the jingling of splendid ornaments and the deep tones of the best drums. Bards, sūtas, and māgadhas praised him at the proper hour, singing hymns befitting a hero who scorches his foes. To see this now is beyond belief; it does not seem true to me. My mind is bewildered—perhaps I am dreaming. “Surely, there is no deity greater than fate, since Rāma, son of Daśaratha, must sleep thus on the ground. And Sītā, the beloved daughter of the king of Videha, dear to the eye and Daśaratha’s daughter-in-law, lies here as well. This is my brother’s bed, clearly turned over; the grass is pressed down where his limbs lay. I see golden drops here and there, clinging to the grass, and I think Sītā, adorned with her ornaments, slept here. Here is her upper garment caught, the silken threads still entangled and visible. “I can only hope this bed was comfortable for my brother, and that the young, ascetic, delicate Maithilī, though virtuous, did not feel hardship. Alas! I am truly cruel, for it is because of me that Rāghava lies on such a bed with his wife, as if without support. Born in a royal lineage, beloved by all, he has abandoned the kingdom most cherished by all people. “How is it that Rāghava, dark as a blue lotus, red-eyed, delightful to behold—one who deserves only happiness and is unworthy of suffering—lies on the ground? Truly blessed and most fortunate is Lakṣmaṇa, marked by auspicious signs, who follows his brother Rāma faithfully in this time of trial. Indeed, Vaidehī, Sītā, has fulfilled her purpose, following her husband into the forest, while we are left behind, deprived of that great soul. “The earth itself seems empty, as if bereft of its rivers, now that Daśaratha has gone to heaven and Rāma dwells in the forest. No one even desires the kingdom, though Rāma is in the forest, for the earth is protected by the strength of his arms. Ayodhyā’s council chambers are empty, its horses and elephants unrestrained, its city gates left open, and the royal treasury unguarded. The army is dispirited, diminished, and unprotected; even enemies do not covet the kingdom now, just as no one would desire food mixed with poison. “From today, I too shall lie on the ground or on grass, eating only fruits and roots, wearing matted hair and bark garments. For his sake, I will happily dwell in the forest for the remainder of the time, and I make this promise—it shall not be false. For the sake of his brother, Śatrughna will not remain with me; rather, with Lakṣmaṇa, the noble one will protect Ayodhyā. The twice-born will anoint the descendant of Kakutstha in Ayodhyā; may the gods grant my true wish, as I bow my head in supplication, that Rāma may return. If he does not, then I will remain here, longing for Rāghava who dwells in the forest, unable to abandon him.” Meanwhile, after passing the night on the banks of the Ganges, Rāghava rose early and addressed Śatrughna, “Śatrughna, rise! Why are you still lying down? Go quickly and bring Guha, the king of the Niṣādas. He will help us safely ferry our army across.” Śatrughna replied, “I am not sleeping; I am awake, my mind filled only with thoughts of that noble one.” Thus prompted by his brother, he prepared to carry out the task. As the two lion-like brothers spoke, Guha himself arrived at the proper time. With hands joined in reverence, he approached Bharata and addressed him respectfully, ready to be of service.