Rama, accompanied by Lakshmana, gazed upon the enchanting landscape before them and spoke with gentle longing. “Look, Lakshmana, how these fragrant lotuses shine everywhere in the waters, radiant like the rising sun. This is Pampa, its clear waters filled with lotuses and blue lilies, teeming with swans and waterfowl, adorned with sweet-scented blossoms. All around, Pampa glows, ringed by lotuses whose golden filaments are caressed by bees, shimmering in the water like the young sun itself. The banks are always alive with chakravaka birds and the gentle slopes of the forest, made beautiful by herds of elephants and deer who come to drink. The lotuses, struck by the wind-driven waves upon the clear waters, shine all the more brilliantly, Lakshmana. Yet, amidst all this beauty, I find no joy without seeing Vaidehi—Sita—whose eyes are as wide and lovely as lotus petals, ever dear to me as the lotus itself. Life does not please me without her. Ah, how strange and unyielding is desire! Even now it makes me remember that noble one, lost and hard to find, whose words were more auspicious than the most auspicious things in this world. Desire I might endure, even if it overtakes me, were it not for spring and its blossoming trees, which only deepen my sorrow. All those things that once delighted me when she was by my side now bring me no joy without her presence. My gaze seeks out the lotus buds and leaves, thinking them like Sita’s eyes, Lakshmana. The wind, carrying the fragrance of lotus filaments as it moves through the trees, seems to me like Sita’s gentle and enchanting sigh. Look, son of Sumitra, upon the southern slopes of Pampa’s hills, where the karnikara trees bloom splendidly. This king of mountains, richly adorned with minerals, sends forth wondrous dust, stirred up by the wind. The mountain slopes, O Lakshmana, are ablaze with the blooming, leafless, and lovely kimshuka trees. Here on Pampa’s banks, the trees are sprinkled with honeyed fragrance—jasmine, mallika, lotus, and oleander, all in full bloom. Ketaki and sinduvara trees, blossoming in spring, the fragrant madhavi vines, and all the jasmine shrubs are flowering everywhere. See the ciribilva, madhuka, vanjula, bakula, campaka, tilaka, and nāga trees, all adorned with blooms. The padmaka trees shine forth, and the blue-flowered aśoka trees are blossoming. The lodhra trees, yellow as a lion’s mane, stand proudly on the mountain slopes. There are aṅkola, kuraṇṭa, cūrṇaka, pāribhadra, mango, pāṭala, and kovidāra trees, all flowering. Mucukunda and arjuna trees are seen on the mountain crests, along with ketaka, udāla, śirīṣa, śiṃśapā, and dhava trees. There are śālmalī and kiṃśuka trees, as well as the red kurabaka; tiniśa, naktamāla, sandalwood, and syandana trees too. Look at the hintāla, tilaka, and nāga trees, all blossoming, entwined with flowering vines whose tips are covered in blooms. See, O Saumitri, the many beautiful trees of Pampa, their branches tossed by the wind, standing close together. The vines move as if intoxicated noblewomen, weaving from tree to tree, mountain to mountain, forest to forest. The wind blows as if delighted by the taste of so many fragrances; some trees overflow with blossoms, their scent as sweet as honey. Some are covered with buds, appearing dark and fresh—one might say, ‘This is new, this is sweet, this is fully blossomed.’ The bees, driven by passion, immerse themselves in the flowers, then, hiding, suddenly fly elsewhere; these honey-seeking bees move among the trees along Pampa’s banks. The ground is strewn with clusters of flowers that have fallen naturally, making it delightful, as if soft beds of stone for resting. O Saumitri, on the mountain slopes, the rocks have been made broad and golden-red by the many flowers scattered upon them. See, Lakshmana, in this cool season, how the trees bloom; in the flowering month, it is as if the trees blossom from their very contact with one another. The trees, filled with the humming of bees, seem to call out to each other; their branches, adorned with flowers, shine greatly, Lakshmana. Look there—the kāraṇḍava bird plunges into the pure water, delighting with his mate, as if kindling desire. Indeed, the charming beauty of this Mandākinī is fitting; her virtues are renowned throughout the world and truly delightful. If only that virtuous lady, Sita, were found, and we could dwell here, O best of Raghu’s line, I would not long for Indra’s realm nor even for Ayodhyā. Indeed, enjoying these lovely meadows with her, no worry would arise in me, nor would I desire anything else. But now, these trees, adorned with various flowers and diverse foliage, in this forest, without my beloved, only stir up sorrow in my heart. See, O Saumitri, these cool waters filled with lotuses, frequented by chakravāka birds and visited by kāraṇḍava ducks. Pampā shines even more, filled with plava and krauñcha birds, frequented by great animals, and resounding with the calls of many birds. The joyful birds of many kinds only inflame my longing, as I remember my dark, lotus-eyed beloved, whose face is like the moon. See, on those lovely slopes, the deer wander together with their mates, and I, separated from Vaidehī, whose eyes are like young deer, am pained at heart as they move here and there.