He who was accustomed to dwell always in the highest palaces, walking on floors of gold, silver, and gems, and resting upon the finest beds, now found himself far from such splendor. Where once he lived surrounded by heaps of fragrant flowers, the scent of sandalwood and agaru filling the air, his chambers shone as bright as white clouds and echoed with the lively cries of parrots. His palaces were cool, adorned with precious gold, their fragrance and beauty rivaling those on Mount Meru itself. In those days, he was awakened each morning by melodious songs, the music of instruments, the gentle jingling of splendid ornaments, and the deep, resonant sounds of the best drums. At the proper hour, bards, sūtas, and māgadhas would gather to sing his praises in fitting hymns, honoring that great scorcher of foes. But now, as Bharata gazed upon the scene before him, he could scarcely believe his eyes. “This is unbelievable in this world; it does not seem true to me,” he thought, his mind bewildered. “Perhaps this is but a dream.” He reflected on the power of fate, realizing that no deity could be stronger, for Rāma, son of Daśaratha, now lay sleeping on the bare earth. Even Sītā, the beloved daughter of the king of Videha, dear to the eye and cherished daughter-in-law of Daśaratha, was lying on the ground as well. Bharata looked upon the makeshift bed, recognizing it as his brother’s. The grass was pressed and bent where Rāma’s limbs had lain. He noticed golden drops clinging here and there—remnants of Sītā’s ornaments—and saw her upper garment, its silken threads caught and entangled. He thought, “Surely, this bed was made comfortable for my brother, for the young, ascetic, and delicate Maithilī, though virtuous, did not feel hardship upon it.” Yet, grief pierced his heart. “Alas! I am truly cruel, for because of me, Rāghava lies with his wife on such a bed, as if abandoned.” Born in a royal lineage, beloved of all, and bringer of happiness to his people, Rāma had forsaken the most cherished kingdom. “How is it,” Bharata grieved, “that Rāghava, dark as a blue lotus, red-eyed, delightful to behold, who deserves only happiness and no suffering, lies upon the ground?” He considered Lakṣmaṇa truly blessed and most fortunate, for he followed Rāma in this difficult time. Vaidehī too had attained her purpose, faithfully following her husband into the forest. “But we,” Bharata lamented, “are left behind, deprived of that great soul.” To him, the earth seemed empty, bereft of its streams, with Daśaratha gone to heaven and Rāma dwelling in the forest. No one even desired the kingdom, though Rāma lived in exile, for it was still protected by the strength of his arms. The council chambers were empty, horses and elephants unrestrained, city gates left open, and the royal treasury unguarded. The army was dispirited and diminished, unprotected and in adversity; even enemies did not covet the kingdom, any more than one would desire food mixed with poison. Resolute, Bharata vowed, “From today, I too will lie on the ground or on grass, always eating fruits and roots, wearing matted hair and bark garments. For his sake, I will dwell happily in the forest for the remaining time, having made this promise; it shall not be false.” Śatrughna, he thought, would not remain with him, but would stay with Lakṣmaṇa to protect Ayodhyā. “The twice-born will anoint the descendant of Kakutstha in Ayodhyā; may the gods grant that this true wish of mine be fulfilled, as I bow my head in supplication, if he does not return in many ways. Then I will remain here for a long time, longing for Rāghava, who dwells in the forest, unable to abandon him.” After spending the night on the banks of the Ganges, Rāghava rose early and spoke to Śatrughna: “Śatrughna, rise! Why are you still lying down? Bring Guha, the king of the Niṣādas, quickly. He will help us cross the army over safely.” Śatrughna replied, “I am not sleeping; I am awake, thinking only of that noble one.” Thus, prompted by his brother, he rose. As the two lion-like men conversed, Guha approached at the proper time, hands joined in reverence, and addressed Bharata: “Kākutstha, did you spend the night comfortably on the riverbank? Is everything well with you and your entire army?” Hearing the king’s affectionate words, Bharata, ever obedient to Rāma, replied, “O king, our night was comfortable, and we were honored by you. Now let your boatmen ferry us across the Ganges with many boats.” Guha, hearing Bharata’s command, hurried back to the city and spoke to his kinsmen: “Rise up, awaken, may you always be blessed! Bring the boats together; we will ferry the army across.” At his order, they quickly arose and gathered five hundred boats from all directions. Some boats were marked with the svastika, adorned with great bells and splendid flags, fitted with sails, and firmly constructed. Guha brought forth a boat marked with the svastika, covered with pale blankets, echoing with auspicious drums, and beautiful to behold. Bharata and mighty Śatrughna boarded it. Kausalyā, Sumitrā, and the other royal women, with the priest leading, followed, along with the elders, Brāhmaṇas, royal wives, carts, and shops. As fires were lit for the camps and the multitude entered the river crossing, the clamor of those carrying their goods rose up, reaching the very heavens.