After a brief moment of unconsciousness, the wise prince Rāghava regained his senses. Instantly, his thoughts turned to Vaidehī, the beloved who dwelled in his heart. As he gazed at the sky—clear, free from lightning and clouds, echoing with the cries of cranes and sarus birds—Rāma’s voice was filled with pain as he lamented. Seated atop a mountain whose golden veins gleamed in the sunlight, Rāma beheld the autumn sky. The beauty of the season only deepened his longing for Sītā. He remembered how the young maiden once delighted in the ashram, surrounded by the calls of cranes and sarus birds. Now, he wondered, how could she find joy without him? He saw the blossoming trees, pure and shining like gold, and thought: How could Sītā, gazing upon such splendor yet deprived of his presence, find happiness? He recalled how she used to awaken to the gentle calls of swans, her sweet voice echoing in the morning. How could that lovely-limbed one find joy now? Hearing the cries of chakravāka birds with their companions, Rāma wondered how his beloved, whose eyes were wide as lotuses, was faring. Though he wandered through lakes, rivers, wells, forests, and woods, Rāma found no happiness without her—the doe-eyed Sītā. Perhaps, separated from him and because of her delicate nature, desire—unceasing as the autumn wind—tormented that radiant woman far away. Thus, the prince, best among men, lamented like a bird or a deer longing for water from the lord of the gods. Meanwhile, as he searched the beautiful slopes of the mountain for fruit, Lakshmana—radiant with fortune—noticed his elder brother turned away, overwhelmed by unbearable grief, senseless and alone in the wilderness. Saumitri, deeply troubled, hastened to Rāma’s side and spoke to him in his dejection: “Noble one, why do you submit to desire? Why accept defeat of your own strength? When shame restrains your concentration, why does discipline not turn it back? Direct your effort to action, calmness of mind, the right time guided by concentration, the strength of allies, unwavering courage, and the cause of your own duty, dear brother. “O lord of men, Janaki, protected by you, cannot be easily taken by another. Nor does anyone approach blazing fire and remain unburned, O hero worthy of the best.” To steadfast and invincible Lakshmana, Rāma spoke words marked by character—beneficial, wholesome, grounded in policy, and imbued with righteousness and purpose. He said, “Undoubtedly, one must consider what is to be done and follow the proper course of action; but, prince, the fruit of great and formidable valor should not be doubted.” Thinking of Maithili, whose eyes are like lotus petals, Rāma’s lips grew parched as he spoke to Lakshmana. “Having satisfied the earth with water, Indra, his task accomplished, stands firm after bringing forth the crops. The clouds, with deep and resonant thunder, led by mountains and trees, have released their waters and now, prince, are at rest. The clouds, dark as blue lotus petals, have turned all ten directions dusky; their force spent, they are like elephants freed from rut. The rainstorms, filled with water, swift and fragrant with kutaja and arjuna, have ceased, gentle one, after sweeping through. “Lakshmana, the thunder of clouds, elephants, and peacocks, and the roar of waterfalls, has suddenly fallen silent. The mountains, their slopes washed clean by heavy rains, shine as if freshly anointed, gleaming with the rays of the moon. Now autumn has come, dividing its beauty among the branches of saptacchada trees, the radiance of stars, sun, and moon, and the playful movements of noble elephants. “The beauty of fortune, adorned with the qualities of autumn, shines forth with wondrous variety, resting upon many supports, and is especially radiant in the lotus ponds awakened by the touch of the sun’s rays. Swans with lovely, broad wings, dear to the god of love and dusted with lotus pollen, have arrived and play together with chakravāka birds on the sandbanks of the great rivers. Splendor appears in many forms: among elephants emboldened by rut, among herds of proud cattle, and in the clear waters of flowing rivers. “Looking at the sky, now free from clouds, and at the forests where peacocks have shed their jeweled feathers, the peahens, their beloved voices now silent and their former beauty gone, absorbed in meditation, have abandoned their festivities. The forest groves seem illuminated by golden-yellow, eye-delighting trees, their branches bowed under the weight of abundant blossoms, exuding charming and gentle fragrances. “Today, the movements of the best of elephants—surrounded by their beloved mates, fond of lotus ponds, intoxicated and eager for pleasure, their bodies fragrant with flowers—are slow in the forest. The sky is clearly bright, its color washed clean as if by weapons; the rivers flow with scant water; cool breezes, fragrant with blue lotuses, blow; and the directions, freed from darkness, are luminous. “The earth, its mud dried up by the sun’s heat and its thick dust long settled, is now ready for the endeavors of kings who are mutually hostile—this is the time for their activity. The bulls, emboldened by the qualities of autumn, delighted, their bodies covered in dust, now intoxicated and eager for battle, stand among the cows and bellow. “A female elephant, filled with intense longing and deep affection, accompanied by her companions and moving slowly, follows her intoxicated mate as he walks through the forest, surrounding him on all sides. The peacocks, having left behind their splendid, self-adorned feathers and come to the riverbanks, move on sadly and dispirited, as if scolded by the flocks of cranes. “The lordly elephants, with broken tusks and mighty roars, frighten the ducks and chakravāka birds, and, disturbing again and again the water in the lakes adorned with blooming lotuses, drink deeply. In the rivers, now free from mud, sandy, clear, and filled with herds of cattle, resounding with the cries of cranes and waterfowl, the swans joyfully descend. “Now, the sounds of the rivers, the waterfalls, the wind, the peacocks, and the monkeys—whose festivities have ended—are surely stilled. Many-colored snakes, their bodies emaciated and hidden for long in their holes, emerge from their lairs, hungry and filled with dreadful venom, as the new clouds have disappeared.” Thus, amidst the changing beauty of autumn, Rāma’s heart remained full of longing for Sītā, his words echoing both the pain of separation and the hope that action, courage, and righteousness would guide their path forward.