Throughout Ayodhyā, an air of festivity and anticipation filled the city. The temples, gleaming like white clouds, stood adorned with flags and banners; at every crossroads, along bustling streets, at shrines, and even from the balconies, decorations fluttered in the breeze. Merchant shops, brimming with a variety of goods, and the splendid homes of prosperous householders all glowed with celebration. Assembly halls and even unmarked trees were draped with banners, their colors bright and inviting. The city resounded with joy. Troupes of actors, dancers, and singers performed, their voices and music delighting the hearts and ears of all who listened. Everywhere—whether in the public squares or within their own homes—people spoke excitedly among themselves about Rāma’s impending consecration. Even groups of children, playing at the thresholds of their houses, could talk of nothing else but Rāma’s anointing. The royal road was a sight to behold, freshly strewn with flowers and fragrant with incense, lovingly prepared by the citizens for the sacred occasion. To dispel the darkness of night, lamp-bearing trees were set up along every side street, bathing the city in a gentle, golden light. Having decorated their beloved city, the people of Ayodhyā waited eagerly, their hearts longing for the moment when Rāma would be installed as crown prince. Gathered in groups in the squares and assembly halls, they praised their lord, speaking among themselves: “Ah, our great-souled king, the joy of the Ikṣvāku line, aware of his age, will soon anoint Rāma as king. How blessed we are! Rāma, wise in the ways of the world, will be our ruler and protector for many years. Rāghava, learned, righteous, and free from arrogance, is as loving toward us as he is to his own brothers. Long may the righteous and faultless King Daśaratha live, for it is by his favor we shall witness Rāma’s anointing.” As these words spread through the city, people from the countryside, having heard the joyful news from every direction, began to arrive in great numbers to witness the ceremony. The city filled to overflowing, and as the crowds gathered, a mighty sound arose—like the roar of the ocean at the full moon. Ayodhyā, radiant and tumultuous, thronged with eager villagers on all sides, shone resplendently, resembling Indra’s own celestial city, vibrant as the ocean brimming with its waters. Now, let the seventh chapter be heard. In the midst of these celebrations, a maidservant named Mantharā, who had long lived with Queen Kaikeyī, happened to ascend the palace, which shone like the moon itself. From her high vantage, she gazed upon Ayodhyā: the royal roads had been sprinkled and strewn with lotuses and water-lilies; the city was radiant with splendid banners and flags, its streets sprinkled with sandalwood water, and filled with people who had bathed in preparation. The air vibrated with the voices of distinguished Brāhmaṇas holding garlands and sweets, the white doorways of temples gleamed, and the sounds of all manner of musical instruments filled the air. Joyful people moved about, elephants and horses paraded in delight, and the bellowing of excited bulls and cows added to the din. Taking in these sights—Ayodhyā adorned with banners, its citizens elated and rejoicing—Mantharā was struck with utter astonishment. She wondered, “Absorbed in such joy and intent on gain, what wealth is Queen Kaikeyī distributing to the people? What is the cause of this extraordinary happiness? What will the delighted king do?” Overwhelmed with joy, the nurse, filled with great delight, revealed to Mantharā the reason for the city’s fortune: “Tomorrow, under the auspicious Pushya star, King Daśaratha will anoint Rāma—faultless and conqueror of anger—as crown prince.” Hearing these words, Mantharā, her anger quickly aroused, descended from the palace, which was as splendid as the peak of Mount Kailāsa. Burning with fury, her mind filled with suspicion, she approached Queen Kaikeyī as she lay at ease and spoke harshly: “Rise, fool! Why do you lie there? Danger is upon you. Overwhelmed by a flood of misfortune, you do not perceive your own peril. Though you seem fortunate, you boast of your good fortune in what is truly undesirable; your fortune is as unsteady as a river’s current in the hot season.” Stung by Mantharā’s harsh words, Kaikeyī was deeply distressed. She asked gently, “Is all well, Mantharā? I see you troubled and greatly afflicted.” Hearing Kaikeyī’s gentle inquiry, Mantharā—skilled in speech but filled with anger—replied, her words meant to cause distress and turn Kaikeyī’s heart away from Rāma: “O queen, a great and unending calamity has begun for you: King Daśaratha will anoint Rāma as crown prince. I am plunged in deep fear, filled with sorrow and grief, burning as if by fire, and I have come here for your welfare. Your sorrow will be my sorrow; your decline, my decline; your prosperity, my prosperity—of this, there is no doubt.” Thus, the city rejoiced, but within the palace, a shadow of anxiety began to stir in the heart of Kaikeyī, as Mantharā’s words took root.