Rāma, his heart weighed down with longing, spoke to Lakṣmaṇa with gentle sorrow. “Vaidehī’s love for me is unwavering, Lakṣmaṇa, and my love for Sītā is just as steadfast in every way. Yet now, this breeze, laden with flowers, so cool and pleasant to the touch, burns like fire within me as I remember my beloved. Once, with Sītā by my side, this wind brought happiness; now, without her, it brings only pain. “Even the crow perched joyfully on that tree seems to mock my loneliness. That very bird was once the doorkeeper for Vaidehī, but perhaps, in its own way, it might lead me back to the wide-eyed one I love. Listen, Lakṣmaṇa, to the sounds swelling through the forest—the passionate songs of birds atop blossoming trees. The wind scatters clusters of sesame flowers, drawing bees as if they were lovers drawn to their beloveds, stirred by longing. “See this ashoka tree before me, so cherished by lovers—it only deepens my sorrow, as if it threatens me with its wind-tossed blossoms. Look at the mango trees, Lakṣmaṇa, heavy with flowers, swaying in the wind like men adorned with sandalwood, stirred by love’s passion. Along the wondrous groves of Pampā, Kinnaras roam here and there, filling the forest with their presence. “Behold the fragrant lotuses shining everywhere in the water, glowing like the rising sun. Pampā’s waters are crystal clear, filled with lotuses and blue lilies, thronged with swans and waterfowl, and adorned with sweet scents. Lotuses encircle Pampā, their filaments struck by bees, glowing in the water like the young sun itself. Chakravaka birds fill the air, herds of elephants and deer seek the water, and the forest slopes are alive with beauty. “The lotuses, struck by wind-driven waves on the clear water, shine brilliantly, Lakṣmaṇa. Yet, without seeing Vaidehī, whose eyes are as wide and lovely as lotus petals, life itself brings me no joy. How strange is desire! Even now, it makes me remember that noble one—gone, so hard to find—whose words were more auspicious than the most auspicious. “Desire could be endured, even as it comes upon me, if only spring, with its blossoming trees, did not torment me again. All those things that once brought me delight with her now bring no joy. My eyes seek out lotus buds and leaves, thinking of them as Sītā’s eyes, Lakṣmaṇa. The wind, mingled with the fragrance of lotus filaments, flowing through the trees, seems like Sītā’s gentle, enchanting sigh. “Look, son of Sumitrā, on the southern slopes of Pampā’s hills—see the karnikara trees, blossoming splendidly. The king of mountains, adorned with minerals, sends forth wondrous dust, stirred by the wind. The mountain slopes blaze with blooming, leafless, and lovely kimshuka trees. “Here on Pampā’s banks, the air is filled with the honeyed fragrance of jasmine, mallika, lotus, and oleander, all in bloom. Ketaki and sinduvara trees, spring-blooming and fragrant madhavi vines, and jasmine shrubs are blossoming everywhere. There are ciribilva, madhuka, vanjula, bakula, campaka, tilaka, and nāga trees, all radiant with flowers. Padmaka trees shine forth, blue-flowered aśoka trees blossom, and lodhra trees, yellow as lion’s manes, stand tall on the slopes. “There are aṅkola, kuraṇṭa, cūrṇaka, pāribhadra, mango, pāṭala, and kovidāra trees, all flowering. On the mountain crests grow mucukunda and arjuna trees, as well as ketaka, udāla, śirīṣa, śiṃśapā, and dhava. Śālmalī and kiṃśuka trees, red kurabaka, tiniśa, naktamāla, sandalwood, and syandana trees are all here. Hintāla, tilaka, and nāga trees, all blossoming, are entwined with flowering vines, their tips covered in blooms. “See here, O Saumitri, the many beautiful trees of Pampā, their branches tossed by the wind, standing close together. The vines follow along like intoxicated noble women, moving from tree to tree, from mountain to mountain, and through the forests. The wind blows as if delighted by the taste of so many fragrances; some trees are filled with blossoms whose scent is like honey. Others are covered with buds, appearing dark; ‘This is fresh, this is sweet, this is fully blossomed,’ one might say. “The bees, enamored by passion, immerse themselves in the flowers, then, hiding, suddenly fly elsewhere; these honey-seeking bees move among the trees on Pampā’s banks. The ground is strewn with clusters of flowers that have fallen by themselves, making it as delightful as if beds of stone had been spread for rest. On those mountain slopes, the rocks are broad and golden-red from the many flowers scattered upon them. “See, Saumitri, even in the cold season, the blossoming of the trees; for in the flowering month, the trees bloom as if from mutual contact.” Thus, amidst the radiant beauty of Pampā, Rāma’s heart ached with longing for Sītā, every sight and fragrance reminding him of his beloved, and he poured out his soul to Lakṣmaṇa, his only companion in sorrow.