भरतगुहसंवादे भरतशोकः

In the previous sarga Guha, lord of the Niṣādas, had offered Bharata fish, meat, honey, fruit, roots and lodging, saying that the land was Bharata's own garden and that his coming had caught them unprepared. Now the wise Bharata answered him with words full of reason and purpose: “Friend of my elder brother, your wish to honour so great an army of mine is a noble one indeed; by your goodwill alone everyone has already been honoured.” Notice that Bharata does not take the food and hospitality, for he is keeping the observances of mourning, yet he accepts Guha's friendship wholeheartedly; this is the first glimpse of his character in the sarga. Then the illustrious and mighty prince pointed out the road with his hand and asked again: “Which way shall I go to reach Bharadvāja's hermitage? This marshland along the Gaṅgā is very thick and hard to get through.” That question sets the course of the sarga. Hearing the wise prince, Guha, at home in the deep forest, folded his hands and answered: “Fishermen who know the country, and are well on their guard, will go with you, and I too will go with you, mighty prince.” One born and raised in the forest is the right guide through it. So in these first verses Bharata's humility and Guha's readiness to help lay a firm foundation for their friendship.

Then Guha suddenly voiced the doubt he held within: “Only tell me — you are not marching against Rāma, whose deeds cost him no effort, with evil intent? This great fourfold army of yours raises a doubt in my mind.” As Rāma's dear friend, Guha's suspicion was natural; anyone might ask why a younger brother would come with an army. To Guha's words Bharata, spotless as the sky, replied gently: “May the time you speak of never come; you should not suspect me. Rāghava is my elder brother, and I hold him as a father. I am going to bring Kākutstha back from his life in the forest. You must think nothing else of me, Guha; I am telling you the truth.” He answered suspicion not with anger but with gentleness and truth, and in that his greatness shines. The image of the clear sky tells us that one whose mind holds nothing impure can bear suspicion without taking offence.

Hearing what Bharata said, Guha's face lit up with joy; his doubt was uprooted, and in his delight he spoke to Bharata again: “You are blessed! I see no one on earth to equal you, who want to give up a kingdom that came to you without any effort.” Ordinary men strive to win a kingdom; Bharata was giving up one he had gained without striving. “Your fame will last for ever and travel through the worlds, because you want to bring back Rāma, who has fallen on hardship.” As Guha was speaking so, the sun lost its brightness and night came on; the poet joins the end of their talk to the end of the day. Then illustrious Bharata, gladdened by Guha, had the army settled for the night and went back with Śatrughna to his bed. The day was over, but Bharata's night would not end, and the verses that follow describe his sleeplessness: the army found its rest, but the king's son did not.

As the great-souled Bharata lay on his bed, a grief made wholly of thoughts of Rāma came over him — a grief he did not deserve, he whose eyes were set on dharma; yet it came, and the one who had done no wrong felt it like a punishment. An inner burning scorched the Rāghava, as a fire hidden in its hollow burns a tree already seared by a forest blaze; the outward sorrow was small beside the inward. From all his limbs flowed sweat born of the fire of grief, as the Himālaya, scorched by the sun's rays, lets its snow run down. Then the poet shows all his suffering in one vast image: a great mountain of sorrow overwhelmed Kaikeyī's son. Brooding was its caverns, his sighs its veins of ore, dejection its thickets of trees, the weariness of grief its lofty peaks, utter bewilderment its countless creatures, and the burning within and without its herbs and bamboos. In a single image Bharata's whole state of mind is painted, a manner characteristic of Vālmīki. Even calling him Kaikeyī's son is telling: the son of the mother whose boon caused all this now bears its weight.

Sighing deeply, utterly downcast, his senses clouded, sunk in the worst of calamities, that bull among men found no peace, tormented by the fever in his heart, like a bull cut off from its herd — he who should lead the herd was himself without one. At last the great-hearted Bharata, self-possessed and with his people round him, came to Guha, and Guha once more consoled him as he grieved, his thoughts all on his elder brother. With that consolation the next sarga begins, in which Guha will tell of Lakṣmaṇa's loyalty and lament. So this sarga, which began with conversation, ends in grief, and the thread of the next is placed in Guha's mouth.