As Rama and Lakshmana journeyed onward, they entered a wondrous forest filled with a profusion of trees: Nāga trees, Tilaka, Night-blooming Jasmine, Blue Ashoka, Kadamba, and flowering Oleander. The Ashoka trees blazed with color, and the Paribhadraka trees stood deeply red. By climbing these trees or shaking their branches, one could easily gather their nectar-like fruits and enjoy their sweetness before moving forward. Beyond this grove, O descendant of Kakutstha, lay another enchanting forest, its blossoming trees reminiscent of the northern Kurava groves and the celestial Nandana gardens. Here, as in the famed Caitraratha grove, all seasons seemed to converge. The trees, heavy with fruit and draped in vast canopies, shone everywhere, resembling rain clouds and standing like mountains. Climbing them or shaking their branches yielded fruits as sweet as nectar, and Lakshmana would offer these to Rama as they wandered from mountain to mountain and forest to forest. Their path led them at last to the sacred lotus pond called Pampā. This tranquil water was free from gravel, undisturbed, level, and without reeds. Its sands were newly formed, and it was adorned with lotuses and water lilies. Swans, diving birds, cranes, and curlews dwelled there, singing melodiously in the waters. These birds, innocent and auspicious, had no fear of humans. Rama would partake of these birds—large, resembling balls of clarified butter, some red, some with curved beaks—and also of the reed-dwelling fish. The fish of Pampā were excellent: freshly caught, without skin or fins, roasted, lean, and with a single spine. Lakshmana, ever devoted, would serve these fish to Rama, who would eat them amidst flowers gathered from the pond. Lakshmana would also draw fragrant water from Pampā—auspicious, pleasantly cool, pure, and clear as silver or crystal—and offer it to Rama with a lotus leaf. Alongside, he would present large monkeys dwelling in mountain caves, wanderers of the forest. In the evening, as they wandered, Lakshmana would show Rama the monkeys who, out of greed, had turned away from the water, bellowing like bulls. Rama would see, O best of men, large yellow monkeys in Pampā, and trees adorned with garlands. The sight of Pampā’s auspicious waters would ease Rama’s sorrow. The trees there were adorned with flowers—tilaka and night jasmine—as well as blooming lotuses and water lilies. Remarkably, no man had placed these garlands; nor did they wither or fall. These garlands were born from the austerity of the disciples of Mataṅga, the sages who, burdened by carrying forest produce for their teacher, dropped beads of sweat onto the earth. From those drops, the garlands arose and do not perish, O Rāghava. Even today, their attendant Śabarī, a long-lived ascetic, dwells there. Always steadfast in righteousness and revered by all beings, she would, upon seeing Rama, divine in form, attain the heavenly world. Then, O descendant of Kakutstha, Rama would behold that incomparable and secret hermitage on the western shore of Lake Pampā. By the ordinance of the sage Mataṅga, even elephants could not enter that hermitage or its surrounding forest. That forest, renowned as Matanga’s Grove, resembled Nandana, the woodland of the gods. In that forest, resounding with the songs of many birds, Rama would find perfect happiness. Before Pampā stood Rishyamuka, blossoming with trees. This mountain was exceedingly difficult to climb, guarded by young elephants, and was nobly fashioned by Brahma himself in ancient times. Whoever slept upon its summit, upon waking, would attain whatever wealth he had seen in his dreams. But if a person of wicked conduct and evil deeds climbed it, the Rakshasas dwelling there would seize him as he slept and strike him down. The great cry of young elephants playing in Pampā echoed through the grove, belonging to the dwellers of Matanga’s hermitage. The mighty elephants, their bodies streaked with streams of blood, gathered together and roamed about separately, swift and dark as clouds. After drinking pure, lovely, clear water—cool and fragrant—they were fully satisfied. Content, these forest-dwellers mingled with bears and tigers whose soft blue fur shone. Seeing antelopes, wild boars, and fearless deer, Rama’s sorrow would vanish. Upon the mountain stood a great cave, its entrance covered with rocks and difficult to enter. At its eastern entrance lay a pool of cold, delightful water, filled with many roots and fruits and crowded with various trees. Here, the righteous Sugriva dwelled with the monkeys. Sometimes, Kabandha would appear upon the summit of that mountain, instructing Rama and Lakshmana in this way. Wreathed with garlands and shining like the sun, Kabandha stood in the sky, and the two brothers beheld him there. As he stood nearby, Rama and Lakshmana said, “Go forth, proceed!” And Kabandha replied, “Go, so that your purpose may be accomplished.” Thus, guided by Kabandha and by the wonders of the forest and Pampā, Rama and Lakshmana continued their journey, surrounded by the blessings and marvels of the sacred groves, the holy sages, and the auspicious creatures of the land.