As the season shifts, the forest groves glow with the radiance of golden-yellow trees, their branches heavy with blossoms and spreading a gentle, enchanting fragrance. The best of elephants move slowly through the woods, surrounded by their beloved mates and intoxicated by the pleasures of lotus ponds, their bodies scented with flowers as they seek delight. Above, the sky shines clear and bright, as if freshly washed, while rivers run with scant water. Cool breezes, fragrant with blue lotuses, sweep through the luminous directions, now freed from darkness. The earth, its mud dried by the sun and thick dust settled, stands ready for the endeavors of rival kings, for this is the time when their activities stir. Bulls, emboldened by autumn’s qualities, delighted and dust-covered, now intoxicated and eager for battle, bellow among the cows. In the forest, a female elephant, filled with longing and deep affection, accompanied by her companions, follows her intoxicated mate as he moves, encircling him with devotion. Peacocks, having shed their splendid feathers, come to the riverbanks and move sadly, dispirited, as if chastised by the flocks of cranes. Lordly elephants, their tusks broken and voices mighty, frighten ducks and chakravāka birds, disturbing the lotus-adorned lakes as they drink deeply. Rivers, now clear and sandy, free from mud and filled with herds of cattle, echo with the cries of cranes and waterfowl, as swans joyfully descend. The sounds of rivers, waterfalls, wind, peacocks, and monkeys—whose festivities have ended—are now stilled. Many-colored snakes, emaciated and hidden for long in their holes, emerge, hungry and filled with dreadful venom, as the clouds have disappeared. Evening, adorned with trembling moonbeams and the delight of opening stars, slips away from the sky like a beloved woman. Night reveals her gentle face with the rising moon, her lovely eyes opened by the stars, shining draped in moonlight like a woman clothed in white. Delighted cranes, having eaten ripened rice grains, swiftly ascend into the sky, tossed by the wind like a strung garland. The great lake, adorned with lotuses and a single sleeping swan, shines like the night sky filled with stars, with the full moon unobscured by clouds. Splendid ponds, encircled by banks crowded with swans and garlanded with blooming lotuses and water-lilies, appear richly adorned, like noble women decked in ornaments. At dawn, as the wind stirs, the mingled sounds of flutes and other instruments, joined by the lowing of bulls and bellowing of oxen, fill the air with resonant music. Riverbanks, bright with new white kāśa grass shining like freshly washed linen, are beautified by gentle breezes scattering blossoming river flowers. In the forests, bees intoxicated by honey, accompanied by their mates, joyfully wander, their bodies dusted with pollen from lotus seats, following the wind in delight. The clear water blooming with flowers, the cries of cranes, the ripened rice fields, the gentle breeze, and the pure moon all proclaim that the season of rains has passed. The movements of the river maidens, whose banks are revealed by gathering fish, are slow, like women in the morning after a night with their beloved. The mouths of rivers, covered with kāśa grass like fine garments, filled with chakravāka birds and sheathed in water plants, resemble the faces of brides adorned with lines of leaves. In the forests, blossoming arrow-wood trees are painted with flowers, bees joyfully hum, and the powerful god of love now wields his mighty bow, having seized and drawn his fierce staff. Having satisfied the world with abundant rain, filled rivers and lakes, and made the earth yield crops, the clouds have departed, leaving the sky clear. The autumn rivers slowly reveal their sandbanks, like bashful women showing their hips after a new union. Waters, clear and resonant with calls of curlews, crowded with flocks of chakravāka birds, shine beautifully as they rest in the lakes. “O gentle one,” says Rāma, “the time for preparation has come for kings, rivals eager for victory. O prince, this is the first campaign of the kings, yet I do not see Sugrīva making such preparations. The seven-leaved asana trees, blooming kovidāra trees, bandhujīva flowers, and dark-hued śyāmā plants are seen on the mountain slopes. Look, Lakṣmaṇa, the riverbanks are scattered everywhere with swans, cranes, chakravāka birds, and curlews. Four months of the rainy season, which seemed like a hundred years, have passed for me, tormented by grief and deprived of seeing Sītā. Like a female chakravāka following her mate into the forest, Sītā entered the harsh Daṇḍaka woods, as a woman enters a garden with her beloved. The king Sugrīva does not show me compassion, Lakṣmaṇa, though I am bereft of my beloved, afflicted by sorrow, deprived of my kingdom, and exiled. I am without support, my kingdom taken, violated by Rāvaṇa, miserable, far from home, longing, and I have sought refuge in him. For these reasons, gentle one, I have been disregarded by the wicked-hearted Sugrīva, king of the monkeys, though I am a scorcher of foes. Having achieved his purpose and made a promise regarding the search for Sītā, that evil-minded one does not heed the appointed time. Go to Kiṣkindhā and tell the foremost of monkeys, Sugrīva—who is foolish and attached to vulgar pleasures—these words of mine: He who, having promised hope to those who seek and to former benefactors, breaks his word, is the lowest of men in the world. Whether the word spoken is good or evil, he who upholds it with truth is a hero, the best among men. Those who, having gained their purpose, do not remain friends to those who have not, are so ungrateful that even flesh-eating beasts do not consume them when dead.