Through this sacred land, channels and streams meander, carrying the abundant waters of lotus-filled ponds. Birds with curved beaks sing their melodious songs, their calls echoing within the hollows and caves, filling the air with music. The groves resound with the deep, thunderous lowing of herds of cows, mingled with the humming of bees and the rustling of dense thickets, all cooled beneath the shade and the gentle, thick winds. Sunbeams rarely pierce the canopy, blocked by swirling mist and dust, while the spaces between dense clusters of blossoming flowers remain cloaked in soothing shade. Broad, white waterfalls tumble over rocks and boulders, their splendor reminiscent of the fabled ocean of milk, once churned and cast aside by the mountains themselves. Within the courtyards, great fruit-laden trees stand crowded together, their branches shining under the weight of heavy clusters, as if gathering a wealth of flowers. The trees, shaken by swift, trembling winds that jingle through their leaves, seem brimming with sap, showering the earth with a great rain of blossoms. Birds, some hidden and others cautious, utter soft sounds, startled by the sudden drip of water from the rocky peaks, yet remaining unafraid. The river teems with birds whose movements follow the swirling eddies, eager to taste the spray at the edge of leaping waves. Children, startled by the sight of crows perched atop tall palm trees, scatter pieces of sugarcane chewed and discarded by the elders of the village. Village boys, their bodies adorned with garlands of flowers and garments woven from blossoms, cool themselves in the shade at the edge of dense groves of kadamba, neem, and jujube trees. Village beauties, their ears alive with the sound of bees, wander the village lanes in linen garments, weakened by hunger. Longing for solitude, some find their ears dulled and troubled by the loud conversations and the crashing sounds of river waves. Children play, their faces and hands smeared with curd, lips adorned with flower garlands, naked and marked with cow-dung and mud, filling the courtyards with joyful commotion. On the sandbanks, lines drawn with water are marked as the waves swing the creepers on the green riverbanks, carrying them away. Bees, sluggish and intoxicated by the rich fragrance of curd and milk, drift about, while village boys, garments damp with tears, beg for their morning meal. Women, their hair disheveled and laughter bright, play with children who, angered by being splashed with cow-dung water, shape their hands into circles. The courtyards are scattered with the feathers of peacocks, the wings of crows, and the tails of cows, while the entrances of houses, streets, and courtyards are strewn with baskets of jasmine flowers. Beside the houses, trees in full bloom shed their flowers every morning, carpeting the ground up to the ankles in a fragrant layer. There are groves of water lilies and antelopes, clusters of wild grass where young deer sleep, and thickets alive with bees humming among the guñjā creepers. Here and there, calves twitch their single ears, and bees, having tasted the remains of curds left by cowherds, move about with a gentle hum. In all the houses, bees have dwindled, driven away, yet the mansions shine, adorned by blooming aśoka trees, their beauty like a splash of red dye. The trees are always moist, their leaves freshened by the constant spray of dew-laden winds; kadamba buds and the seven-leaved saptacchada cluster thickly together. Blossoming ketaka flowers entwine with masses of creepers, and the air resounds with the calls of birds among the broad-leaved canopies. Cool breezes flow from the windows and inner chambers, while royal roads are purified by rows of full lotus ponds. Shaded by dense, unbroken foliage, cool and pure with fresh grass, every flower’s dripping drops reflect the stars above. This is a dwelling ever cooled by showers of falling flowers and snow, adorned with wondrous clusters of blossoms, leaves, and lotus plants. Its inner chambers and corridors are like the spaces within a house, ancient nooks concealed by clouds, illuminated by the lightning above, needing no other lamp. A pavilion resounds with the deep, echoing hum of wind in the caves, a palace adorned with the necklaces of moving chakora birds, parrots, and deer. The wind, heavy with the fragrance of tender shoots and moist earth, gently begins to sway the playful, trembling leaves. The air is alive with playful gatherings of larks and flocks of bees, and the mingled, lively calls of cuckoos and kokilas. The groves of śāla, tāla, and tamāla trees stand rich and full, bordered by blue lotus ponds, their banks gracefully curved by winding streams. Homes of swaying creepers and trembling leaves are perfumed by blooming shoots and fragrant lotus stems; herds of cows gather by swirling, nectar-filled waters, and the ground is adorned with the beauty of wind-scattered tender blossoms. Rivers are hidden by dense groves of sacred trees, their canopies formed by blossoming creepers without gaps. Gardens are fragrant with jasmine nectar, where swarms of bees, intoxicated by scent, obscure the clouds above. Palaces rise whose beauty rivals that of Indra’s own abode, their skies tinged red by the pollen of lotus clusters, where the joyful rumbling of mountain streams resounds, and the brilliance of white clouds shines like jasmine flowers. Terraces are adorned with blossoming creepers, where playful cuckoos wander restlessly, and groups of young women recline on beds of fresh flowers, their bodies adorned from head to toe with garlands. Everywhere, the earth is covered with the tender shoots of new growth, paths winding through lively thickets of forest creepers, soft young leaves clustering together, and dwellings veiled by the drapery of rainclouds. The land spreads wide with greenery that dispels the mist. Terraces are crowded with women adorned like flashes of lightning among the clouds, the air sweet with the fragrance of blooming blue lotuses, while herds of cows, faces turned upward, are soothed by the cool breeze. Courtyards are abandoned by timid fawns; flocks of peacocks, mad with delight, dance in the spray of waterfalls. The wind, intoxicated by fragrance, carries away all scents, and lamps are forgotten in the glow of radiant medicinal herbs. The air is filled with the tumult of many flocks and the gentle murmur of streams, as if in lively conversation. Cool drops falling from clusters of pearls beautify every tree, creeper, and blade of grass. Who could possibly describe the full splendor of these mountain palaces, ever adorned with unfading, blossoming flowers?