It was once declared that wherever King Daśaratha stood, there would victory be found; those who had Daśaratha on their side would surely triumph, while others would not. Upon hearing this, both the gods and the Dānavas became eager for victory and set out to secure the king’s allegiance. Vāyu, the swift wind-god, hastened to Daśaratha and addressed him: “O king, you must come to the great battle between the gods and the Dānavas. Wherever you are present, victory is said to dwell. Therefore, stand with the gods, so that we may prevail.” Daśaratha listened to Vāyu’s words and replied, “Certainly, I will come. Go as you please, Vāyu; my promise is given.” As Vāyu departed, the Daityas themselves came to Daśaratha and pleaded, “O lord, you should assist us too, for victory rests with you. Aid the lord of the Daityas, illustrious king.” But Daśaratha, recalling his promise to Vāyu, said, “I have already pledged my support; let the Daityas and Dānavas withdraw.” True to his word, the king ascended to the heavens and joined the gods in their battle against the Daityas, Dānavas, and Rākṣasas. As the contest raged, and the gods looked on, the brothers of Namuci, with sharp arrows, shattered the axle of Daśaratha’s chariot. In the confusion of battle, the king did not realize that his chariot’s axle had broken. Kaikeyī, his beloved queen with beautiful brows, stood close by. Without alerting the king, the virtuous Kaikeyī, seeing the broken axle, swiftly placed her own hand in its place. O Nārada, this was a wondrous and noble act: Daśaratha, the foremost of charioteers, continued to prevail in battle, his chariot’s axle now supported by Kaikeyī’s hand. With her aid, he conquered the Daityas and Dānavas, and the gods, pleased with his valor, granted him many boons. Permitted by them, Daśaratha joyfully returned to Ayodhyā. Along the way, the great king saw Kaikeyī and, realizing what she had done for him, was filled with astonishment. In gratitude, he granted her three boons. Kaikeyī, after seeking his permission, spoke: “Let these boons remain with you, O king of kings, until I desire to claim them.” The king adorned his beloved with ornaments and, victorious and content, returned with her to his city in the chariot. What should not be given to beloved women at the right time? Once, Daśaratha, surrounded by hunters, set out for the hunt. He wandered the forest at night and constructed a water reservoir, for a king must be free from the seven vices. Yet, though he knew this, fate held sway over him. Entering a pit to drink, he shot at those who approached, thinking them wild beasts. The mighty-armed king slew animals, but now hear of the reversal of fate. While Daśaratha was in the pit, in a distant and excellent city, there lived an old man named Vaiśravaṇa, who was both deaf and blind; his wife suffered the same afflictions. In the darkness of night, tormented by thirst, they spoke to their son: “We are helpless, dear child. The life of the aged depends entirely on others, and you are but a boy. Shame on the life of the blind, the deaf, and the aged. What is the use of life, my son, when the body is worn by old age? A man should live only as long as he has wealth, strength, and authority; otherwise, death is preferable, especially in holy places.” Hearing his parents’ lament, their devoted son comforted them with gentle words: “While I live, how can sorrow afflict you? A son who does not dispel his parents’ distress is unworthy. What use is such a son, who brings only grief to his family?” Bowing to his parents, the noble-minded youth placed them upon the trunk of a tree, then, taking a water pot in hand, set out to fetch water. The sage’s son knew not the king, nor did the king recognize the twice-born. Both hurried to the water’s edge. The Brahmin youth entered the water swiftly and filled his pot. But Daśaratha, mistaking him for an elephant, struck him with sharp arrows. Even a forest elephant, knowing the king’s power, would not attack, but fate had blinded Daśaratha. Struck in a vital spot, the youth cried out in pain, “Who has done this to me, a virtuous Brahmin? I am Maitra, a Brahmin, and I have done no wrong.” Hearing the suffering sage’s words, the king was overcome with dismay and slowly approached. Seeing the radiant Brahmin youth, Daśaratha became faint, as if pierced by a dart. Composing himself, he spoke: “Who are you, O foremost of Brahmins? Why have you come here? I have committed a terrible sin—tell me, what is the supreme atonement? The slayer of a Brahmin, however eloquent, should not be touched, not even by outcastes, nor should he be seen at any time.” Thus unfolded the tale of Daśaratha, whose destiny was shaped by both valor and the inexorable workings of fate.