कबन्धेन पम्पामार्गोपदेशः

In the previous sarga Kabandha had told his old story and urged Rāma to make friends with Sugrīva; now he laid out in detail the road for the search. Having shown the way to win Sītā back, Kabandha, who knew the worth of words, spoke again to the point. "This, Rāma, is the auspicious road, where those lovely flowering trees shine, turned toward the west." By calling it auspicious he pointed not only to a direction but to safety: this road was neither hard nor dangerous, free of the fears of Janasthāna and the Daṇḍaka forest. The west was named because, although Rāvaṇa's Laṅkā lay to the south, the sound policy was to look first for an ally, not the enemy. Then he named the trees along the way, rose-apple, priyāla and jackfruit, banyan, fig and ebony, aśvattha, karṇikāra, mango and others, dhanvana and nāga trees, tilaka and naktamālaka, dark aśoka, kadamba and flowering oleander, agnimukhya, aśoka, and deep red pāribhadraka. The list has a purpose, for these were the landmarks by which the travellers would not lose their way. "Climbing them, or bending them down to the ground by force, you will eat their fruits, sweet as nectar, as you go. Beyond that, Kākutstha, there is another wood full of flowering trees." In describing the road the poet was also consoling: before the grieving brothers he spread a pleasant way rich in fruit and flowers, so that even a long journey would not weary them.

Kabandha described that second wood as another Nandana, like the land of the northern Kurus, where the trees bear fruit in every season and run with sweet sap. There, as in Caitraratha's garden, all the seasons dwell together, and on every side the trees, bending under their fruit and carrying great spreading boughs, shine like clouds and mountains. "Climbing them, or bringing the fruit gently down to the ground, Lakṣmaṇa will give you fruit like nectar. Roaming over the finest hills, from hill to hill and from wood to wood, you two heroes will come to a lotus pool called Pampā." So he named the journey's goal. The pool had no grit in its water, no sudden drop at its edge, level banks and no weed, and these four touches show at once how clear it was and how pleasant to bathe in. Here the description passes from forest to lake, for most of the rest of the sarga sings the glory of Pampā. The brothers are pictured walking at an easy pace, not rushing but taking in the beauty of the forest as they go, and that too has a purpose: to comfort a little the mind of Rāma, worn out with grief, through the loveliness of nature.

The description of Pampā now widened. "Its sand is well laid, Rāma, and its waters are bright with lotuses and lilies. Swans, coots, curlews and ospreys call sweetly there and live on the waters of Pampā. They do not start away at the sight of men, for they know nothing of killing." That the birds were fearless shows how gentle and free of violence the place was. "Those plump birds, like lumps of ghee, you two will eat. And Lakṣmaṇa, out of his devotion to you, will strike with his arrows the finest rohita fish, hook-mouthed fish and nala fish in Pampā and serve them to you, skinned and stripped of fins, roasted on iron, plump and without a single bone." Mention of eating fish follows the custom of kṣatriyas living in the forest, and the detail with which the preparation is told shows Kabandha's affection. "As you eat with relish among the drifted flowers of Pampā, he will draw up water fragrant with lotus, wholesome, cool and pleasant, free of any taint, clear as silver and crystal, and give it to you to drink from a lotus leaf." It is healing water, cool to the touch, drunk from a leaf as forest-dwellers do. The chief theme here is Lakṣmaṇa's service to his brother: even in the forest he would provide every comfort for Rāma. The birds, too, are named, swans, coots, curlews and ospreys, with sweet voices, so that sound, sight, taste and touch, the pleasures of every sense, are all to be found on Pampā's shore.

"As you walk at evening, Lakṣmaṇa will show you the stout, tawny monkeys that sleep in mountain caves and roam the woods, coming down in their craving for water and bellowing like bulls." The monkeys are not mentioned by chance: the friendship with Sugrīva lies ahead, so the poet introduces the monkey folk in advance, and the bull image conveys their strength and deep voices. "And walking at evening, Rāma, seeing the spreading trees wearing their flowers and the wholesome water of Pampā, you will lay aside your grief." That is the thought that returns again and again in this sarga, that the sight of nature eases sorrow. "There tilaka and naktamālaka trees stand heaped with blossoms, and lilies and lotuses lie open in the water. No man is there to gather those flowers and wear them, yet they neither wither nor fall." This marvel stirs the listener's curiosity, and to explain it Kabandha began an old story: once the disciples of the sage Mataṅga lived there, sages of collected mind. So in the middle of the sarga there enters something like a tale of a holy place, establishing Pampā's sanctity.

"As those disciples of Mataṅga carried forest fruits and roots for their teacher and grew hot under their loads, the drops of sweat that fell quickly from their bodies to the earth became these flowers through the power of the sages' austerity. Born of drops of sweat, Rāghava, they never perish." So the power of austerity lives on steadily even in flowers, and that is why they neither fade nor fall. "The sages are gone, but their attendant is still to be seen, an ascetic woman named Śabarī, Kākutstha, who has lived long. Ever steadfast in dharma, when she has seen you, Rāma, godlike and honoured by all beings, she will go to heaven." Her long waiting has been for the sight of Rāma, and in the next sarga it will come true before our eyes; her name is that of her forest people, become her own. "Then, keeping to the western shore of Pampā, you will see a hidden hermitage beyond compare, Kākutstha. By the ordinance of the sage Mataṅga, elephants cannot trespass on that hermitage or its wood"; again it is the protection of ascetic power. Three wonders meet here, the unfading flowers, the long-lived Śabarī and the hermitage elephants cannot enter, and all three have one cause, the austerity of Mataṅga and his disciples. So the poet establishes Pampā's shore not only as lovely but as holy ground, and suggests that Rāma's coming there is not chance but destiny.

"That wood is famous by this very name, Mataṅga's wood, delight of the Raghus. In that wood, like Nandana, like the forest of the gods, thronged with birds of every kind, you will be at ease and content, Rāma. Before Pampā stands the mountain Ṛṣyamūka, its trees in flower, very hard to climb and guarded by young serpents; it is generous, and it was fashioned long ago by Brahmā himself." That generosity lies in its granting of wishes. "A man who sleeps on the summit of that mountain, Rāma, gains on waking the wealth he found in his dream." This divine quality is otherworldly, and its meaning is that one who sleeps there in trust sees his desire fulfilled; it will give point to Sugrīva's living there. "But if a man of crooked ways and evil deeds climbs it, the rākṣasas seize him as he sleeps and strike him down there." So the mountain is described both ways, granting boons to the good and punishing the wicked. Indirectly Kabandha was reassuring Rāma that a righteous man had nothing to fear there; rather, the fulfilment of his wish awaited him. It was on just such a mountain that Sugrīva, terrified of Vālin, took refuge, because no evil-doer could climb it, as the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa will explain.

"From that mountain, Rāma, one hears the loud trumpeting of the young elephants that live about Mataṅga's wood as they play in Pampā. The great elephants, streaked with streams of ichor, crowd together and then scatter apart again, dark as clouds and swift." Colour and speed are both caught, and the herd gathering and scattering. "There they drink water that is clear, lovely and fair, most pleasant to the touch and full of every fragrance, and then, satisfied, those forest rangers plunge back into the woods. When you see the bears and leopards, the deer of soft blue sheen, and the ruru deer that flee from none and cannot be outrun, you will let your sorrow go." All these creatures were fearless, for the place was guarded by Mataṅga's power, and once again Kabandha comforted him. "On that mountain, Kākutstha, there is a great and splendid cave, closed with a slab of stone and hard to enter." That stone door made it Sugrīva's safe dwelling. "At its eastern entrance lies a great pool of cool water, rich in roots and fruit, delightful and crowded with trees of every kind," the means of his life there. "In that cave lives the righteous Sugrīva with his monkeys, and sometimes he stands on the peak of that mountain." So Kabandha pointed at once to the end of the road and to the man waiting there: the place to go and the helper to be found were both now clear to Rāma, who, having heard it all described beforehand, would soon see it with his own eyes.

Having instructed Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa in this way, Kabandha, garlanded and glowing like the sun, shone out in the sky in his strength; freed from the curse, his divine form blazed again, recalling the gandharva shape he had before. The one who had been deformed and dreadful was now divine and radiant, the fruit of his funeral rite. Seeing that great being in the sky, the two brothers, now setting out, said to him from close by, "Go your way." And he said to them, "Go, and may your purpose be fulfilled." Taking leave of the two, who were well pleased, Kabandha departed. Having regained his own form, wrapped in splendour, his whole body shining, he looked down at Rāma from the sky, showed him the way and said once more, "Make friends with him." With those words the sarga ends. Friendship with Sugrīva as the root of Sītā's recovery was Kabandha's last counsel, and it governs the whole story of the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa. What stands out in this sarga is that all the speaking is Kabandha's; Rāma only listens, and a benefactor's word drives the story on. With Kabandha's departure the Araṇya Kāṇḍa's struggle with the rākṣasas is almost at an end, and the next sarga will show the brothers setting out westward at the word of the one they freed.