Bharata, accompanied by his counselors and the royal mothers, arrived at the spot beneath the spreading Ingudī tree. As they gazed around, Bharata pointed out to them the very grass and the root of the tree where Rāma and Sītā had spent a night during their exile. He spoke with deep feeling to the assembled mothers, saying, “Here, that great-souled one lay upon the ground; you can see the mark where he rested.” Bharata’s heart was heavy as he reflected on Rāma’s hardship. He lamented, “Rāma, the noble son of illustrious Daśaratha, does not deserve to sleep on the bare earth. How is it that the tiger among men, who once reclined upon beds covered in the finest animal skins and luxurious bedding, now lies upon the hard ground? He dwelled in the highest palaces, on floors of gold, silver, and gems, always upon the best of beds. Among heaps of fragrant flowers, in chambers as bright as white clouds and resounding with the melodious cries of parrots, he lived in cool, fragrant palaces like those on Mount Meru, with walls adorned in gold. Each morning, he was awakened by songs, instruments, the jingling of splendid ornaments, and the deep tones of the best drums. He was praised at the right moments by bards, sūtas, and māgadhas with fitting hymns—he, the scorcher of foes.” Bharata’s mind reeled as he took in the reality of his brother’s exile. “This is unbelievable in the world,” he said. “It does not seem true to me—perhaps this is all a dream. Surely, no power is greater than fate, since Rāma, son of Daśaratha, must now sleep on the ground. And Sītā, the beloved daughter of the king of Videha, dear to us all, also lies here on the earth.” He walked around the resting place, pointing out the impressions left behind. “This is my brother’s bed, pressed down by his limbs. Here, the grass is flattened. I think Sītā, adorned with her ornaments, lay here too, for golden drops from her jewelry are scattered about. Her upper garment is caught, the silken threads still visible and entangled. This bed, though rough, must have been made comfortable for my brother, for the gentle Maithilī, though delicate and virtuous, did not complain of hardship.” Bharata’s sorrow deepened as he blamed himself. “Alas! I am truly cruel, for it is because of me that Rāghava lies here with his wife, as if without support. Born in a royal lineage, beloved of all, he has abandoned the most cherished kingdom. How is it that Rāghava, dark as a blue lotus, red-eyed and delightful to behold, who deserves happiness and no suffering, lies on the ground?” He looked to Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā with a sense of longing. “Truly blessed is Lakṣmaṇa, who follows Rāma through every hardship. And Vaidehī, who has fulfilled her purpose by following her husband to the forest. But we are left behind, uncertain and deprived of that great soul. The earth itself seems empty, bereft of its streams, with Daśaratha gone to heaven and Rāma dwelling in the forest. No one even desires the kingdom now, for it is protected by Rāma’s strength, though he is far away.” He described the state of Ayodhyā: “Its council chambers are empty, horses and elephants unrestrained, city gates open, the treasury unguarded. The army is dispirited and diminished, and even our enemies do not covet the kingdom, as one does not desire food mixed with poison.” Moved by his grief and resolve, Bharata made a vow. “From today, I too will lie on the ground or on grass, eating only fruits and roots, wearing matted hair and bark garments. For his sake, I will dwell happily in the forest for the remaining time of his exile—this promise I make will not be false. Śatrughna will not remain with me; with Lakṣmaṇa, he will protect Ayodhyā. The twice-born will anoint the descendant of Kakutstha in Ayodhyā—may the gods grant this wish of mine, as I bow my head in supplication, if Rāma does not return. Then, I will remain here for a long time, longing for Rāghava, unable to abandon him.” As Bharata mourned at the Ingudī tree, his mind and heart full of longing for his brother, the night passed on the banks of the Ganges. When dawn broke, Rāghava, ever attentive, rose early and spoke to Śatrughna. “Śatrughna, rise! Why are you still lying down? Go quickly and bring Guha, the king of the Niṣādas. He will help us ferry the army across the river safely.” Śatrughna replied, “I am not sleeping; I am awake, thinking only of that noble one.” Thus roused by his brother’s words, he set out. As the two lion-like brothers conversed, Guha, the Niṣāda king, approached at the proper time. With hands joined in reverence, he addressed Bharata, “Kākutstha, did you spend the night comfortably on the riverbank? Is everything well with you and your entire army?” Hearing Guha’s affectionate inquiry, Bharata, ever obedient to Rāma, prepared to reply, his mind still filled with thoughts of his exiled brother, the trials he endured, and the kingdom left behind.