The Vigil of Lakshmana (Ramayana Series 35)

The Vigil of Lakshmana

Thereafter, Śrī Rama, wearing garments of bark as his upper cloth, performed the evening Sandhyā worship. Sustaining himself only with the sacred water brought by Lakshmana, he prepared to rest. As he lay down upon a bed of leaves spread upon the earth beside his consort Sita, Lakshmana gently washed his brother’s feet. Having performed ācamana, Rama reclined upon that humble bed with Sita.

Lakshmana then moved to a nearby tree, standing guard beneath it with bow in hand. Soon, the Nishada king Guha, along with the charioteer Sumantra, approached Lakshmana. Together, they remained vigilant, speaking of Rama’s noble virtues while protecting him through the night.

Seeing Lakshmana standing alert, abandoning all comfort for the sake of his brother, Guha spoke with deep concern:

“O Prince Lakshmana! A comfortable bed of leaves has been prepared for you as well. You may rest upon it. The people of the forest, accustomed to such hardships, are better suited for this duty of guarding. You, being a prince, deserve rest and comfort. I shall remain awake this night and protect Rama.

Know this, Lakshmana—there is none in this world dearer to me than Rama. By his grace alone do I aspire for fame, for righteousness, and for prosperity. Therefore, with my kinsmen and armed with my bow, I shall guard him in every way. There is no region in this forest unknown to me. Even if a mighty army were to arrive, I would defeat it.”

To this, Lakshmana replied:

“O King of the Nishadas! Pure-hearted one! Under your protection, we have no cause for fear in this forest. Yet it is not out of fear that I stand guard. How can I sleep, how can I rest, how can I even live in comfort, when my brother—Śrī Rama, the son of King Daśaratha—lies upon a bed of leaves along with Princess Sita?

Behold him—the mighty hero whom even the combined forces of gods and demons cannot overcome—now resting upon the bare earth. He, who was born as the cherished son of our father through sacred rituals, penance, and sacrifices, now lies upon grass like an ascetic.

Having left Ayodhya, our father will not live long. The earth herself will soon become widowed. The women of the inner chambers must have wept until they were exhausted and fell silent. The palace of Rama must now stand still and empty.

I fear that Queen Kausalya, our father Daśaratha, and my mother Sumitra may not even be alive. Even if they are, they may survive only through this night. That prosperous Ayodhya, filled with loving citizens, will surely fall into ruin—stricken by the grief of Rama’s departure and the impending loss of the king.

Tell me, Guha—will our father endure this sorrow of separation? Will we ever return from the forest and behold the noble and virtuous Daśaratha once again? Will we, after fulfilling this exile with the truth-bound Rama, re-enter Ayodhya?”

Thus, as the noble Lakshmana, overwhelmed with grief, lamented to Guha, the night gradually passed. Listening to these heartfelt words, Guha—who bore deep love for both Rama and Daśaratha—was overcome with sorrow. Like a mighty elephant stricken with anguish, he shed tears uncontrollably.