The great king, his mind clouded by the chaos of battle, did not realize that the axle of his chariot had broken. By his side stood Kaikeyī, the noble and beautiful-browed queen. Though she saw the broken axle, Kaikeyī did not speak a word of it to the king. Instead, with quiet resolve, she placed her own hand where the axle should have been, supporting the chariot herself. O Nārada, this was a deed of extraordinary courage and devotion. Through the might and skill of the king, and with Kaikeyī’s hand as the axle, the chariot pressed on. The king, foremost among charioteers, prevailed in battle, conquering the Daityas and Dānavas. The gods, pleased with his valor, granted him many boons, and with their blessings he began his journey home to Ayodhyā. As they traveled, the king at last noticed his beloved Kaikeyī’s act. Witnessing her selfless deed, he was filled with wonder and amazement. Deeply moved, he granted her three boons, telling her she could ask for any wishes she desired. Kaikeyī, ever wise and patient, replied, “Let these boons remain with you, O king of kings, until the day I choose to claim them.” Adorned with ornaments bestowed by the grateful king, Kaikeyī rode with him in triumph back to their city, their hearts full of happiness. For what, indeed, should not be given to beloved women at the proper time? Later, King Daśaratha, surrounded by hunters, set out for the hunt. As night fell, he wandered the forest and constructed a water reservoir, mindful that a king must avoid the seven vices. Yet, though he knew the path of righteousness, fate led him otherwise. Thirsty, he entered a pit to drink, and, mistaking movement in the darkness, loosed sharp arrows at those who approached. Hear now of the twist of fate that unfolded. In a nearby city dwelled an old man named Vaiśravaṇa and his wife, both afflicted by age, unable to see or hear. As night descended, they spoke to their young son, their only support. “We are tormented by thirst, and the night has come. The aged depend entirely on others, but you are just a child, dear son. Shame on the life of the blind, the deaf, and the aged; shame on those whose bodies are worn by old age. Truly, a man should live only as long as he has wealth, strength, and authority. Otherwise, death is better—especially at holy places.” Hearing their sorrow, the devoted son comforted his parents with gentle words. “While I live, how can sorrow touch you? A son who does not dispel his parents’ distress is unworthy. What use is such a son, who brings only grief to the family?” Bowing to his parents, he soothed them, then carefully lifted them onto the trunk of a tree so they would be safe. Taking a water pot in hand, the sage’s son set off to fetch water. In the darkness, the king, unaware of the Brahmin’s presence, mistook him for an elephant and shot him with sharp arrows. Even a wild elephant would not dare attack a king, but fate had deceived Daśaratha. Wounded grievously, the Brahmin youth cried out in pain, “Who has done this to me, a virtuous Brahmin? I am Maitra, a Brahmin, blameless in all my actions.” Hearing these anguished words, the king was struck with dread and approached slowly, his heart heavy with guilt. There he saw the radiant Brahmin youth, his own spirit faltering as if pierced by a dart. Composing himself, the king spoke humbly, “Who are you, O foremost of Brahmins? For what purpose have you come here? I have sinned—tell me what atonement I must perform, for a slayer of a Brahmin should not be touched or even seen, not even by outcastes.” The sage’s son, his life ebbing away, replied, “I will speak before I depart. Know that the results of actions come from freedom and ignorance. I do not grieve for myself, but for my aged parents. Who will care for them now? Both are blind and have only me. Without me, how will they survive in the great forest? My duty to serve them is broken—O Fate, what have you done? Still, go quickly, carrying the water-pot, and give them water so that they do not die.” With these words, his life left him in the forest. Setting aside his bow and arrows, the grief-stricken king took up the water-pot and hurried to find the old couple. That night, as he approached, the two elders spoke anxiously to each other. “Is our son worried, or angry, or has some beast devoured him? Why has he not returned? What shall we do, what hope remains? There is no such son, moving or unmoving, who would ever disobey his parents’ words, even if reproached.” Thus unfolded the tale of devotion, fate, and the bonds of duty between parents and children.